The last chapter, and this story is now complete!
Thank you if you've been along for the ride, and I really appreciate all the comments and criticism which have helped create this story.
If you people weren't there, I wouldn't be writing this.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend."

- Albert Camus -

12. EPILOGUE

'Hey babe, they told me you're doing better. You being a stubborn Ninja SEAL does pay off sometimes, huh?'

The voice reaches down to him, the words filtering down to the place where he's suspended, quietly healing. This time, however, he actually feels the hand that accompanies the voice, senses it gently rubbing his arm. And this time, the effort to surface is just minimal, taking him mere seconds to open his eyes.

"Hey."

The voice is gravelly and hoarse from the combination of having been intubated, the damaged trachea as well as not having used it for a while, but it's Steve's; just as the eyes looking at Danny are Steve's. Danny can't really describe the emotions currently surging through him like a tidal wave; Steve looking at him, talking to him.

"Wheelchair ... why?"

A little frown has appeared above the slate gray eyes, the color an indication of how far Steve has yet to go before he even comes close to being better. They're staring at the wheelchair Danny sits in, then move back up to his face with a quizzical look.

"Oh ... this thing?" Danny taps the arm rest, looking down at it to buy himself some time in order to get rid of the lump in his throat. "I'm just being lazy, you know; spending so much time with you in hospital has just worn me out." He winks at Steve, knowing he won't buy his story, but trying nonetheless. The frown on his friend's face deepens.

"Liar. Sweats. Slippahs. Also, IV." Steve's eyes pointedly rest on each item before looking Danny in the eye again. "Why? No BS."

Danny sighs. He's trying to come up with some explanation which won't upset Steve unnecessarily, as it's obvious nobody has enlightened him yet with regard to the incident that got him shot. However, lying has never been one of his strong points. "I, ehm ... I may have gotten shot." He cocks his head, waiting for the reaction he's certain will come.

"Shot?!" Raising his voice causes Steve to cough, a deep, rattling sound which results in a painful grimace. Danny moves forward, placing his hand on Steve's arm again, trying to calm him down.

"Hey, hey, easy there, babe. I'm still here, see? They got the bullet out and I'll be right as rain before you can say 'I love pineapples'." He watches as the worn out joke puts a little smile on Steve's lips, then sighs as it quickly disappears and is replaced by another frown.

"Shot ... who? How?"

A calm voice from the doorway answers before Danny has the chance.

"Danny jumped in front of the bullet your old friend Peter Wright intended to kill you with." Danny turns around, raising an eyebrow at Chin.

"Obviously Steve's not the only ninja on our team. Sneaky, aren't we?" Danny meets the wink he receives with a huff. "Devious, the whole bunch of you. That includes your cousin and," he turns around and points at Steve, "you as well. It would've been nice if a mention of these nefarious activities had been described in the contract before I signed. That, or a warning: Beware, joining Five-0 means exposure to stealthy individuals who tend to lurk out of sight. A mention of being shot on a regular basis, or sprouting untimely gray hairs from worrying about one's partner would've been nice as well."

Danny sighs.

"You regret ... joining?"

Rolling his eyes, Danny shakes his head at Steve's soft but serious question. "Is that what you heard ... no, is that what I said ?! No, it isn't. I was making an attempt at humor here, but obviously the surgeons have removed what little capacity you had at understanding said humor." He leans forward. "Steven, I'm going to say this once, just once, and then never again. Well, until you need reminding again, but ..."

Scraping his throat, emotions almost getting the better of him, Danny stares into his friend's eyes. "I will never, ever regret the day that I joined Five-0 and met you. OK, babe? Are you getting this? Does that get through that thick skull of yours? Admittedly, there are days that I can't stand you, and there are days that I may say that I wish I'd never set foot on this rock teeming with lethal coconuts and pineapples ... but hear this: I cannot imagine, correction, refuse to ever consider not having you as a partner, as a friend! You got that, babe? Ever! So please do not entertain said thought."

The two stare at each other, both their eyes misting over, until Chin coughs. "Ehm, is this the moment that I should leave and give you two some privacy, or ..."

Danny blinks to clear the wetness in his eyes before turning around. "Har-di-har. If that was an attempt at humor you failed miserably, my friend. Maybe humor is just a rare commodity here, because you both seem to be lacking it on a grandiose scale." He shoots an exasperated look at Chin, now standing next to him.

"I wouldn't want to intrude on any new found happiness, is all." Chin winks at Danny, then looks at Steve, watching them both intently.

"Peter Wright?"

Chin nods. "That man was bearing a serious grudge towards you for shooting him way back when. Seems he has been planning his revenge ever since."

