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Danny smiled and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. It could only be one person. He slid the cold six-pack of beers onto the counter and gestured to the clerk that he'd be a minute, before swiping to answer; McGarrett's face – complete with goofy grin – staring at him from the screen. "Just because you can swim five miles, shower and change in five minutes flat, doesn't mean the rest of us do, McGarrett. Some of us even enjoy taking the time to look presentable."

"Err … okay."

"That's it? Okay? Did you suddenly forget why you called me – interrupting the very important business of buying my beer, I might add – and subsequently delaying me even further?"

"Danny, shhhhhh"

"Use your words, Steven. What do you want?"

"So you're still at the store?"

"Yes. I'm still at the store."

"Oh good."

Danny waited for the rest of that sentence, but apparently Steve was distracted.

"Would you like to tell me why we are so happy I'm still at the store and have yet to purchase my beer?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Can you, um … can you maybe grab a pack of that gauze and maybe some more whiskey … for me … please?" Steve snorted.

Danny pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it incredulously before slowly lifting it again. "Did you just snort?"

Steve giggled.

"Oh dear God." If he didn't know better, Danny would have sworn the man was half cut already, but it had been less than an hour since he'd seen him and that would've been quite some feat. "Yes, Steven, I will get you some gauze and some whiskey. Why, exactly do we need gauze? Have you blown yourself all to hell while taking a shower, or cut yourself shaving?"

"Something like that, yeah"

"Which?"

"Don't worry, Danno. Nothing bad. I'm running real low on both and thought you could save me a trip is all."

Danny suddenly had the urge to hurry and gestured to the clerk which whiskey he wanted while pulling his best apologetic face for the rudeness of being on the phone. "Right. I'll see you soon."

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Danny let himself in to Steve's, the gauze and his six-pack tucked firmly under his left arm as he strangled the neck of the whiskey bottle and fumbled with his keys in the other hand. "Steve?"

The house was ominously silent. "Steven?"

A muffled curse from the direction of the kitchen made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but Danny shrugged it off and simply headed toward where his partner must be. How much trouble could one man get into in under an hour anyway? "I'm gonna start charging you interest on all these purchases. Not content with forgetting your wallet on an almost daily basis, you're now calling me to do your grocer … What the fuck are you doing?"

Danny stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. Steve was sitting – covered by only a towel – smack in the middle of his kitchen floor, blood pooled on the tiles in front of him and his left foot crossed up into his lap like some sort of weird bloody yoga. An open, near-empty bottle of whisky stood to his right and a small side-plate with an array of surgical instruments lay to his left.

"Danny!" Steve grinned up at him, cheeks slightly rosy beneath a fine sheen of sweat, a pair of forceps gripped between his teeth. "You got my whiskey and my gauze! I knew I could count on you," he slurred around the metal handle.

Danny opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, completely lost for words as Steve returned his attention to his foot and pushed the suture needle he held in his right hand through the skin.

Finally finding his voice, Danny asked the question once more, this time very slowly. "What the fuck are you doing, Steven?"

Steve was concentrating so hard, the little vein on his creased forehead pulsed. He took the forceps from his mouth and used them to pull the thread taut before wrapping the needle three times around the end and pulling the knot tight. Danny simply stared at him in disbelief.

"What's it look like I'm doing, Danno? I'm fixing my foot!" He picked up the whiskey bottle and drained it. "One suture, one swig – see? Works a treat."

"There is something very, very wrong with you."

"Not any more. One more should do it, I reckon and then it'll be right as rain, I'll get changed and we can watch the game, 'kay?"

Danny placed the beer and the whiskey onto the table, arms then beginning to wind up for a rant. "Oh yes, absolutely fine. Nothing at all out of the ordinary here. Oh no. Perfectly normal for someone to sit in the middle of the kitchen and sew up the cavernous, gaping hole in their foot. Nothing at all wrong with that – how the hell did you do it anyway?"

"Coral, Danny. Went for a longer swim and caught it on some coral out there."

"Oh, so not only did you bleed all over your kitchen, you bled all over the ocean and chummed the water. There's probably a whole herd of sharks out there now just waiting for the next unsuspecting person to wade in."

"Shiver, Danny."

"What? Are you cold? Christ, Steven – how much blood did you lose? I'm calling a bus."

"No! A shiver of sharks, not a herd, a shiver. I'm fine."

"I'm fine, he says," Danny was now pacing a trench into the tiles. "Nothing wrong with me, I'm a bad-ass navy SEAL – just half a flipper missing, but it's ok cos I keep flipper glue and cotton in my cabinet and I'll just sew the thing back on!"

"It's nylon, Danny."

"I don't care if it's made from Adamantium – it's not right … you're not right. In the head!"

Steve began to giggle again.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"No. Nothing about this is remotely funny. When you're laying dying in a hospital bed because you got infected by some rare-as-shit bacteria, don't come crying to me, MacGyver."

"Rare-as-shit bacteria?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry." Steve snorted again before the giggles returned. He'd completed his last stitch while Danny ranted and he snipped the last of the suture before dropping his instruments back onto the plate. He looked up at his friend, shoulders shaking as he tried – unsuccessfully – to stifle his laughter.

"And remind me never to eat off of that plate. That's disgusting."

"Yes Danny."

"Don't 'Yes Danny' me."

"No, Danny. Sorry Danny"

Danny threw the pack of gauze at his head. "Animal."

Danny stood, hands on his hips and stared down at his partner, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "You sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine. Honestly. I washed it right out all the way to the wound bed and …"

"I don't need to hear the gory details, thankyouverymuch. I do, however, need one of these nice, cold beers."

"Me too."

"You, my friend, get absolutely nothing until you've wiped up that bloody mess and put on some clothing. I am not going to come in here later and slip on your mess, nor are you going to get any more drunk – don't think I can't tell you're already halfway to a hangover – and accidentally drop your towel in front of me. I do not need that image in my head." Because I could never look at you with your clothes on in quite the same way again.

Danny picked up the beers and put them in the fridge, snagging one for himself and another for Steve. He then picked up the plate of instruments and deposited them in the sink.

"Disgusting. Our beers and I are going to go put the game on."

With that, Danny stalked back out to the living room, muttering to himself about bat-shit crazy partners, shark bait, and things he shouldn't see. Steve picked up the pack of gauze, his cheeks reddening further as he realised how little the towel had covered. Damn.