![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sirona_ficsTitle: I want you to want me
Pairing: (central) Steve/Danny, many minor pairings.
Word Count: ~46,000 (~10,000 this part)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Graphic violence (of the fistcuffs variety), hints of child neglect at the start, minors fighting, minor character death (pre-story), canon character death, angst. Don't worry, though -- this is meant to be a happy story, I promise. We'll get there.
Part One | Part Two
Why, god, why did he let Catherine talk him into this; he really needs to learn how to resist those begging eyes of hers. He's only known her for, what, three weeks? And already he can't refuse her anything, even if she is his unreasonable crush's girlfriend. Although, it would be kind of fun to hang out with the others during the Homecoming game. He's spent the past couple Saturdays with them on that beach where they met the first time, even though Ailani was markedly absent. No one had said a word about it, though, and Danny hadn't cared enough to ask them about it.
It's just him, Catherine, Malia and Kamekona, though -- Steve, Joseph and Keoki are all on the team. They get sodas and hot dogs and nachos and all the terrible junk food Danny adores and Steve makes a face of impending doom at, and climb their way up in the stands, all the way to the top where there's still a few empty spaces. They settle down, juggling all their purchases, as well as the daft foam hand that Kamekona is waving around. Left to his own devices for a moment, Danny looks around at the crowd. He spots John McGarrett a few rows below him, as well as Jimmy and Chin on either side of him. They are chatting, heads close together; Danny knows how excited they've been about the game, it's all they've talked about for the past week.
"What'd I miss?" Meka says, shouldering his way past the others to drop on the other side of Danny, arms heaving with food.
"Not much, they aren't even ready to start," Danny says, taking Meka's coke off him so he can distribute the three massive buckets of popcorn around him, for maximum ease of reach. "Are you going to eat all that, Hanamoa? It's a wonder you aren't the size of a house already."
Meka narrows his eyes at Danny's own stash. "You say something, Jersey? I can't hear you over the sound of you crunching those disgusting nachos," he shoots back, and Danny grins. It had been a slow start between them, but three weeks after his haole dig on the beach, he and Danny are practically inseparable. It's probably due to their first baseball practice together -- Meka's friendly slap on the back, the "Not bad for a haole" that had been tinged with affection and honest appreciation.
Catherine leans across from Malia, catching Danny's eye and interrupting their friendly griping. "You going to the Homecoming Dance next week, Danny?"
"I don't know," Danny hedges, looking away. It would mean he'd have to invite someone to go as his date, and truthfully, he can't think of a more awkward way to spend an evening, hanging out with someone he barely knows.
"You must," Malia chimes in. "It's a great party! Oh, and don't worry about dates," she adds when she sees the nervous flicker of his eyes. "We're all going as a group."
Danny looks at her doubtfully. "Right, because no one will know Catherine and McGarrett are going together."
All of them stare at him for a long moment. "What?" he snaps, flushing and avoiding their eyes. Surely he wasn't being horribly obvious? Was his tone too bitter? Oh my god, he is such a moron.
Catherine starts laughing, an amused, joyful sound, but just shakes her head when he says "What?!" again.
"We'll talk about it later," she promises, and that's the last she'll say on the subject, no matter how hard Danny stares at her.
"Whoa," Meka says just then at his side, and Danny turns, worried Meka might have caught on to the mess going on in Danny's head, ridiculous as the thought is.
But Meka's not looking at him at all, and a second later Danny forgets all about Steve and Catherine and what an idiot he's made of himself. His eyes land on a familiar wavy head of hair -- Matty. He's sitting in the middle of a bunch of boys of varying ages, and Danny can see from all the way up here that they're bad news. They're wearing ripped jeans and T-shirts, some of them have buzz cuts, and all of them are yelling and laughing nastily. People circle them when they can, hurry past them when they have no other choice but to walk nearby. Danny sees one of them hike up the skirt of a sweet-looking girl trying to scuttle away unnoticed, the fear in her eyes, and his blood boils in his veins with the need to crash his way over there and lay the guy out cold.
"What the fuck?" he grits out.
"They're seriously bad news," Meka says, glaring down at them. "They just don't care. You can't threaten them into behaving, because most of them are delinquents with files in HPD. They're only tolerated because most of them are seniors and in a year they'll be gone. The hope is that the little gang will fall apart without its leaders."
Danny's eyes bore into the back of Matty's head. What the fucking hell is he thinking, getting involved with shitheads like that??
"Hey, man, you okay? We don't have much to do with them, and they blow school off most days anyway."
Danny grits his teeth so hard he thinks they might break under the strain. He doesn't notice the worried glances of the others. "That's my brother, third from the right," he forces out.
He does notice the quick, unsuppressed intakes of air from either side of him. He sends his friends a quick look, seeing his own worry reflected in their eyes.
"Danny, you have to do something. There's rumours of drugs and alcohol, and last month a 7-11 got held up, only no one could prove it's them."
Danny stares at his brother, unseeing. He'd had no idea Matty was that out of control. Jimmy's tight-lipped silences around him for the past week suddenly make much more sense. Jimmy must know Matty's gotten mixed up with that gang, but he hadn't told anyone.
"I'll talk to him," he says, just before the first whistle blows and he gets distracted. No way is he forgetting about it, though.
He gets lost in the game, and for as long as it lasts, he allows himself to watch Steve unrestrainedly. He is magnificent. Football has never been Danny's game, but he knows the basics well enough, and he enjoys a good show like any red-blooded American. But Steve's performance is something else. He is so light on his feet, so quick; there's barely the suggestion of movement from his teammates and Steve's there, ready to field the pass. He twists and turns and weaves, and as soon as he gets the slightest chance, he runs like he was made for it. Danny watches him score point after point, and there's nothing in his head but white noise, nothing but Steve.
He only comes out of what must have been nothing short of a trance when the half-time whistle sounds and he's wrenched back in the here-and-now, face red with excitement, neck sweaty and his pants so tight that just the thought of getting up is painful. This is a nightmare. Thank god no one around him is paying any attention to him when he appropriates a half-finished bucket of popcorn from Meka and plants it firmly over his groin.
"You go ahead," he tells the rest of them when they make noises of taking a breather. "I want a word with Jimmy and John McGarrett." The reason for it quickly takes care of his arousal.
The others nod with sympathetic looks on their faces, and leave him to struggle down to their level. The gang is gone by then; Danny doubts they'll be back, the game would be far too tame for them. He makes it to Jimmy, who's listening to John chatter with an indulgent look on his face. It slips off when he sees Danny fight his way to him determinedly. He must give John and Chin the heads-up, because when Danny reaches them, they have their cop faces firmly on.
"Jimmy," Danny starts, and sees Jimmy's eyes tighten.
"You've seen him?" Jimmy says, doing Danny the service of not pretending he doesn't know what this is about.
"Yeah. Why didn't you say anything?" Danny asks, not accusing, but he can't hide his anger at Matty.
"I didn't want to worry you and the girls. I should have known you'd find out," Jimmy says rueful, but there's a clear note of pride in his voice when he adds, "You're sharp as a tack, my boy."
Something tightens in Danny at the compliment, and the affection in Jimmy's voice.
"Does Clara know?" Danny asks, because he'd rather drink all of the poison while he's at it.
"Yeah, she knows," Jimmy sighs. "She knows about all of them, but there's nothing she can do about it -- nothing they do happens on school grounds, see, so she can't suspend them or expel them, and no one would come forward and give up any information. Everyone's just too afraid of them."
Danny sits heavily in the temporarily vacant seat next to Jimmy. "How the hell did he get mixed up with them so quickly?" he groans, rubbing at his face. "If I'd only seen it sooner--"
"Stop," Jimmy tells him, cop voice, demanding obedience. "Danny, there's nothing you could have done about it. Matthew has to see the truth for himself, or he might never leave that path."
"How can you be so calm?" Danny snaps, glaring at him. "You don't know what he might get himself into!"
Jimmy lays a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder. 'I have to trust that he's your brother," he says gently. "You're exceptional, Danny; your spirit, your integrity, the way you care for the others, it's a rare thing to find in one as young as you. I have to hope that Matthew's made of the same stock as you, no matter how angry and hurt he is right now."
Danny deflates, slumping against the back of the seat even as people start trickling back into the row.
"It'll be okay, kiddo," John says, clapping his knee across Jimmy's bulk. "We're keeping an eye on them. We'll make sure nothing too bad happens to your brother before we can catch the rest of them. Go on and enjoy the rest of the game."
Danny nods and stands, starts to make his way back to where he sees the others hovering, waiting for him. "Steve's pretty brilliant," he stops to say when he's just past John, grinning at him. John beams back.
"He broke the last of Chin's records tonight," John boasts. Danny slides his eyes to Chin, who's shaking his head ruefully.
"Damn haole," Chin grumbles, but he's grinning, too.
"Come on, Danny," Meka yells, waving.
"Okay," Danny yells back, and turns to say goodbye.
When he looks back, he sees the blush on Malia's face, the way she has eyes for no one but Chin, and thinks, Ah. He suddenly sees the 'going as a group to the dance' thing in a whole new light.
The second half of the game is just as exciting as the first. Danny narrows his eyes against the glare of the sun and squints at the field for all he's worth, following Steve's every move, wincing at the inevitable fumble, yelling himself hoarse with the rest of the audience when Steve scores yet another touchdown.
They win the game comfortably, and the team is triumphant in their jubilation, the obligatory chest thumps and hits on the helmets. At one point Steve gets hoisted up, breathless with laughter and cheering, and Danny lets his eyes linger for a moment, one last time when everyone's too distracted to pay any attention to what feels like the most obvious crush in the universe.
Steve spots him and jumps off his teammates' shoulders, running up to Danny and just beaming at him for a length of time that Danny completely blanks. He can't tear his eyes away from Steve's flushed face, drops of sweat training down his temple and dripping off the edge of his jaw, hazel eyes dancing with victory.
And then the rest of their group is there, and Steve gets lost under a pile of bodies as everyone throws themselves on him in celebration. Joseph trots up, and Danny claps his shoulder in congratulations. Joseph grins at him, just as sweaty and delicious-looking as Steve, and he's staring at Danny intently, but Danny just can't bring himself to do anything about it. The truth is, there's no one else for him on this island than the idiot wheezing with giggles in the middle of the group hug.
His eyes have drifted to Steve again without a conscious thought. When Danny looks back at Joseph, there's a knowing look in his eyes that says that while the rest of them have no idea what to look for, Joseph sure as hell does, and he knows exactly what he's seeing. Danny doesn't know what his face must look like -- he feels pretty panicked, so it's anyone's guess -- but Joseph shakes his head a little with a rueful smile, as if to say, 'your secret's safe with me', and Danny can just about breathe again.
"Party at Ailani's tonight," Meka tells him when he's extricated himself from the mess of limbs still on the ground. "You in?"
Yeah, no. No way is he going to Ailani's actual house, not when the girl clearly hates him. "No, man. I got other plans," he says, and ignores Steve's crestfallen look. He's not budging on this one, no matter what Steve says.
It would give him a chance to talk to Matty, at least.
---
There's only silence when he knocks on Matty's door a few hours later, but Danny can hear someone moving inside the bathroom next door, the whizz of some kind of machine inside.
"Matty?" Danny calls, knocking on the bathroom door again.
There is no answer, but the buzzing stops. The door opens a few minutes later, and Danny straightens from his slouch against the wall where he'd settled to wait. His jaw drops open when Matty steps out, stroking his newly shaved head.
"Like it?" Matty asks nastily, because he must know already that Danny really doesn't.
"Jesus, Matty," Danny sighs, and Matty scowls at him.
"What do you want?" Matty says lazily, like he couldn't care less. "I thought you were out partying with your friends," he sneers, brushing past Danny and going inside his room.