Steve is still trying to wrap his foggy brain around the situation. "In custody, or hospital?"

Crossing his arms before him, Chin shakes his head. "No. Mister Wright learned the hard way that revenge has the tendency to back-fire or, in this case, have an HPD officer fire two bullets into your brain after you've shot a member of Five-0." He nods at Danny. "Wright is currently enjoying the hospitality of one of the cooler drawers at Max's facility."

There's a myriad of emotions running over Steve's features, and Danny carefully leans over, wincing at the painful, tugging sensation in his chest. The discomfort he's experiencing though is nothing compared to the road to recovery which lies ahead for Steve, and he knows how the man internalizes everything, a really undesirable character trait in his current condition.

"Babe, listen. There's plenty of time to rehash events and make sense of everything, but right now you're better off getting some sleep, OK?" He smiles fondly at his friend. "We almost lost you, Steven, so do us all a favor and aim that laser focus of yours on getting well, instead of trying to figure out the technical aspects of a now shut and closed case."

Steve barely manages to stifle a yawn, then flashes Danny a lopsided small grin. "Detective Williams. Always looking out for ... others."

As Danny answers his smile, Chin utters a small huff. "A good thing in your case, boss. You need all the looking-out-for you can get."

Barely able to keep his eyes open, Steve glances at Chin. "Yeah. And you guys," he yawns again, "provide it in abundance."

Watching Steve finally give in and close his eyes, falling into a deep, healing sleep, Danny gently places his hand on his friend's chest. "You go get some rest, babe. Dream good dreams."

"Sleep well, boss," says Chin, and then rolls Danny's wheelchair out of the room.

The moon is reflecting over the tiny waves rolling into the shoreline, creating the illusion of little sparkling diamonds washing up on the beach. A cool breeze finally offers some relief from what has been a stifling hot day.

"Penny for your thoughts." Danny glances at Steve, taking in the small frown, the far-away look in his eyes as he stares out into the night. Sighing, Steve readjusts his position in the chair, grimacing as he shifts his legs.

"Those stilts of yours bothering you again?"

"A bit."

At least Steve admits it now, having become painfully aware that not disclosing any discomfort, even studiously ignoring it actually hampers his healing instead of speeding it up. It has been a very difficult half year for him, six months filled with frustration and anger and, yes, even loud cursing and yelling on the worst days.

Days on which he has become more grateful than ever to have Danny by his side, continuously at his side during each and every step towards his recovery.

Even when his frustration would make him yell and curse at Danny, the one person who deserved it less than anyone else, his friend never left him to fend for himself; stubbornly ignoring him whenever he would scream at him to Get the fuck OUT!, instead calmly retaining his position and encouraging him, then catching and steadying him whenever he would lose his balance, be it physically or mentally.

Danny has been there throughout the whole, agonizing process.

The procedure of closing the wound left by the emergency fasciotomy doctors had to perform in order to relieve the pressure in his leg has taken place while still in hospital, as well as the two additional surgeries he's had to undergo to repair the damaged muscles and nerves in his left arm. There's a sizable scar running from the inside of his elbow almost down to his wrist, but at least he has regained the full function of his hand and fingers, something which he wouldn't dare bet on just a few months earlier.

However, his legs are a different story. Even though all the fractures have been neatly repaired, the separated pieces of bone nailed together, the fact that both legs have been affected has really thrown up a bunch of hurdles. Whereas the weight of one injured leg can be supported by the second, healthy leg, two injured legs means calling on every bit of physical and mental strength in order to progress.

An exhaustive, slow progress which has taught Steve a lot about patience and self-control.

Just shy of two months into his recovery, Steve decided to throw caution to the wind and had gone swimming, absolutely certain that being in the sea would prove to be far more beneficial than plodding through lap after lap in the physical therapist's claustrophobic pool.

When he hadn't even covered a fifth of his usual distance, his body had been seized by the most god-awful cramps, catching him so completely off-guard that he had disappeared underneath the surface and gulped in a mouthful of water. Coughing and spluttering he had tried to stay afloat, only to double up from the next series of cramps and go under again.

He'd almost given up then, disgusted by the miserable, ineffective lump of meat he'd become, intent on just letting himself float, just letting the ocean take him wherever she wanted, just ... quit, and little oxygen-deprivation stars had started to appear on the edge of his sight, signaling imminent unconsciousness.

Just as his air depleted body had started to sink, he suddenly felt himself being grabbed, yanked upwards towards the surface. Being held on his back by a firm, strong hand towing him back to shore, he had sluggishly blinked up at the sky, gulping in lungs full of air.