Danny follows, even though Matty pushes the door back, intending to close it. The room smells stale, like it's been days since the window had been open. His new clothes from Clara are in a tangle on the floor, clearly uncared for. Danny looks at the mess everywhere, and feels like crap that he hasn't managed to make Matty feel welcome here.
"I thought we could spend the evening together," he tries, but it's clearly too little too late.
"Oh yeah?" Matty sneers, bending down to grab a long-sleeved black shirt with Suck me bitch in spiky white letters on the front. Danny has no idea where he even got that, let alone who paid for it. He's starting to think that maybe no one did. "Well, I've got other plans. Hanging out with my friends."
"That bunch of scumbags? Matty, you can't be serious," Danny says, starting to get angry.
Matty's face is a picture of pure misery for a moment before it snaps back to the permanent sneer he seems to have adopted. It's so quick that Danny isn't even sure he saw it.
"Those 'scumbags' are fun, okay, big brother? Something there's not a lot of around here."
"Look, Matty--" Danny tries, but Matty just shoves him out of the room and follows, snapping the door closed behind him. "Those guys are dangerous," Danny yells at him, anything to make Matty snap out of this--this act.
"You're one to talk," Matty says dangerously, and Danny freezes. "Oh, yeah. You thought I didn't know about that? Big brother Danny, perfect student by day, beating the crap out of people at night. Because it's different when you do it, yeah?"
"It wasn't like that," Danny says, pleading.
"It was exactly like that," Matty yells in his face, eyes narrowed in contempt. "But I can't do it, because I'm not you? You hypocrite."
"At least they fought back," Danny yells back when Matty pushes past him. "I didn't gang up on anyone and beat the crap out of them because I could!"
Matty stops half-way down the stairs, head bowed. "Well, I guess I'm not you," he says quietly, and keeps walking.
Danny's legs give and he sits right where he is, fury and helplessness and despair tearing him to pieces from the inside out as he buries his head in his hands. He doesn't even realise someone else is there until Jimmy's said his name twice, right in his face; his arm snaps forward without conscious thought, and only Jimmy's lightning-fast reflexes save him from a broken nose.
Danny stares at his fist, horrified. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Jimmy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry--"
"Danny. Hey, hey, Danny, it's okay. Hey, look at me. It's okay. I'm sorry I startled you," Jimmy says, like he’s talking to a frightened animal, which is not very different from this particular setting. "That was my fault. Are you okay?"
Danny stares at him blankly, and he doesn't have the strength to keep his defences in place. "No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I don’t think I am."
"Okay," Jimmy says, "okay. Right. Put on your running shoes and come with me."
Danny doesn't question him, just walks in his wake meekly, does what he's told. He feels so lost that anyone else giving him directions is a relief.
"Sweetheart, we're going out," Jimmy yells in the direction of the kitchen, where Clara is roasting a joint of pork. "We'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay," Clara shouts back. Danny dimly thinks it must be nice to have a partner like that, who understands you without having to ask.
Like last time, Jimmy doesn't point him to the car; he leads the way to the road and starts jogging gently. Danny follows, and soon enough he realises just how damned much he's needed that, the simple rhythm of the pavement slapping against his soles, of yard after yard disappearing behind him.
He has no idea what direction they're running in, not until Jimmy makes a turn into a familiar driveway, and Danny realises he's at the McGarrett house. He falters for a moment, before he remembers Steve is out, having fun at the party, probably making out with Catherine to celebrate. The thought doesn't really make him feel any better.
John opens the door, takes one look at Danny and stands wordlessly aside. Jimmy walks past him with a quiet thanks. Danny doesn't say anything, but John doesn't seem to expect it.
"Can we use the back room, please, John?" Jimmy asks.
"Of course," John says.
Danny follows Jimmy through the kitchen, past a concerned-looking Laura cutting coloured paper at the kitchen table, through a doorway in the far wall. The room is small, and right in the centre of it a large sandbag hangs from a hook welded to the ceiling. It's the best thing Danny has seen all month.
A pair of light training gloves waver in his line of side. Danny grabs them, slips them on, and--
He comes to himself holding on to the sandbag, lungs heaving, absolutely drenched in sweat, muscles weak and shaking from the exertion he's just put them through. His legs tremble when he pushes back, and he just manages to make it to the wall before he's sliding down it in a heap of limbs and exhaustion.
His mind is a blissful blank. It's been so long, so fucking long, god, how had he survived so long without it? He closes his eyes, leans his head back, trying to catch his breath, and never wants to move again.
"Danny," he hears from the door, and he's so loose and relaxed he just rolls his head towards the voice. Jimmy's walking towards him, holding out a large bottle of water in his direction. "Drink. You've lost a lot of fluids."
Now that Jimmy mentions it, Danny feels the dehydration painting black splotches in the corners of his vision, and his stomach cramps at the thought of water. He takes the bottle from Jimmy's hands greedily, uncaps it and tilts it up into his mouth, drinking a third of it in one go.
Once he no longer feels like passing out, he looks up at Jimmy, at John hovering anxiously at the door. "Thank you," he says earnestly. "Thank you, I--I really needed that."
"Any time," John says, eyes running over Danny's sprawled body to make sure he's okay. "I mean it. Steve comes here to train, too; if you ask him, I'm sure he'd be happy to spar with you."
Danny's never been more grateful to be so tired out -- he doesn't even have the strength to blush, which is a small mercy, especially in the company of two shrewd cops, one of whom is his uncle and the other his hopeless crush's father. He would die of embarrassment.
Jimmy borrows John's car to drive them home, promising to be back to pick him up for work in the morning. Danny climbs inside gratefully, slumping in the seat. John and Laura wave them off from the front porch, holding hands. It's kind of sweet. Danny remembers his mom and dad doing that, when she'd still been with them.
Jimmy drives silently; it's less than five minutes to their house, so Danny doesn't have time to feel too awkward about his mini-breakdown. Jimmy parks behind his own truck and turns off the engine, but makes no move to get out of the car. Danny braces himself for whatever reproach is coming.
"You can't let it get to you like that," is what Jimmy says instead. "Clara tells me you want to be a cop; well, here's lesson one, kiddo -- you have to learn to distance yourself from the cases. I understand that Matthew's your brother, and you can't separate your love for him from your actions, or the way you see him; but Danny, you can't lose yourself like that, either. You have to create this space inside of you, where you can put all your emotions and all your pain, and lock it away until you're through the case, or the problem. If you want to use boxing to do that, fine. In fact, excellent. It'll look great on your CV when you apply for the Academy. Just remember that you can't change anything; you can just be there for Matthew when it all goes down in flames, which is pretty much inevitable. You have to let him make a few mistakes too, Danny; how else will he learn?"
Danny squeezes his eyes shut. Jimmy's right; he knows it, knew what Jimmy was saying even before he said it. It's not gonna be easy, but hell, he's got no choice but to try.
---
He doesn't see much of Steve or Catherine for the next week; as part of the student government, they are ridiculously busy getting the Homecoming Dance set up. Catherine still hasn't said anything as to what she wanted to talk about at the game, and Danny feels a little like he's drifting. Baseball practice is the only thing keeping him going right now, even though he won't actually get to play for months yet, seeing how it is still mid-October.
He can get lost in the game, though, much like he gets lost in boxing. Following the ball with his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet, just waiting to tag the direction it flies off in, working out his reaction time and them running as fast as his legs would take him in the direction of the base, the wind ruffling his hair lovingly as he pushes and pushes forward.
As it is, he really could do with having to go to practice. Right about now would be perfect, because it would mean he could stop slowly torturing his brain to death with AP Chemistry, something he is very quickly starting to regret ever considering taking. On top of everything, his stomach feels swollen, upset, like he's eaten something he really shouldn't. He knew he should have given that spaghetti bolognese a miss at the cafeteria; but no, they remind him of home, of New Jersey in the winter, never mind that they'd tasted nothing like his mom used to make.
All in all, not an ideal way to spend the Wednesday before the Homecoming Dance, but Mrs Kahele is an evil, evil being who had decided to schedule their monthly quiz for tomorrow, even if she is allowing them to work in pairs.
His stomach has stopped cramping, but he's still feeling a lot less human when there's a knock on the front door. He's sprawled all over the sofa in the living room, papers littering the space in a five foot radius all around him, and frankly, he just can't be bothered to get the hell up and answer the door. Luckily, Amy is an angel who is home from school early, and he hears her light steps in the corridor.
He quickly revises his estimate of Amy when she ushers Steve around the corner and into the living room, a sly, devious smile on her face. "Danny, Steve's here for you," she tells him, sing-song, while she winks at him behind Steve's back.
There should be a law against your own siblings knowing you better than they should. Amy knows he's been--not sulking, because Danny does not sulk, but certainly not up to his usual high standards of cheer, and it appears she's guessed the reason.
Oh course, that might be something to do with Danny grumbling to her about Steve being too busy with the damned Dance to spend any time with his friends, but that's beside the point.
"Steve, huh," he grumbles. Of course, of course Steve would pick the one time Danny could really do without him coming round to see him all splotchy and under the weather, to insert himself back in Danny's personal space.
"I came about the quiz thing," Steve says, all serious and solemn and Head Science Geek about it, before he frowns. "You okay?"
Danny waves a hand dismissively. "Ate something I shouldn't have--don't say a word, Steven, I know that look, and I've told you a million times, eating wholegrain everything cannot be good for you."
Steve snaps his mouth closed and glares. "Yet you're the one who's sick, while I'm the picture of health."
"Physical health, maybe," Danny lobs back, and he can't for the life of him stop himself from trailing an appreciative eye down Steve's undeniably picturesque body.
When he looks back up, Steve is watching him oddly, looming over him where Danny still sprawls over the cushions.
"Fuck's sake, sit, my neck hurts from craning to see you all the way up there," Danny grouches, waving a hand at the spare armchair.
Steve completely ignores him, pushing Danny's legs off one end of the sofa and throwing himself onto it. Danny immediately swings his feet back up, depositing them in Steve's lap with possibly unnecessary force. Steve grunts a little, but doesn't push him off. It's kind of nice.
Danny ends up with papers stacked over his legs, watching Steve slip that lucky, lucky pencil in and out of his mouth, chewing on the end. Danny shuffles the papers over his chest until most of them end up in his lap.
"So," Steve says, attention absorbed by learning how to blow things up at will. "A 140.0g sample of water at 25.0 degrees Celsius is mixed with 100.0g of an unknown metal at 100.0 degrees Celsius. The final temperature of the mixture is 29.6 degrees Celsius. What is the heat capacity of the metal?"
Danny settles down to work with a resigned huff.
It takes him a surprisingly long time to get sick of the damned quiz. "Time out, time out, fuck, McGarrett, how can you still keep going, it's been an hour of non-stop torture, Jesus, you are a robot. Let's take a break, yeah?"
Steve looks pained, but relents. Probably bad form of Danny to stop him while he's having so much fun, but Danny's brain is going to blow if it doesn't have a ten minute break to decompress. He sighs gratefully and lets his head rest back onto the arm of the sofa while he stretches, heels digging into Steve's thighs. He should probably be worried he finds that so hot, but touching any part of Steve can send him into flames on the best of days.
The fire alarm in the kitchen goes off mid-stretch, and Danny ignores yet another strange look on Steve's face in favour of stopping the house from burning down. He hightails it off the sofa and rounds the corner at a jog.
Amy looks sheepish from her spot by the deep fryer. "I forgot to put the lid on," she confesses. "Sorry for interrupting, Danno."
Danny sighs, leaning on the counter next to her. "It's okay, babe. We were just about to take a break anyway."
Amy looks at him knowingly, like she knows she's just saved him from imminent brain melt. Danny ignores her, staring at the deep fryer and then back at Amy.
"Are you making..." he trails off, which of course she is, she can't be bribed anywhere near the fryer for anything other than deep-fried mozz balls, even though Danny's the only person who eats them, now that mom's gone. His heart does a funny squeezy-flip kind of a thing as he watches Amy avoid his eyes.
"You weren't feeling well, so I thought..." she hedges, throwing him a quick look under her eyelashes.
Danny can't help himself -- he catches her shoulders and draws her closer, folds himself around her until her forehead is leaning on his chest and his head rests on top of hers. She slips her thin arms around him, tightens them a little, burrows closer.
They stay like that for a while, until Danny hears a shuffling sound at the door and finds Steve standing there, looking unsure. Danny smiles at him encouragingly, and Steve settles his shoulder on the door frame, content to wait.
"You want some help?" Danny asks Amy when he lets her go, desperate to get rid of the damned quiz, but not so eager to get rid of his self-imposed quiz partner.
"Only when you're done," Amy says sternly, giving him a Look.
Danny sees Steve smirking from the doorway, and rolls his eyes. "Okay, god, fine," he grumbles, going to fetch the over mitts for her. "At least put these on until I'm here, just in case," he instructs while he rummages inside the cupboard by the dishwasher.
He turns to see Steve watching Amy curiously as she dries each ball of cheese, dips it into a bowl of flour, then inside the egg-and-milk mixture, and then rolls it in breadcrumbs before repeating the step with the other balls. He watches the batch she lifts out of the fryer with a deeply suspicious look on his face. His expression speaks clearly that he wants to say something stupid and misguided about the heaven that is deep-fried mozz balls.
"Do not even start, Captain Health Food," Danny advises, shooting him a warning glance.
Steve looks away from the mozz balls like they offend him on a level Danny cannot even comprehend, and turns to Danny with a smile of such affection that it knocks the breath out of him.
"I can come back tonight," Steve offers, with the air of making a huge concession, which, okay, spending another hour on the properties of food dye is unfounded, and also, offensive to Danny's bullshit-o-meter.
"What the hell, it's food dye, it's not curing world hunger, nor making anything explode in a ball of flames. Who cares what the hell makes it red, I don't even, who on this green rock in the middle of the ocean needs to know how to turn pineapple red, I just, this is too much."
Steve looks like he wants to say, 'nevertheless', in that Good Boy voice of his, and the set of his jaw and the slant of his eyebrows disabuse Danny of the notion he can win this one.
"Why do I even know you," Danny groans, slumping on the nearest chair at the kitchen table.
Amy pats him consolingly on the back, lips bitten together like she does when she's trying not to laugh in his face, and sets a plate of perfectly fried mozz balls in front of him, along with a bowl of homemade tomato sauce. Danny sighs, rubs his face, and looks at her.
"You are a national treasure, have I ever told you that, Amy, sweetheart. I love you so much."
"Love you too, Danno," Amy chirps, winking at him and shoving Steve in the chair next to him. "You're not going anywhere, Steve. Clara has some wholemeal bread in the pantry; would you like a ham sandwich while Danny clogs his arteries?"
"Yes please," Steve says, looking at her with so much love in his eyes that Danny glares irrationally down at his mozz balls, like it's their fault Steve has never looked at him like that.
Danny's still not switching to wholemeal anything for him, and that's that.
Steve never does manage to get Danny stuck back into the quiz prep; as soon as he starts making noises about getting back to work, the doorbell goes. This time Danny pads to the door himself, opening it to find Catherine on the other end, smiling winsomely at him.
"Catherine," Danny says instead of greeting, leaning on the door jamb. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Catherine grins. "We left a conversation unfinished the other night, and since the Dance is tomorrow, I figured we should get a few things clear beforehand, so there's no misunderstandings."
Danny lets her in, resigned to the house getting invaded by--what was the word? Kama' something? Natives, in any case. Complete with weird little customs like that hang loose sign that gets right up Danny's nose.
"Cath? What are you doing here?" Steve stands behind him when Danny turns, looking suspicious.
"Me and Danny, we've a conversation to finish. You are welcome to stay, of course, seeing as you're the topic."
"Catherine!"
It takes Danny a moment to realise he and Steve have spoken together. Catherine is grinning at them with every evidence of smug satisfaction. Steve and Danny stare at each other.
"In the living room, I think?" Catherine adds, turning smartly on her heel and leading the way like she owns the place.
Danny and Steve slump onto the sofa, still staring at her.
"Okay," she says, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Steve. Danny thinks you and I are dating."
Steve splutters, appearing to choke on thin air. Danny stares at him in shock. In all the time he's known Steve, he's never been this ungraceful.
"Danny," Catherine calls his attention back. "Listen. Steve and I are not dating. Steve has rather... different requirements of his dates."
Danny notices Steve glaring at her, making cut-throat actions like it could get her to stop talking. She just smiles at him. "I'm helping here, McGarrett, don't interrupt."
"What do you mean, different? Different how?" Danny asks, eyes flitting between her and Steve.
"Like having a cock," Catherine says bluntly. It's Danny's turn to choke. "I think you'll agree that I'm kind of lacking in that department."
When Danny looks at him, Steve has gone bright red, but as he watches, the blood drains from Steve's face when he turns to face him, looking for some reason pants-wettingly terrified. And then Danny's brain comes back online, and he works out why.
"Steve. Steven. Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to tell anyone," Danny tells him, trying to stop him from having what looks like a stroke.
"I don't think that's what he's worried about," Catherine hints, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, what, you think I'm going to run off, is that it? That would be pretty hypocritical of me, all things considered."
"Finally," Catherine sighs, standing up. "Well, my work here is done. Try not to fuck up again, Steve, really, it's not rocket science -- although something tells me you'd find it easier if it was."
She blows them a kiss and waves as she heads out of the room. They both hear the front door click, but neither looks away from the other.
"What did she mean, 'don't fuck up again'?" Danny asks, watching Steve's eyes intently while Steve tries to look anywhere but at him. "And why is she telling me all that stuff about you preferring--"
There's a red tinge to the part of Steve's face Danny can see, and his hands are squeezing together so tight in his lap that that his fingers are white from the pressure, and Danny must be some kind of idiot, because he had not seen that coming at all.
"Steve," he says gently, reaching over and prying one of his hands away from its tight clutch of the other. Steve looks down at his hand held snugly between Danny's, then lifts his eyes to Danny's face, hope and trepidation warring in his eyes. Danny smiles reassuringly, tightening his hold and rubbing a thumb over the back of Steve's hand, trying to look as encouraging and non-threatening as possible.
And then Steve's leaning forward, and his face is filling Danny's line of sight, and his eyelashes flutter to spread over his cheekbone, so thick and long that Danny kind of wants to count each and every one of them. Steve's breath floats over Danny's lips, warm and humid, and his other hand is slipping tentatively over the back of Danny's neck, touch so soft that Danny thinks he might be imagining it for a second.
The first brush of their lips makes Danny's stomach jump, pools warmth low in his body, makes his heart beat triple-time in his chest, makes him let out a harsh exhale into Steve's mouth. Danny presses closer awkwardly on the old-style velvet sofa, every movement a struggle except for that of his mouth, opening for Steve at the first shy touch of his tongue. Danny shivers; he can't help it, the moan that falls from Steve's throat is like a spark to dry tinder.
A loud crash coming from the kitchen make them spring apart like a bucket of cold water thrown over them. Danny licks his lips; they feel too warm, a little bruised, certainly reddened, if Steve's are anything to go by. Steve's hair sticks out a little from where Danny wormed his hand into it; his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and there's so much wonder and longing in them that Danny honestly can't draw breath for a moment.
Another crash from the kitchen and Danny's on his feet, irritation and elation and concern simmering inside him. He trails a hand over Steve's shoulder when he passes, because now that Steve's given him tacit permission to touch (and that kiss had better be one, or Danny is not going to be happy), he can't for the life of him stop. He feels the tension melting from Steve's frame at the casual, intimate touch, and he feels like his insides are melting, buzzing with excitement and arousal.
He finds Amy biting her lips and trying to fit a huge metal pot inside a second-level cupboard, balancing precariously on top of one of the kitchen chairs. He's over there in a flash, steadying the wobbling surface. She glances down gratefully and does a double-take when she sees Danny's face. Her lips form a silent "Oh"; she's always been way sharper than either him or Matty, despite being so much younger.
"I thought your friend left," she offers, stepping down and watching him carefully.
"She did," Danny says, and realises way too late that he'd had a perfect opportunity to throw her off the scent of him and Steve, but obviously his brain must have been too addled by that kiss to take advantage.
Amy's eyes are as wide as saucers, and Danny feels a spike of fear burst his befuddled bubble. "I mean--" he tries to correct himself, but it's way too late now; Amy's staring at him, blinking, looking like she's trying to reconcile her Danny to this version of him before her now. Oh god, if his sister hates him because he's into guys, Danny thinks he might just cry. It's the one thing he's most terrified of, he realises only now that there's a real chance it might come to pass.
They stare at each other helplessly, and Danny tries to read her eyes, her face, her thoughts, but for once his famed intuition fails him completely.
"Amy," he says, in a voice so small and scared that he barely recognises it.
Amy opens her mouth, shakes her head, and Danny 's heart drops through his chest to lodge somewhere around the soles of his feet. Oh god, what has he done?
But then Amy is launching forward, hugging him straight through the middle, her head only coming up to his sternum, burying itself in his chest.
"I love you, Danno," Amy says, squeezing hard. "Please stop looking at me like that."
Danny closes his arms around her, pulling her into him and squeezes his eyes tight as tears of relief threaten to spill. They stand like that for a while, until for the second time that day there's a shuffle in the doorway. Danny looks up to see Steve staring at them, fear in his own eyes, like he's only just realising all the possible implications of what they're doing. Danny wants to draw him into a hug, too, but Steve looks ready to bolt, and Danny feels his stomach turn to lead. If this is Steve freaking out, he doesn't think he could bear it without something breaking forever inside him.
Amy lets go, pulls back and notices Steve for the first time. She looks very serious when she walks up to him and pats his arm.
"I won't tell anyone, Steve. I promise."
Danny wonders if she even understands what that means to Steve, to him, what this thing coming to life between them even is, but Amy, god, he loves her so fiercely, his little guardian angel.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he says. "It's not that we're ashamed of it," he hurries to add, seeing Steve's face. "It's just that people might not understand."
"Well, that's stupid," Amy decides, in a way only an 11-year-old can. "You like Steve and Steve likes you. It's easy."
'If only,' Danny thinks even as he smiles at her.
---
He stands by the far end of the school gym, sliding a nervous hand down his good shirt, fiddling with the tie he'd borrowed from Jerry, a nice silver to offset the charcoal grey of the silk shirt. Clara had fixed it for him with eyes a few shades brighter than normal, and he'd pretended not to notice when she'd wiped her cheek discreetly while he was fiddling with his hair. It had grown much longer than the buzz he usually favours, and he'd had to slick it back over the top of his head. He kind of likes it.
He spots Malia in the distance, hanging on Keoki's arm as she makes it across the grass in higher heels than usual. Danny raises a hand in greeting and she smiles at him, making a beeline in his direction.
"Hi!" she says, kissing his cheek. "So glad you could make it, Danny!"
"Couldn't stay away," he says back wryly -- which is true; Meka had insisted he pick up Danny and drive him over, to make sure he didn't back out.
He still hasn't seen Steve, but Steve had made vague noises about picking up Catherine on his way, so Danny expects to see them here soon enough. He's kind of maybe a little bothered by Steve's insistence they meet here; hiding behind his best (girl)friend would not be too much of a surprise for Danny.
In fact, he might have spent the time since Steve left the afternoon before until right this minute trying to steel himself for the inevitable "Look, Danny" speech. Steve is the most popular guy in their year, a star football player, smart as all get out -- the list goes on and on. There is no way he would ever come out, and not for an angry blond Jersey shortstop at any rate. And then there's the issue with Matty, and fuck, that stings most of all, to know that something he has no control over could be the drop that tips the bucket in his disfavour.
He'd just been coming out of his English class yesterday when he'd heard Steve's furious voice, rising from the open passageway that lead to the rest of the grounds.