When he was hauled from the water and dumped unceremoniously on the beach, he'd locked eyes with an angry, no, furious looking Danny, a Danny who looked like something the cat drug in, his drenched shirt and slacks sticking to his body, outlining his square, muscular build.

A Danny who was breathing harshly, not speaking a single word, who fell to his knees and started massaging his legs when another series of cramps hit him and almost took his breath away again.

The moment he started shivering, both from cold and sheer exhaustion, Danny had managed to get him to stand up and, supporting his full weight, had guided him into the house, into the guest bathroom and placed him underneath a warm shower, keeping him there until his eyes nearly closed and he was almost asleep on his feet.

After stripping off his swimming trunks, batting away his hands, and roughly drying him off, Danny had to nearly carry him to the couch in the living room, burying him underneath a pile of blankets.

It was then, and only then, when Danny had spoken.

"If you ever, ever pull a stunt like that again, I'm going to let you drown. You hear me, McGarrett? I will let you drown and then shoot you to make sure you're dead!"

Even as emotionally stunted as Steve was, he had sensed the anxiety underneath the anger, had seen the naked fear in the blue eyes staring at him, and he realized how utterly stupid he had been, how selfish his action had been.

"Sorry," he'd whispered, just before sheer exhaustion closed his eyes.

The last words he'd heard before sleep pulled him down were "You'd better be, you big oaf! You scared the living daylights out of me!"

When he woke up several hours later, the pain in his legs from having gone far beyond the boundaries of what was sensible, of what were specific doctor's orders ejecting him towards wakefulness, he found himself dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt and Danny still there, staring at him with a quizzical look on his face.

"What?" he'd asked, unable to decipher the look on his friend's face.

Danny had sighed. "I'm trying to determine whether or not Wright will still get his revenge, whether you're going to kill yourself just to prove what a tough, stubborn, stupid individual you are." He'd cocked his head at Steve. "Are you? Going to kill yourself, I mean. Have all our combined efforts to rescue you and heal you and help you recover been for naught? Because I'd like to know, Steven. I'd like to know if there's another chance that in the near future I'll come walking out onto the beach again and see my best friend drowning. Because I can tell you now, in all honesty, that I won't be able to deal with that. At all!"

Silent, shocked at the realization of how badly he had betrayed Danny's friendship by his thoughtless, selfish act, he had shaken his head. Danny had nodded then.

"Good. I'm glad we got that out of the way."

And from that moment on, Steve had adhered to each and every instruction he was given with regard to his recovery, the Do's and Dont's, no matter how much he balked at the restrictions, no matter how much he wanted to scream at the slowness of it all.

In the end, it had paid off.

Even though he still wasn't a 100%, even though at the end of a very active day his legs would still hurt and sometimes even scream at him on a - literally - bone deep level, he was almost completely back to his former self.

And for the most part, he had Danny to thank for that.

"I guess inflation hits harder and faster than I thought. Dollar for your thoughts?"

The quip pulls him out of his revelry, pushes the thoughts of those horrible months firmly to the back of his mind. Turning, Steve smiles at Danny.

"Make it two, and I'll share."

Danny huffs. "Greedy bastard." Taking a swig from his beer, he stares at Steve, a quizzical look in his eyes. "What were you thinking, anyway? You seemed far away ..."

Flicking a hand in the air as if to dismiss his earlier thoughts, Steve shrugs. "Oh, you know ... stuff."

"Stuff? Interesting. Stuff, the man says. Would said 'stuff' have anything to do with Peter Wright and," Danny waves his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate Steve's body, "certain physical limitations you've had to endure?"

Swallowing at the sudden rush of emotions Danny's words evoke, Steve nods. "Yeah, basically." He coughs, then scrapes his throat. "You know, Danno, I never really ... I mean, I don't think I've thanked you for, you know, being there for me."

Taking his time before answering, Danny stares at Steve with a thoughtful look on his face, thinking back to the angst he'd experienced when Steve had gone missing, the horror he had felt during Steve's rescue and subsequent hospital admittance, the fear during his recovery, praying that he would be OK again, that there wouldn't be any lasting damage. He takes another sip of his beer as if to lubricate his vocal chords, his voice sounding a bit rough around the edges when he finally answers.

"You're welcome, Steven. It's what friends do."

Steve stares at him, feeling a lump rise in his throat, making it impossible to speak. He nods his agreement. What Danny had done for him, he would do for Danny; without even a second of hesitation, without even the slightest doubt. He leans back into the chair, looking out at the sea again.

And silently thanks his lucky stars for the one thing which has become his mainstay, his raison d'être, the driving force in his life these days.

Friendship.