"...Only reason I'm not sending you to the Principal’s office is your brother, but pull one more stunt like that and you'll be in there faster than you can say your name."
And then what felt like his heart being cleaved in two; his brother's voice, sneering once again. "Fuck my brother. What are you, some kind of faggot?"
Danny had turned around and walked away as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, heart beating so fast he thought it would choke him right there in the corridor.
So the flock of pterodactyls is back in his stomach, and this time they brought friends. Surely Steve had changed his mind. Why else would he be picking Catherine up first, and insisting they should meet here? The thought is like a spike to Danny's chest, making him feel sick with dread. He couldn't blame Steve if he had, though.
A sudden commotion across the quad has the three of them turning to look, and there they are: Steven and Catherine, best looking couple in the school, her in a knee-length royal blue chiffon dress and him in his freshly awarded letter jacket. They look so glamorous Danny wants to cry with despair.
He watches miserably as they draw closer, both of them beaming, her hand curling through his arm in a gesture that screams of shared intimacy, of coupledom.
Catherine's disclosure feels like years away. And of course, Steve, who in their right mind would pass on that?
"Danny," Steve calls, breaking away from Catherine's side and coming to stand in front of him.
Danny tries to smile, but his heart feels too small and his chest feels too tight and all he wants to do is run away and hide for the rest of the year. Catherine doesn't look upset, though, merely benevolent. Danny can't make sense of them, at all. He looks up slowly into Steve's face, into eyes smiling fondly. Steve starts looking worried after a minute of standing there while Danny says nothing, just looks at him.
"Everything okay?" Steve says, looking around, like he could find the source of Danny's unhappiness.
Danny braces himself. "Just say it," he demands, looking at Steve's chin, because it takes more courage than he has to look into Steve's eyes and listen to him telling Danny how he's with Catherine now.
Steve looks confused. "Say what?" he asks, genuinely baffled.
"Come on, Steve," Danny mocks, lowering his voice. "You know what I'm talking about. You can't possibly want to still..." he trails off. He can't say it, not while his failure tastes like ashes in his mouth.
"Want to what? Danny, what are you talking about?"
"Look, I heard you scolding Matthew yesterday. I heard what he said to you. It's not good for you to be seen with me too much, people will start talking."
Steve's expression clears, and Danny is not at all expecting the roll of his eyes, or the gentle smile on his lips. "Danny Williams," Steve says, smile widening until there's a flash of teeth from between his lips. "You are worth all the talk in the world. Now get inside that gym before I carry you there."
Danny gapes at him, stunned. "You wouldn't," he says when he finds his voice, daring to hope again.
"Try me," Steve says dangerously, eyes heavy-lidded as he looks at Danny, lips curved in a challenging smirk. He would, too, Danny realises. He starts grinning.
An hour later, he's not grinning at all. He's bent in two, laughing his ass off, because there Steve is on the dancefloor, dancing with Malia -- well. 'Dancing' is being charitable. He's gyrating, looking more like a baby giraffe, all elbows and knees, moving to a rhythm that would have had him committed in another time and place.
"Is he always--" Danny gasps, wiping away a stray tear of mirth.
"Oh yeah," Catherine says, grinning broadly. "He was worse in fourth grade, if it's any consolation," she adds. "And I'm pretty sure he's not this uncoordinated between the sheets."
"Well, that's to be hoped for," Danny giggles, high on the thought that he might actually be allowed to find out. "Though I can't actually see how this could possibly be any worse."
"Trust me on this one," Catherine advises, affecting a shudder.
Just then Steve hops up to them, happy and sweaty and dishevelled, looking so gorgeous Danny wants to pull him down and kiss him, and never stop. He whips his letter jacket off his back, throwing it over Danny's shoulders.
"Here, keep this safe for me, Danno," he grins devilishly as Danny struggles with the heavy, damp fabric, glaring at Steve.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, straining to be heard over the music. "People will see!"
"Oh yeah?" Steve's grin sharpens, showing far too many teeth. "And what will they see?"
Danny splutters, hands fisting in the red-and-white jacket. It smells like Steve, and Danny is hard-pressed not to bury his face in it and breathe him in.
"They'll see that you're mine," Steve growls, shifting closer until they're toe to toe, looming over Danny with his damned 6'' height advantage that Danny does not find hot, not at all, really.
"O-kay, back off, Caveman," Danny grumbles, pushing him back until Danny can breathe again. His dress pants feel tight, worse still when Danny can feel Steve's muscles jumping against his palm, when Steve sways into his touch. "Right. We're getting out of here."
"Yeah?" Steve looks thrilled.
"Yeah. Hey, Catherine, you coming?"
"Uh, no!" she says, raising her eyebrow. "Not that I don't think you boys look ridiculously good together, but honestly, you think I want to watch my surrogate brother get it on with his beefcake boyfriend?"
Danny splutters again. "Beefcake?" he squeaks, not as manfully as he'd hoped. Steve flushes bright red, to the roots of his hair. "Beefcake, seriously?"
Catherine laughs, throwing Steve a wink. "Go away, you two, you're cramping my style. Patrick over there looks lonely," she says, pointing out the captain of the basketball team. At least she has some chance to match his height, Danny thinks, scowling.
Steve nudges his shoulder and nods at the door.
"Okay, okay, jeez, you'll get yours, big guy, don't worry," Danny bitches, waving distractedly at Malia, who is staring at the two of them with a thoughtful look on her face.
Steve gives up any semblance of patience and starts prodding Danny in the shoulder until he gets moving. Danny considers planting his feet; see how far McGarrett can move him when he doesn't want to be moved; but that would just be him cockblocking himself, so he relents.
The air outside is cool on his flushed skin, and he lifts his face into it gratefully. Steve stands shoulder to shoulder with him, looking up at the darkening sky.
"Where do you want to go?" Steve says, nudging him.
"Not the beach," Danny shoots back, and Steve looks down, making a face at him.
"I swear I don't get your beach phobia. Who doesn't like the beach?!"
"Me, I don't like the beach. I like cities, skyscrapers, tarmac."
"Tarmac, huh," Steve says, thoughtful.
"Okay, what is that look?" Danny demands.
"What look?" Steve blinks at him innocently.
"The one that's on your face, that look. I don't like it. Something tells me that look is not a fun look."
"It is too a fun look," Steve pouts.
"It's a look that brings to mind handguns and grenades," Danny insists, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Grenades? Danny--"
"Don't 'Danny' me, the last time I saw that look you asked me to go running with you up a damned mountain."
"It was only the park, I just thought it would be fun, but fine, no running."
"And now you're pouting. He's pouting. Why are you pouting?"
"I'm not pouting, I just don't understand how you think I'd take you somewhere dangerous, Danny. I thought you'd like it, it's green, it has nice plants, lots of grass."
"Why are we talking about the park again?" Danny asks, throwing his hands in the air, one of them still clutching the infamous letter jacket.
Steve stays silent, staring mulishly into the distance. Danny sighs, put-upon. Such high maintenance, his goof.
"Okay, all right, I apologise for insinuating you couldn't be fun. Tell me, Steven, of your plan for tonight. Where would you like to go?"
Steve sulks for a moment longer, then throws Danny a look. "I was going to suggest going for a drive."
"A drive, huh?" Danny considers. It's still fairly early, the air is just starting to lose the day's heat; a drive sounds perfect. "All right. I can get behind that idea."
And it is nice, Danny thinks, enclosed in the passenger seat of Steve's truck, watching the scenery pass by as they head higher and higher above the island. Eventually they come to a wider shoulder on the side of the road that overlooks the island, watching the city sprawl under them in all its glittering glory. Noise barely filters up here, and they're surrounded by the sounds of the night, creatures buzzing, chirping, crying out into the darkness. The crickets are so loud, Danny can barely hear himself think when Steve shuts off the engine and leans back. The black mass of the ocean takes up all the space to the horizon, a faint stripe of light to the west the only hint as to directions. The road behind them is quiet, but Danny spots another car not far off, and okay, he's not an idiot, he can guess what this place serves as most nights. He finds he doesn't care in the slightest, not when Steve is sitting next to him, relaxed and twitchy at the same time.
Steve makes a strangled sound in his throat when Danny thinks 'fuck it', leans over and kisses him, fits his mouth over Steve's and asks to be let inside. It's wet, and sloppy, and the angle is all wrong because Steve is too freakishly tall for it to be comfortable when he's just sitting there, but god, it's so good Danny reels from the pleasure, the need.
And then there are hands in his hair, and Steve is tilting his head, pushing him back and following, and suddenly sensation explodes in Danny's stomach, the feel of Steve hot, solid, right next to him and squirming closer, and Danny is overwhelmed with wanting more.
He leans back against the side door, slides down the seat until Steve is nearly lying on top of him, one knee crammed against the steering wheel and one mashed between Steve's hips and the edge of the seat, and fuck, it's uncomfortable, but Danny never wants it to stop.
Something out of place pokes at the edge of his hip, and he realises with a dizzying rush of need that it's Steve's cock, hard against him, rubbing little circles into the crease between Danny's thigh and groin. His legs fall open of their own volition, and he tugs Steve down by his shoulders, kissing him like he's starving and Steve is a delicious feast laid out just for him.
Steve grunts into the kiss, and it takes Danny a moment to realise it wasn't a grunt of pleasure. He pushes Steve back a little, just enough to break the kiss, but not so far that he'd have to stop touching him.
"What is it?" Danny asks, and barely recognises his own voice, heavy with arousal, rumbling in a way Danny had never heard himself before.
"'S nothing," Steve mutters, voice just as gone, but Danny notices the way he favours his elbow.
"Christ, this is ridiculous," Danny scoffs with as much anger as he can muster under the circumstances.
Steve looks hurt when Danny shoves him away for real this time and opens the door of the truck; he slumps dejectedly in his seat, until Danny opens the back door and quirks a suggestive eyebrow. Steve grins and scrambles to get out of the front seat, climbing quickly in the back and pulling Danny towards him again. Danny goes happily, plasters himself over Steve's lean frame, fits their hips together until they both groan into the kiss from the feel of it.
Danny ruts helplessly against Steve, quick jerks of the hips that line him up with Steve's heavy bulge in his own dress pants. He feels the faintly questioning tug on his waistline, and hurries to help, pushing aside belts and buttons and zips and underwear until there's only skin between them, and he's staring at Steve's cock, naked and flushed, twitching a little in the cool air. Steve squirms under Danny's scrutiny, pulls him back down until their cocks rub together, and oh god, why had no one ever told Danny it could feel like this, like there was no oxygen in the air, like the planet was burning up and they were right in the middle of it, drowning in each other's mouths, hands clutching desperately on shoulders and hips and backs.
Danny whines in the back of his throat when Steve bites at his lower lip, a little too sharply, too far gone for any kind of control. Danny pants in his mouth, hips jerking, smooth, slick skin sliding together, and no, Jesus, no, he can't hold on, oh god, he has to, oh, oh--
He blanks out for a little while, body tight and straining through his release, fingers digging into Steve's hips as he grunts and yells a little, enough for Steve to seal their lips together and swallow the sounds, keep them between them, quiet and secret and theirs. Danny feels wetness over his groin and stomach, and doesn't realise it's not just his until Steve throws his head back and stifles a moan in his throat, hands going lax over Danny's back, sliding off to rest against his sides. He's so beautiful like that, flushed and spent, chest heaving as he sucks in the humid air between the two of them, tongue probing over the lip Danny bit a little overenthusiastically, flicking back into his mouth.
They lie there and catch their breaths, cocks growing soft between them, still pressed together like that's where they belong. Danny wants to smack himself for the sappy thoughts, but since this is his first shared orgasm, he's just too loose and languid, and the impulse for violence appears greatly tempered by just how damn comfortable he's feeling, lying on top of Steve with his face buried in his neck.
Danny thinks he might understand what the big deal about sex is.
---
Part Four
Pairing: (central) Steve/Danny, many minor pairings.
Word Count: ~46,000 (~10,000 this part)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Graphic violence (of the fistcuffs variety), hints of child neglect at the start, minors fighting, minor character death (pre-story), canon character death, angst. Don't worry, though -- this is meant to be a happy story, I promise. We'll get there.
Part One | Part Two
Why, god, why did he let Catherine talk him into this; he really needs to learn how to resist those begging eyes of hers. He's only known her for, what, three weeks? And already he can't refuse her anything, even if she is his unreasonable crush's girlfriend. Although, it would be kind of fun to hang out with the others during the Homecoming game. He's spent the past couple Saturdays with them on that beach where they met the first time, even though Ailani was markedly absent. No one had said a word about it, though, and Danny hadn't cared enough to ask them about it.
It's just him, Catherine, Malia and Kamekona, though -- Steve, Joseph and Keoki are all on the team. They get sodas and hot dogs and nachos and all the terrible junk food Danny adores and Steve makes a face of impending doom at, and climb their way up in the stands, all the way to the top where there's still a few empty spaces. They settle down, juggling all their purchases, as well as the daft foam hand that Kamekona is waving around. Left to his own devices for a moment, Danny looks around at the crowd. He spots John McGarrett a few rows below him, as well as Jimmy and Chin on either side of him. They are chatting, heads close together; Danny knows how excited they've been about the game, it's all they've talked about for the past week.
"What'd I miss?" Meka says, shouldering his way past the others to drop on the other side of Danny, arms heaving with food.
"Not much, they aren't even ready to start," Danny says, taking Meka's coke off him so he can distribute the three massive buckets of popcorn around him, for maximum ease of reach. "Are you going to eat all that, Hanamoa? It's a wonder you aren't the size of a house already."
Meka narrows his eyes at Danny's own stash. "You say something, Jersey? I can't hear you over the sound of you crunching those disgusting nachos," he shoots back, and Danny grins. It had been a slow start between them, but three weeks after his haole dig on the beach, he and Danny are practically inseparable. It's probably due to their first baseball practice together -- Meka's friendly slap on the back, the "Not bad for a haole" that had been tinged with affection and honest appreciation.
Catherine leans across from Malia, catching Danny's eye and interrupting their friendly griping. "You going to the Homecoming Dance next week, Danny?"
"I don't know," Danny hedges, looking away. It would mean he'd have to invite someone to go as his date, and truthfully, he can't think of a more awkward way to spend an evening, hanging out with someone he barely knows.
"You must," Malia chimes in. "It's a great party! Oh, and don't worry about dates," she adds when she sees the nervous flicker of his eyes. "We're all going as a group."
Danny looks at her doubtfully. "Right, because no one will know Catherine and McGarrett are going together."
All of them stare at him for a long moment. "What?" he snaps, flushing and avoiding their eyes. Surely he wasn't being horribly obvious? Was his tone too bitter? Oh my god, he is such a moron.
Catherine starts laughing, an amused, joyful sound, but just shakes her head when he says "What?!" again.
"We'll talk about it later," she promises, and that's the last she'll say on the subject, no matter how hard Danny stares at her.
"Whoa," Meka says just then at his side, and Danny turns, worried Meka might have caught on to the mess going on in Danny's head, ridiculous as the thought is.
But Meka's not looking at him at all, and a second later Danny forgets all about Steve and Catherine and what an idiot he's made of himself. His eyes land on a familiar wavy head of hair -- Matty. He's sitting in the middle of a bunch of boys of varying ages, and Danny can see from all the way up here that they're bad news. They're wearing ripped jeans and T-shirts, some of them have buzz cuts, and all of them are yelling and laughing nastily. People circle them when they can, hurry past them when they have no other choice but to walk nearby. Danny sees one of them hike up the skirt of a sweet-looking girl trying to scuttle away unnoticed, the fear in her eyes, and his blood boils in his veins with the need to crash his way over there and lay the guy out cold.
"What the fuck?" he grits out.
"They're seriously bad news," Meka says, glaring down at them. "They just don't care. You can't threaten them into behaving, because most of them are delinquents with files in HPD. They're only tolerated because most of them are seniors and in a year they'll be gone. The hope is that the little gang will fall apart without its leaders."
Danny's eyes bore into the back of Matty's head. What the fucking hell is he thinking, getting involved with shitheads like that??
"Hey, man, you okay? We don't have much to do with them, and they blow school off most days anyway."
Danny grits his teeth so hard he thinks they might break under the strain. He doesn't notice the worried glances of the others. "That's my brother, third from the right," he forces out.
He does notice the quick, unsuppressed intakes of air from either side of him. He sends his friends a quick look, seeing his own worry reflected in their eyes.
"Danny, you have to do something. There's rumours of drugs and alcohol, and last month a 7-11 got held up, only no one could prove it's them."
Danny stares at his brother, unseeing. He'd had no idea Matty was that out of control. Jimmy's tight-lipped silences around him for the past week suddenly make much more sense. Jimmy must know Matty's gotten mixed up with that gang, but he hadn't told anyone.
"I'll talk to him," he says, just before the first whistle blows and he gets distracted. No way is he forgetting about it, though.
He gets lost in the game, and for as long as it lasts, he allows himself to watch Steve unrestrainedly. He is magnificent. Football has never been Danny's game, but he knows the basics well enough, and he enjoys a good show like any red-blooded American. But Steve's performance is something else. He is so light on his feet, so quick; there's barely the suggestion of movement from his teammates and Steve's there, ready to field the pass. He twists and turns and weaves, and as soon as he gets the slightest chance, he runs like he was made for it. Danny watches him score point after point, and there's nothing in his head but white noise, nothing but Steve.
He only comes out of what must have been nothing short of a trance when the half-time whistle sounds and he's wrenched back in the here-and-now, face red with excitement, neck sweaty and his pants so tight that just the thought of getting up is painful. This is a nightmare. Thank god no one around him is paying any attention to him when he appropriates a half-finished bucket of popcorn from Meka and plants it firmly over his groin.
"You go ahead," he tells the rest of them when they make noises of taking a breather. "I want a word with Jimmy and John McGarrett." The reason for it quickly takes care of his arousal.
The others nod with sympathetic looks on their faces, and leave him to struggle down to their level. The gang is gone by then; Danny doubts they'll be back, the game would be far too tame for them. He makes it to Jimmy, who's listening to John chatter with an indulgent look on his face. It slips off when he sees Danny fight his way to him determinedly. He must give John and Chin the heads-up, because when Danny reaches them, they have their cop faces firmly on.
"Jimmy," Danny starts, and sees Jimmy's eyes tighten.
"You've seen him?" Jimmy says, doing Danny the service of not pretending he doesn't know what this is about.
"Yeah. Why didn't you say anything?" Danny asks, not accusing, but he can't hide his anger at Matty.
"I didn't want to worry you and the girls. I should have known you'd find out," Jimmy says rueful, but there's a clear note of pride in his voice when he adds, "You're sharp as a tack, my boy."
Something tightens in Danny at the compliment, and the affection in Jimmy's voice.
"Does Clara know?" Danny asks, because he'd rather drink all of the poison while he's at it.
"Yeah, she knows," Jimmy sighs. "She knows about all of them, but there's nothing she can do about it -- nothing they do happens on school grounds, see, so she can't suspend them or expel them, and no one would come forward and give up any information. Everyone's just too afraid of them."
Danny sits heavily in the temporarily vacant seat next to Jimmy. "How the hell did he get mixed up with them so quickly?" he groans, rubbing at his face. "If I'd only seen it sooner--"
"Stop," Jimmy tells him, cop voice, demanding obedience. "Danny, there's nothing you could have done about it. Matthew has to see the truth for himself, or he might never leave that path."
"How can you be so calm?" Danny snaps, glaring at him. "You don't know what he might get himself into!"
Jimmy lays a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder. 'I have to trust that he's your brother," he says gently. "You're exceptional, Danny; your spirit, your integrity, the way you care for the others, it's a rare thing to find in one as young as you. I have to hope that Matthew's made of the same stock as you, no matter how angry and hurt he is right now."
Danny deflates, slumping against the back of the seat even as people start trickling back into the row.
"It'll be okay, kiddo," John says, clapping his knee across Jimmy's bulk. "We're keeping an eye on them. We'll make sure nothing too bad happens to your brother before we can catch the rest of them. Go on and enjoy the rest of the game."
Danny nods and stands, starts to make his way back to where he sees the others hovering, waiting for him. "Steve's pretty brilliant," he stops to say when he's just past John, grinning at him. John beams back.
"He broke the last of Chin's records tonight," John boasts. Danny slides his eyes to Chin, who's shaking his head ruefully.
"Damn haole," Chin grumbles, but he's grinning, too.
"Come on, Danny," Meka yells, waving.
"Okay," Danny yells back, and turns to say goodbye.
When he looks back, he sees the blush on Malia's face, the way she has eyes for no one but Chin, and thinks, Ah. He suddenly sees the 'going as a group to the dance' thing in a whole new light.
The second half of the game is just as exciting as the first. Danny narrows his eyes against the glare of the sun and squints at the field for all he's worth, following Steve's every move, wincing at the inevitable fumble, yelling himself hoarse with the rest of the audience when Steve scores yet another touchdown.
They win the game comfortably, and the team is triumphant in their jubilation, the obligatory chest thumps and hits on the helmets. At one point Steve gets hoisted up, breathless with laughter and cheering, and Danny lets his eyes linger for a moment, one last time when everyone's too distracted to pay any attention to what feels like the most obvious crush in the universe.
Steve spots him and jumps off his teammates' shoulders, running up to Danny and just beaming at him for a length of time that Danny completely blanks. He can't tear his eyes away from Steve's flushed face, drops of sweat training down his temple and dripping off the edge of his jaw, hazel eyes dancing with victory.
And then the rest of their group is there, and Steve gets lost under a pile of bodies as everyone throws themselves on him in celebration. Joseph trots up, and Danny claps his shoulder in congratulations. Joseph grins at him, just as sweaty and delicious-looking as Steve, and he's staring at Danny intently, but Danny just can't bring himself to do anything about it. The truth is, there's no one else for him on this island than the idiot wheezing with giggles in the middle of the group hug.
His eyes have drifted to Steve again without a conscious thought. When Danny looks back at Joseph, there's a knowing look in his eyes that says that while the rest of them have no idea what to look for, Joseph sure as hell does, and he knows exactly what he's seeing. Danny doesn't know what his face must look like -- he feels pretty panicked, so it's anyone's guess -- but Joseph shakes his head a little with a rueful smile, as if to say, 'your secret's safe with me', and Danny can just about breathe again.
"Party at Ailani's tonight," Meka tells him when he's extricated himself from the mess of limbs still on the ground. "You in?"
Yeah, no. No way is he going to Ailani's actual house, not when the girl clearly hates him. "No, man. I got other plans," he says, and ignores Steve's crestfallen look. He's not budging on this one, no matter what Steve says.
It would give him a chance to talk to Matty, at least.
---
There's only silence when he knocks on Matty's door a few hours later, but Danny can hear someone moving inside the bathroom next door, the whizz of some kind of machine inside.
"Matty?" Danny calls, knocking on the bathroom door again.
There is no answer, but the buzzing stops. The door opens a few minutes later, and Danny straightens from his slouch against the wall where he'd settled to wait. His jaw drops open when Matty steps out, stroking his newly shaved head.
"Like it?" Matty asks nastily, because he must know already that Danny really doesn't.
"Jesus, Matty," Danny sighs, and Matty scowls at him.
"What do you want?" Matty says lazily, like he couldn't care less. "I thought you were out partying with your friends," he sneers, brushing past Danny and going inside his room.
Danny follows, even though Matty pushes the door back, intending to close it. The room smells stale, like it's been days since the window had been open. His new clothes from Clara are in a tangle on the floor, clearly uncared for. Danny looks at the mess everywhere, and feels like crap that he hasn't managed to make Matty feel welcome here.
"I thought we could spend the evening together," he tries, but it's clearly too little too late.
"Oh yeah?" Matty sneers, bending down to grab a long-sleeved black shirt with Suck me bitch in spiky white letters on the front. Danny has no idea where he even got that, let alone who paid for it. He's starting to think that maybe no one did. "Well, I've got other plans. Hanging out with my friends."
"That bunch of scumbags? Matty, you can't be serious," Danny says, starting to get angry.
Matty's face is a picture of pure misery for a moment before it snaps back to the permanent sneer he seems to have adopted. It's so quick that Danny isn't even sure he saw it.
"Those 'scumbags' are fun, okay, big brother? Something there's not a lot of around here."
"Look, Matty--" Danny tries, but Matty just shoves him out of the room and follows, snapping the door closed behind him. "Those guys are dangerous," Danny yells at him, anything to make Matty snap out of this--this act.
"You're one to talk," Matty says dangerously, and Danny freezes. "Oh, yeah. You thought I didn't know about that? Big brother Danny, perfect student by day, beating the crap out of people at night. Because it's different when you do it, yeah?"
"It wasn't like that," Danny says, pleading.
"It was exactly like that," Matty yells in his face, eyes narrowed in contempt. "But I can't do it, because I'm not you? You hypocrite."
"At least they fought back," Danny yells back when Matty pushes past him. "I didn't gang up on anyone and beat the crap out of them because I could!"
Matty stops half-way down the stairs, head bowed. "Well, I guess I'm not you," he says quietly, and keeps walking.
Danny's legs give and he sits right where he is, fury and helplessness and despair tearing him to pieces from the inside out as he buries his head in his hands. He doesn't even realise someone else is there until Jimmy's said his name twice, right in his face; his arm snaps forward without conscious thought, and only Jimmy's lightning-fast reflexes save him from a broken nose.
Danny stares at his fist, horrified. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Jimmy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry--"
"Danny. Hey, hey, Danny, it's okay. Hey, look at me. It's okay. I'm sorry I startled you," Jimmy says, like he’s talking to a frightened animal, which is not very different from this particular setting. "That was my fault. Are you okay?"
Danny stares at him blankly, and he doesn't have the strength to keep his defences in place. "No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I don’t think I am."
"Okay," Jimmy says, "okay. Right. Put on your running shoes and come with me."
Danny doesn't question him, just walks in his wake meekly, does what he's told. He feels so lost that anyone else giving him directions is a relief.
"Sweetheart, we're going out," Jimmy yells in the direction of the kitchen, where Clara is roasting a joint of pork. "We'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay," Clara shouts back. Danny dimly thinks it must be nice to have a partner like that, who understands you without having to ask.
Like last time, Jimmy doesn't point him to the car; he leads the way to the road and starts jogging gently. Danny follows, and soon enough he realises just how damned much he's needed that, the simple rhythm of the pavement slapping against his soles, of yard after yard disappearing behind him.
He has no idea what direction they're running in, not until Jimmy makes a turn into a familiar driveway, and Danny realises he's at the McGarrett house. He falters for a moment, before he remembers Steve is out, having fun at the party, probably making out with Catherine to celebrate. The thought doesn't really make him feel any better.
John opens the door, takes one look at Danny and stands wordlessly aside. Jimmy walks past him with a quiet thanks. Danny doesn't say anything, but John doesn't seem to expect it.
"Can we use the back room, please, John?" Jimmy asks.
"Of course," John says.
Danny follows Jimmy through the kitchen, past a concerned-looking Laura cutting coloured paper at the kitchen table, through a doorway in the far wall. The room is small, and right in the centre of it a large sandbag hangs from a hook welded to the ceiling. It's the best thing Danny has seen all month.
A pair of light training gloves waver in his line of side. Danny grabs them, slips them on, and--
He comes to himself holding on to the sandbag, lungs heaving, absolutely drenched in sweat, muscles weak and shaking from the exertion he's just put them through. His legs tremble when he pushes back, and he just manages to make it to the wall before he's sliding down it in a heap of limbs and exhaustion.
His mind is a blissful blank. It's been so long, so fucking long, god, how had he survived so long without it? He closes his eyes, leans his head back, trying to catch his breath, and never wants to move again.
"Danny," he hears from the door, and he's so loose and relaxed he just rolls his head towards the voice. Jimmy's walking towards him, holding out a large bottle of water in his direction. "Drink. You've lost a lot of fluids."
Now that Jimmy mentions it, Danny feels the dehydration painting black splotches in the corners of his vision, and his stomach cramps at the thought of water. He takes the bottle from Jimmy's hands greedily, uncaps it and tilts it up into his mouth, drinking a third of it in one go.
Once he no longer feels like passing out, he looks up at Jimmy, at John hovering anxiously at the door. "Thank you," he says earnestly. "Thank you, I--I really needed that."
"Any time," John says, eyes running over Danny's sprawled body to make sure he's okay. "I mean it. Steve comes here to train, too; if you ask him, I'm sure he'd be happy to spar with you."
Danny's never been more grateful to be so tired out -- he doesn't even have the strength to blush, which is a small mercy, especially in the company of two shrewd cops, one of whom is his uncle and the other his hopeless crush's father. He would die of embarrassment.
Jimmy borrows John's car to drive them home, promising to be back to pick him up for work in the morning. Danny climbs inside gratefully, slumping in the seat. John and Laura wave them off from the front porch, holding hands. It's kind of sweet. Danny remembers his mom and dad doing that, when she'd still been with them.
Jimmy drives silently; it's less than five minutes to their house, so Danny doesn't have time to feel too awkward about his mini-breakdown. Jimmy parks behind his own truck and turns off the engine, but makes no move to get out of the car. Danny braces himself for whatever reproach is coming.
"You can't let it get to you like that," is what Jimmy says instead. "Clara tells me you want to be a cop; well, here's lesson one, kiddo -- you have to learn to distance yourself from the cases. I understand that Matthew's your brother, and you can't separate your love for him from your actions, or the way you see him; but Danny, you can't lose yourself like that, either. You have to create this space inside of you, where you can put all your emotions and all your pain, and lock it away until you're through the case, or the problem. If you want to use boxing to do that, fine. In fact, excellent. It'll look great on your CV when you apply for the Academy. Just remember that you can't change anything; you can just be there for Matthew when it all goes down in flames, which is pretty much inevitable. You have to let him make a few mistakes too, Danny; how else will he learn?"
Danny squeezes his eyes shut. Jimmy's right; he knows it, knew what Jimmy was saying even before he said it. It's not gonna be easy, but hell, he's got no choice but to try.
---
He doesn't see much of Steve or Catherine for the next week; as part of the student government, they are ridiculously busy getting the Homecoming Dance set up. Catherine still hasn't said anything as to what she wanted to talk about at the game, and Danny feels a little like he's drifting. Baseball practice is the only thing keeping him going right now, even though he won't actually get to play for months yet, seeing how it is still mid-October.
He can get lost in the game, though, much like he gets lost in boxing. Following the ball with his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet, just waiting to tag the direction it flies off in, working out his reaction time and them running as fast as his legs would take him in the direction of the base, the wind ruffling his hair lovingly as he pushes and pushes forward.
As it is, he really could do with having to go to practice. Right about now would be perfect, because it would mean he could stop slowly torturing his brain to death with AP Chemistry, something he is very quickly starting to regret ever considering taking. On top of everything, his stomach feels swollen, upset, like he's eaten something he really shouldn't. He knew he should have given that spaghetti bolognese a miss at the cafeteria; but no, they remind him of home, of New Jersey in the winter, never mind that they'd tasted nothing like his mom used to make.
All in all, not an ideal way to spend the Wednesday before the Homecoming Dance, but Mrs Kahele is an evil, evil being who had decided to schedule their monthly quiz for tomorrow, even if she is allowing them to work in pairs.
His stomach has stopped cramping, but he's still feeling a lot less human when there's a knock on the front door. He's sprawled all over the sofa in the living room, papers littering the space in a five foot radius all around him, and frankly, he just can't be bothered to get the hell up and answer the door. Luckily, Amy is an angel who is home from school early, and he hears her light steps in the corridor.
He quickly revises his estimate of Amy when she ushers Steve around the corner and into the living room, a sly, devious smile on her face. "Danny, Steve's here for you," she tells him, sing-song, while she winks at him behind Steve's back.
There should be a law against your own siblings knowing you better than they should. Amy knows he's been--not sulking, because Danny does not sulk, but certainly not up to his usual high standards of cheer, and it appears she's guessed the reason.
Oh course, that might be something to do with Danny grumbling to her about Steve being too busy with the damned Dance to spend any time with his friends, but that's beside the point.
"Steve, huh," he grumbles. Of course, of course Steve would pick the one time Danny could really do without him coming round to see him all splotchy and under the weather, to insert himself back in Danny's personal space.
"I came about the quiz thing," Steve says, all serious and solemn and Head Science Geek about it, before he frowns. "You okay?"
Danny waves a hand dismissively. "Ate something I shouldn't have--don't say a word, Steven, I know that look, and I've told you a million times, eating wholegrain everything cannot be good for you."
Steve snaps his mouth closed and glares. "Yet you're the one who's sick, while I'm the picture of health."
"Physical health, maybe," Danny lobs back, and he can't for the life of him stop himself from trailing an appreciative eye down Steve's undeniably picturesque body.
When he looks back up, Steve is watching him oddly, looming over him where Danny still sprawls over the cushions.
"Fuck's sake, sit, my neck hurts from craning to see you all the way up there," Danny grouches, waving a hand at the spare armchair.
Steve completely ignores him, pushing Danny's legs off one end of the sofa and throwing himself onto it. Danny immediately swings his feet back up, depositing them in Steve's lap with possibly unnecessary force. Steve grunts a little, but doesn't push him off. It's kind of nice.
Danny ends up with papers stacked over his legs, watching Steve slip that lucky, lucky pencil in and out of his mouth, chewing on the end. Danny shuffles the papers over his chest until most of them end up in his lap.
"So," Steve says, attention absorbed by learning how to blow things up at will. "A 140.0g sample of water at 25.0 degrees Celsius is mixed with 100.0g of an unknown metal at 100.0 degrees Celsius. The final temperature of the mixture is 29.6 degrees Celsius. What is the heat capacity of the metal?"
Danny settles down to work with a resigned huff.
It takes him a surprisingly long time to get sick of the damned quiz. "Time out, time out, fuck, McGarrett, how can you still keep going, it's been an hour of non-stop torture, Jesus, you are a robot. Let's take a break, yeah?"
Steve looks pained, but relents. Probably bad form of Danny to stop him while he's having so much fun, but Danny's brain is going to blow if it doesn't have a ten minute break to decompress. He sighs gratefully and lets his head rest back onto the arm of the sofa while he stretches, heels digging into Steve's thighs. He should probably be worried he finds that so hot, but touching any part of Steve can send him into flames on the best of days.
The fire alarm in the kitchen goes off mid-stretch, and Danny ignores yet another strange look on Steve's face in favour of stopping the house from burning down. He hightails it off the sofa and rounds the corner at a jog.
Amy looks sheepish from her spot by the deep fryer. "I forgot to put the lid on," she confesses. "Sorry for interrupting, Danno."
Danny sighs, leaning on the counter next to her. "It's okay, babe. We were just about to take a break anyway."
Amy looks at him knowingly, like she knows she's just saved him from imminent brain melt. Danny ignores her, staring at the deep fryer and then back at Amy.
"Are you making..." he trails off, which of course she is, she can't be bribed anywhere near the fryer for anything other than deep-fried mozz balls, even though Danny's the only person who eats them, now that mom's gone. His heart does a funny squeezy-flip kind of a thing as he watches Amy avoid his eyes.
"You weren't feeling well, so I thought..." she hedges, throwing him a quick look under her eyelashes.
Danny can't help himself -- he catches her shoulders and draws her closer, folds himself around her until her forehead is leaning on his chest and his head rests on top of hers. She slips her thin arms around him, tightens them a little, burrows closer.
They stay like that for a while, until Danny hears a shuffling sound at the door and finds Steve standing there, looking unsure. Danny smiles at him encouragingly, and Steve settles his shoulder on the door frame, content to wait.
"You want some help?" Danny asks Amy when he lets her go, desperate to get rid of the damned quiz, but not so eager to get rid of his self-imposed quiz partner.
"Only when you're done," Amy says sternly, giving him a Look.
Danny sees Steve smirking from the doorway, and rolls his eyes. "Okay, god, fine," he grumbles, going to fetch the over mitts for her. "At least put these on until I'm here, just in case," he instructs while he rummages inside the cupboard by the dishwasher.
He turns to see Steve watching Amy curiously as she dries each ball of cheese, dips it into a bowl of flour, then inside the egg-and-milk mixture, and then rolls it in breadcrumbs before repeating the step with the other balls. He watches the batch she lifts out of the fryer with a deeply suspicious look on his face. His expression speaks clearly that he wants to say something stupid and misguided about the heaven that is deep-fried mozz balls.
"Do not even start, Captain Health Food," Danny advises, shooting him a warning glance.
Steve looks away from the mozz balls like they offend him on a level Danny cannot even comprehend, and turns to Danny with a smile of such affection that it knocks the breath out of him.
"I can come back tonight," Steve offers, with the air of making a huge concession, which, okay, spending another hour on the properties of food dye is unfounded, and also, offensive to Danny's bullshit-o-meter.
"What the hell, it's food dye, it's not curing world hunger, nor making anything explode in a ball of flames. Who cares what the hell makes it red, I don't even, who on this green rock in the middle of the ocean needs to know how to turn pineapple red, I just, this is too much."
Steve looks like he wants to say, 'nevertheless', in that Good Boy voice of his, and the set of his jaw and the slant of his eyebrows disabuse Danny of the notion he can win this one.
"Why do I even know you," Danny groans, slumping on the nearest chair at the kitchen table.
Amy pats him consolingly on the back, lips bitten together like she does when she's trying not to laugh in his face, and sets a plate of perfectly fried mozz balls in front of him, along with a bowl of homemade tomato sauce. Danny sighs, rubs his face, and looks at her.
"You are a national treasure, have I ever told you that, Amy, sweetheart. I love you so much."
"Love you too, Danno," Amy chirps, winking at him and shoving Steve in the chair next to him. "You're not going anywhere, Steve. Clara has some wholemeal bread in the pantry; would you like a ham sandwich while Danny clogs his arteries?"
"Yes please," Steve says, looking at her with so much love in his eyes that Danny glares irrationally down at his mozz balls, like it's their fault Steve has never looked at him like that.
Danny's still not switching to wholemeal anything for him, and that's that.
Steve never does manage to get Danny stuck back into the quiz prep; as soon as he starts making noises about getting back to work, the doorbell goes. This time Danny pads to the door himself, opening it to find Catherine on the other end, smiling winsomely at him.
"Catherine," Danny says instead of greeting, leaning on the door jamb. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Catherine grins. "We left a conversation unfinished the other night, and since the Dance is tomorrow, I figured we should get a few things clear beforehand, so there's no misunderstandings."
Danny lets her in, resigned to the house getting invaded by--what was the word? Kama' something? Natives, in any case. Complete with weird little customs like that hang loose sign that gets right up Danny's nose.
"Cath? What are you doing here?" Steve stands behind him when Danny turns, looking suspicious.
"Me and Danny, we've a conversation to finish. You are welcome to stay, of course, seeing as you're the topic."
"Catherine!"
It takes Danny a moment to realise he and Steve have spoken together. Catherine is grinning at them with every evidence of smug satisfaction. Steve and Danny stare at each other.
"In the living room, I think?" Catherine adds, turning smartly on her heel and leading the way like she owns the place.
Danny and Steve slump onto the sofa, still staring at her.
"Okay," she says, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Steve. Danny thinks you and I are dating."
Steve splutters, appearing to choke on thin air. Danny stares at him in shock. In all the time he's known Steve, he's never been this ungraceful.
"Danny," Catherine calls his attention back. "Listen. Steve and I are not dating. Steve has rather... different requirements of his dates."
Danny notices Steve glaring at her, making cut-throat actions like it could get her to stop talking. She just smiles at him. "I'm helping here, McGarrett, don't interrupt."
"What do you mean, different? Different how?" Danny asks, eyes flitting between her and Steve.
"Like having a cock," Catherine says bluntly. It's Danny's turn to choke. "I think you'll agree that I'm kind of lacking in that department."
When Danny looks at him, Steve has gone bright red, but as he watches, the blood drains from Steve's face when he turns to face him, looking for some reason pants-wettingly terrified. And then Danny's brain comes back online, and he works out why.
"Steve. Steven. Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to tell anyone," Danny tells him, trying to stop him from having what looks like a stroke.
"I don't think that's what he's worried about," Catherine hints, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, what, you think I'm going to run off, is that it? That would be pretty hypocritical of me, all things considered."
"Finally," Catherine sighs, standing up. "Well, my work here is done. Try not to fuck up again, Steve, really, it's not rocket science -- although something tells me you'd find it easier if it was."
She blows them a kiss and waves as she heads out of the room. They both hear the front door click, but neither looks away from the other.
"What did she mean, 'don't fuck up again'?" Danny asks, watching Steve's eyes intently while Steve tries to look anywhere but at him. "And why is she telling me all that stuff about you preferring--"
There's a red tinge to the part of Steve's face Danny can see, and his hands are squeezing together so tight in his lap that that his fingers are white from the pressure, and Danny must be some kind of idiot, because he had not seen that coming at all.
"Steve," he says gently, reaching over and prying one of his hands away from its tight clutch of the other. Steve looks down at his hand held snugly between Danny's, then lifts his eyes to Danny's face, hope and trepidation warring in his eyes. Danny smiles reassuringly, tightening his hold and rubbing a thumb over the back of Steve's hand, trying to look as encouraging and non-threatening as possible.
And then Steve's leaning forward, and his face is filling Danny's line of sight, and his eyelashes flutter to spread over his cheekbone, so thick and long that Danny kind of wants to count each and every one of them. Steve's breath floats over Danny's lips, warm and humid, and his other hand is slipping tentatively over the back of Danny's neck, touch so soft that Danny thinks he might be imagining it for a second.
The first brush of their lips makes Danny's stomach jump, pools warmth low in his body, makes his heart beat triple-time in his chest, makes him let out a harsh exhale into Steve's mouth. Danny presses closer awkwardly on the old-style velvet sofa, every movement a struggle except for that of his mouth, opening for Steve at the first shy touch of his tongue. Danny shivers; he can't help it, the moan that falls from Steve's throat is like a spark to dry tinder.
A loud crash coming from the kitchen make them spring apart like a bucket of cold water thrown over them. Danny licks his lips; they feel too warm, a little bruised, certainly reddened, if Steve's are anything to go by. Steve's hair sticks out a little from where Danny wormed his hand into it; his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and there's so much wonder and longing in them that Danny honestly can't draw breath for a moment.
Another crash from the kitchen and Danny's on his feet, irritation and elation and concern simmering inside him. He trails a hand over Steve's shoulder when he passes, because now that Steve's given him tacit permission to touch (and that kiss had better be one, or Danny is not going to be happy), he can't for the life of him stop. He feels the tension melting from Steve's frame at the casual, intimate touch, and he feels like his insides are melting, buzzing with excitement and arousal.
He finds Amy biting her lips and trying to fit a huge metal pot inside a second-level cupboard, balancing precariously on top of one of the kitchen chairs. He's over there in a flash, steadying the wobbling surface. She glances down gratefully and does a double-take when she sees Danny's face. Her lips form a silent "Oh"; she's always been way sharper than either him or Matty, despite being so much younger.
"I thought your friend left," she offers, stepping down and watching him carefully.
"She did," Danny says, and realises way too late that he'd had a perfect opportunity to throw her off the scent of him and Steve, but obviously his brain must have been too addled by that kiss to take advantage.
Amy's eyes are as wide as saucers, and Danny feels a spike of fear burst his befuddled bubble. "I mean--" he tries to correct himself, but it's way too late now; Amy's staring at him, blinking, looking like she's trying to reconcile her Danny to this version of him before her now. Oh god, if his sister hates him because he's into guys, Danny thinks he might just cry. It's the one thing he's most terrified of, he realises only now that there's a real chance it might come to pass.
They stare at each other helplessly, and Danny tries to read her eyes, her face, her thoughts, but for once his famed intuition fails him completely.
"Amy," he says, in a voice so small and scared that he barely recognises it.
Amy opens her mouth, shakes her head, and Danny 's heart drops through his chest to lodge somewhere around the soles of his feet. Oh god, what has he done?
But then Amy is launching forward, hugging him straight through the middle, her head only coming up to his sternum, burying itself in his chest.
"I love you, Danno," Amy says, squeezing hard. "Please stop looking at me like that."
Danny closes his arms around her, pulling her into him and squeezes his eyes tight as tears of relief threaten to spill. They stand like that for a while, until for the second time that day there's a shuffle in the doorway. Danny looks up to see Steve staring at them, fear in his own eyes, like he's only just realising all the possible implications of what they're doing. Danny wants to draw him into a hug, too, but Steve looks ready to bolt, and Danny feels his stomach turn to lead. If this is Steve freaking out, he doesn't think he could bear it without something breaking forever inside him.
Amy lets go, pulls back and notices Steve for the first time. She looks very serious when she walks up to him and pats his arm.
"I won't tell anyone, Steve. I promise."
Danny wonders if she even understands what that means to Steve, to him, what this thing coming to life between them even is, but Amy, god, he loves her so fiercely, his little guardian angel.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he says. "It's not that we're ashamed of it," he hurries to add, seeing Steve's face. "It's just that people might not understand."
"Well, that's stupid," Amy decides, in a way only an 11-year-old can. "You like Steve and Steve likes you. It's easy."
'If only,' Danny thinks even as he smiles at her.
---
He stands by the far end of the school gym, sliding a nervous hand down his good shirt, fiddling with the tie he'd borrowed from Jerry, a nice silver to offset the charcoal grey of the silk shirt. Clara had fixed it for him with eyes a few shades brighter than normal, and he'd pretended not to notice when she'd wiped her cheek discreetly while he was fiddling with his hair. It had grown much longer than the buzz he usually favours, and he'd had to slick it back over the top of his head. He kind of likes it.
He spots Malia in the distance, hanging on Keoki's arm as she makes it across the grass in higher heels than usual. Danny raises a hand in greeting and she smiles at him, making a beeline in his direction.
"Hi!" she says, kissing his cheek. "So glad you could make it, Danny!"
"Couldn't stay away," he says back wryly -- which is true; Meka had insisted he pick up Danny and drive him over, to make sure he didn't back out.
He still hasn't seen Steve, but Steve had made vague noises about picking up Catherine on his way, so Danny expects to see them here soon enough. He's kind of maybe a little bothered by Steve's insistence they meet here; hiding behind his best (girl)friend would not be too much of a surprise for Danny.
In fact, he might have spent the time since Steve left the afternoon before until right this minute trying to steel himself for the inevitable "Look, Danny" speech. Steve is the most popular guy in their year, a star football player, smart as all get out -- the list goes on and on. There is no way he would ever come out, and not for an angry blond Jersey shortstop at any rate. And then there's the issue with Matty, and fuck, that stings most of all, to know that something he has no control over could be the drop that tips the bucket in his disfavour.
He'd just been coming out of his English class yesterday when he'd heard Steve's furious voice, rising from the open passageway that lead to the rest of the grounds.
"...Only reason I'm not sending you to the Principal’s office is your brother, but pull one more stunt like that and you'll be in there faster than you can say your name."
And then what felt like his heart being cleaved in two; his brother's voice, sneering once again. "Fuck my brother. What are you, some kind of faggot?"
Danny had turned around and walked away as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, heart beating so fast he thought it would choke him right there in the corridor.
So the flock of pterodactyls is back in his stomach, and this time they brought friends. Surely Steve had changed his mind. Why else would he be picking Catherine up first, and insisting they should meet here? The thought is like a spike to Danny's chest, making him feel sick with dread. He couldn't blame Steve if he had, though.
A sudden commotion across the quad has the three of them turning to look, and there they are: Steven and Catherine, best looking couple in the school, her in a knee-length royal blue chiffon dress and him in his freshly awarded letter jacket. They look so glamorous Danny wants to cry with despair.
He watches miserably as they draw closer, both of them beaming, her hand curling through his arm in a gesture that screams of shared intimacy, of coupledom.
Catherine's disclosure feels like years away. And of course, Steve, who in their right mind would pass on that?
"Danny," Steve calls, breaking away from Catherine's side and coming to stand in front of him.
Danny tries to smile, but his heart feels too small and his chest feels too tight and all he wants to do is run away and hide for the rest of the year. Catherine doesn't look upset, though, merely benevolent. Danny can't make sense of them, at all. He looks up slowly into Steve's face, into eyes smiling fondly. Steve starts looking worried after a minute of standing there while Danny says nothing, just looks at him.
"Everything okay?" Steve says, looking around, like he could find the source of Danny's unhappiness.
Danny braces himself. "Just say it," he demands, looking at Steve's chin, because it takes more courage than he has to look into Steve's eyes and listen to him telling Danny how he's with Catherine now.
Steve looks confused. "Say what?" he asks, genuinely baffled.
"Come on, Steve," Danny mocks, lowering his voice. "You know what I'm talking about. You can't possibly want to still..." he trails off. He can't say it, not while his failure tastes like ashes in his mouth.
"Want to what? Danny, what are you talking about?"
"Look, I heard you scolding Matthew yesterday. I heard what he said to you. It's not good for you to be seen with me too much, people will start talking."
Steve's expression clears, and Danny is not at all expecting the roll of his eyes, or the gentle smile on his lips. "Danny Williams," Steve says, smile widening until there's a flash of teeth from between his lips. "You are worth all the talk in the world. Now get inside that gym before I carry you there."
Danny gapes at him, stunned. "You wouldn't," he says when he finds his voice, daring to hope again.
"Try me," Steve says dangerously, eyes heavy-lidded as he looks at Danny, lips curved in a challenging smirk. He would, too, Danny realises. He starts grinning.
An hour later, he's not grinning at all. He's bent in two, laughing his ass off, because there Steve is on the dancefloor, dancing with Malia -- well. 'Dancing' is being charitable. He's gyrating, looking more like a baby giraffe, all elbows and knees, moving to a rhythm that would have had him committed in another time and place.
"Is he always--" Danny gasps, wiping away a stray tear of mirth.
"Oh yeah," Catherine says, grinning broadly. "He was worse in fourth grade, if it's any consolation," she adds. "And I'm pretty sure he's not this uncoordinated between the sheets."
"Well, that's to be hoped for," Danny giggles, high on the thought that he might actually be allowed to find out. "Though I can't actually see how this could possibly be any worse."
"Trust me on this one," Catherine advises, affecting a shudder.
Just then Steve hops up to them, happy and sweaty and dishevelled, looking so gorgeous Danny wants to pull him down and kiss him, and never stop. He whips his letter jacket off his back, throwing it over Danny's shoulders.
"Here, keep this safe for me, Danno," he grins devilishly as Danny struggles with the heavy, damp fabric, glaring at Steve.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, straining to be heard over the music. "People will see!"
"Oh yeah?" Steve's grin sharpens, showing far too many teeth. "And what will they see?"
Danny splutters, hands fisting in the red-and-white jacket. It smells like Steve, and Danny is hard-pressed not to bury his face in it and breathe him in.
"They'll see that you're mine," Steve growls, shifting closer until they're toe to toe, looming over Danny with his damned 6'' height advantage that Danny does not find hot, not at all, really.
"O-kay, back off, Caveman," Danny grumbles, pushing him back until Danny can breathe again. His dress pants feel tight, worse still when Danny can feel Steve's muscles jumping against his palm, when Steve sways into his touch. "Right. We're getting out of here."
"Yeah?" Steve looks thrilled.
"Yeah. Hey, Catherine, you coming?"
"Uh, no!" she says, raising her eyebrow. "Not that I don't think you boys look ridiculously good together, but honestly, you think I want to watch my surrogate brother get it on with his beefcake boyfriend?"
Danny splutters again. "Beefcake?" he squeaks, not as manfully as he'd hoped. Steve flushes bright red, to the roots of his hair. "Beefcake, seriously?"
Catherine laughs, throwing Steve a wink. "Go away, you two, you're cramping my style. Patrick over there looks lonely," she says, pointing out the captain of the basketball team. At least she has some chance to match his height, Danny thinks, scowling.
Steve nudges his shoulder and nods at the door.
"Okay, okay, jeez, you'll get yours, big guy, don't worry," Danny bitches, waving distractedly at Malia, who is staring at the two of them with a thoughtful look on her face.
Steve gives up any semblance of patience and starts prodding Danny in the shoulder until he gets moving. Danny considers planting his feet; see how far McGarrett can move him when he doesn't want to be moved; but that would just be him cockblocking himself, so he relents.
The air outside is cool on his flushed skin, and he lifts his face into it gratefully. Steve stands shoulder to shoulder with him, looking up at the darkening sky.
"Where do you want to go?" Steve says, nudging him.
"Not the beach," Danny shoots back, and Steve looks down, making a face at him.
"I swear I don't get your beach phobia. Who doesn't like the beach?!"
"Me, I don't like the beach. I like cities, skyscrapers, tarmac."
"Tarmac, huh," Steve says, thoughtful.
"Okay, what is that look?" Danny demands.
"What look?" Steve blinks at him innocently.
"The one that's on your face, that look. I don't like it. Something tells me that look is not a fun look."
"It is too a fun look," Steve pouts.
"It's a look that brings to mind handguns and grenades," Danny insists, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Grenades? Danny--"
"Don't 'Danny' me, the last time I saw that look you asked me to go running with you up a damned mountain."
"It was only the park, I just thought it would be fun, but fine, no running."
"And now you're pouting. He's pouting. Why are you pouting?"
"I'm not pouting, I just don't understand how you think I'd take you somewhere dangerous, Danny. I thought you'd like it, it's green, it has nice plants, lots of grass."
"Why are we talking about the park again?" Danny asks, throwing his hands in the air, one of them still clutching the infamous letter jacket.
Steve stays silent, staring mulishly into the distance. Danny sighs, put-upon. Such high maintenance, his goof.
"Okay, all right, I apologise for insinuating you couldn't be fun. Tell me, Steven, of your plan for tonight. Where would you like to go?"
Steve sulks for a moment longer, then throws Danny a look. "I was going to suggest going for a drive."
"A drive, huh?" Danny considers. It's still fairly early, the air is just starting to lose the day's heat; a drive sounds perfect. "All right. I can get behind that idea."
And it is nice, Danny thinks, enclosed in the passenger seat of Steve's truck, watching the scenery pass by as they head higher and higher above the island. Eventually they come to a wider shoulder on the side of the road that overlooks the island, watching the city sprawl under them in all its glittering glory. Noise barely filters up here, and they're surrounded by the sounds of the night, creatures buzzing, chirping, crying out into the darkness. The crickets are so loud, Danny can barely hear himself think when Steve shuts off the engine and leans back. The black mass of the ocean takes up all the space to the horizon, a faint stripe of light to the west the only hint as to directions. The road behind them is quiet, but Danny spots another car not far off, and okay, he's not an idiot, he can guess what this place serves as most nights. He finds he doesn't care in the slightest, not when Steve is sitting next to him, relaxed and twitchy at the same time.
Steve makes a strangled sound in his throat when Danny thinks 'fuck it', leans over and kisses him, fits his mouth over Steve's and asks to be let inside. It's wet, and sloppy, and the angle is all wrong because Steve is too freakishly tall for it to be comfortable when he's just sitting there, but god, it's so good Danny reels from the pleasure, the need.
And then there are hands in his hair, and Steve is tilting his head, pushing him back and following, and suddenly sensation explodes in Danny's stomach, the feel of Steve hot, solid, right next to him and squirming closer, and Danny is overwhelmed with wanting more.
He leans back against the side door, slides down the seat until Steve is nearly lying on top of him, one knee crammed against the steering wheel and one mashed between Steve's hips and the edge of the seat, and fuck, it's uncomfortable, but Danny never wants it to stop.
Something out of place pokes at the edge of his hip, and he realises with a dizzying rush of need that it's Steve's cock, hard against him, rubbing little circles into the crease between Danny's thigh and groin. His legs fall open of their own volition, and he tugs Steve down by his shoulders, kissing him like he's starving and Steve is a delicious feast laid out just for him.
Steve grunts into the kiss, and it takes Danny a moment to realise it wasn't a grunt of pleasure. He pushes Steve back a little, just enough to break the kiss, but not so far that he'd have to stop touching him.
"What is it?" Danny asks, and barely recognises his own voice, heavy with arousal, rumbling in a way Danny had never heard himself before.
"'S nothing," Steve mutters, voice just as gone, but Danny notices the way he favours his elbow.
"Christ, this is ridiculous," Danny scoffs with as much anger as he can muster under the circumstances.
Steve looks hurt when Danny shoves him away for real this time and opens the door of the truck; he slumps dejectedly in his seat, until Danny opens the back door and quirks a suggestive eyebrow. Steve grins and scrambles to get out of the front seat, climbing quickly in the back and pulling Danny towards him again. Danny goes happily, plasters himself over Steve's lean frame, fits their hips together until they both groan into the kiss from the feel of it.
Danny ruts helplessly against Steve, quick jerks of the hips that line him up with Steve's heavy bulge in his own dress pants. He feels the faintly questioning tug on his waistline, and hurries to help, pushing aside belts and buttons and zips and underwear until there's only skin between them, and he's staring at Steve's cock, naked and flushed, twitching a little in the cool air. Steve squirms under Danny's scrutiny, pulls him back down until their cocks rub together, and oh god, why had no one ever told Danny it could feel like this, like there was no oxygen in the air, like the planet was burning up and they were right in the middle of it, drowning in each other's mouths, hands clutching desperately on shoulders and hips and backs.
Danny whines in the back of his throat when Steve bites at his lower lip, a little too sharply, too far gone for any kind of control. Danny pants in his mouth, hips jerking, smooth, slick skin sliding together, and no, Jesus, no, he can't hold on, oh god, he has to, oh, oh--
He blanks out for a little while, body tight and straining through his release, fingers digging into Steve's hips as he grunts and yells a little, enough for Steve to seal their lips together and swallow the sounds, keep them between them, quiet and secret and theirs. Danny feels wetness over his groin and stomach, and doesn't realise it's not just his until Steve throws his head back and stifles a moan in his throat, hands going lax over Danny's back, sliding off to rest against his sides. He's so beautiful like that, flushed and spent, chest heaving as he sucks in the humid air between the two of them, tongue probing over the lip Danny bit a little overenthusiastically, flicking back into his mouth.
They lie there and catch their breaths, cocks growing soft between them, still pressed together like that's where they belong. Danny wants to smack himself for the sappy thoughts, but since this is his first shared orgasm, he's just too loose and languid, and the impulse for violence appears greatly tempered by just how damn comfortable he's feeling, lying on top of Steve with his face buried in his neck.
Danny thinks he might understand what the big deal about sex is.
---
Part Four
