Warning: this chapter deals with combat-induced psychological trauma, including a serious flashback.

Epilogue: three months later.

It's 15 minutes before closing on a Wednesday, and Mamo's is nearly empty after a busy afternoon. Danny and Grace are here, as is often the case: Steve goes home with the two of them either Wednesday or Saturday, giving them daddy-daughter time the other night. The arrangement seems to suit everyone.

Rachel stopped by earlier, to pick up a CD and to drop off the book report Grace had left on the kitchen counter. Steve didn't have time to talk, but was pleased to see her having an almost friendly chat with Danny. She even invited them to her choir's concert Sunday night. Choral music really isn't Steve's thing, so it's just as well he and Danny already have dinner plans with Meka and Amy. Still, it's a sign of progress that Rachel made the offer at all.

Mrs. Keawe has been and gone, too, celebrating the birth of her fifth grandkid by buying many, many books. As they both browsed the children's section, Grace suggested extra purchases for baby Michael's older sisters. Steve should give her a commission, or at least a grateful hug.

After prolonged, heated debate, an overdressed French couple just bought four expensive books about Hawaii. Steve tried his rusty French on them, but switched back to English when they seemed unimpressed. Now the only customer still here is Professor Lee from UH's conservatory, comparing several recently-released versions of The Four Seasons. His twitchy gestures suggest he'd rather be conducting than just listening.

Grace is in her favorite chair, reading Tamora Pierce, while Danny is immersed in a new biography of Springsteen that Steve got in just for him. Chin is upstairs, pulling DVDs for a big online order. Steve is processing invoices – his evenings and Sundays are much busier, these days, so he's behind on his paperwork.

And then Nick Taylor walks in.

Steve sees him in his peripheral vision, but doesn't look up from the invoice that's suddenly out of focus. The few seconds Nick takes to reach his desk aren't nearly enough time to prepare for this, the collision of his old and new lives. Steve can only take a deep breath, and grip his cane tight.

He's been visited by a few of his former SEAL buddies, over the last decade, but this is different. First of all, Steve had been attracted to Nick the moment he arrived on loan from the CIA, a couple of months before Steve was wounded, though of course he'd never acted on it. Second of all, Steve will forever associate Nick with the worst day of his life...he regularly stars in Steve's nightmares.

And now he's standing in front of Steve, smile wide and arms open. "Yo, Smooth Dog! Good to see you, man."

"Hey, Bullfrog," Steve says, moving around the desk towards him. Their brief hug is more like a close-range back slap.

Danny and Grace both look up, but Steve keeps his focus on Nick.

"When Joe told me where to find you, I didn't believe him," Nick says, glancing around disdainfully.

Steve's unsurprised by his attitude. "Yeah, I co-own this place," he says, tone deliberately light. "Not so exciting as my last job, maybe, but at least nobody shoots at me anymore."

"Well, I got out a couple of years back...set up my own shop. Private security," Nick adds, just as Steve was trying – and failing – to imagine him working retail. "I'm in Hawaii to meet a potential client, figured I'd touch base."

"Great," Steve says, and waits for the catch. He's heard nothing from Nick since Afghanistan: no hospital visits, no get-well cards, no catch-up emails. If Nick's here, ten years later, he must want something.

His next words prove Steve right. "Actually, I'm recruiting at the moment and thought you'd be interested. Can we get out of here, go have a drink to discuss it?"

Blinking, Steve gestures to his right leg. "My kneecap hasn't miraculously reassembled itself since you last saw me," he says quietly. "I can't run; I can't even walk far without a cane."

Nick shrugs. "I've got more than enough super-fit guys on my roster. Plenty of grunts are getting out after their mandatory, and following the money to the private sector. No, I need brains now, not brawn – and you'd be ideal. You could work out of my D.C. base, handling intel and planning field ops: all of the excitement, and none of the risk. I offer excellent pay, with performance bonuses and full benefits."

He spreads his hands, grinning. "So, whaddaya say?"

Steve leans back against his desk and looks around. Danny is standing beside Grace, frowning and biting his lip; she glances between him and Steve with a confused expression. Chin is watching from the top of the stairs, face and body tense.

"Okay, so I've obviously surprised you," Nick says, when Steve remains silent. "Let me buy you that drink, and we can talk it over."

"No, thanks," Steve says firmly. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested."

Danny and Chin look relieved; Nick looks incredulous. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah, I mean it. I'm out now, and I'm done."

Nick spreads his hands. "All those years of training, all your experience...and you want to waste it by just sitting here and selling books?"

"Actually, you'd be surprised by how much carry-over there is between the military and retail," Steve explains.

"But I've seen you in action," Nick protests. "You were one of the best, man. This nine-to-five bullshit, it's not you!"

Steve doesn't need Danny's wince to prompt him. "Hey," he says sharply, "watch your mouth in here."

When Nick rolls his eyes, Steve lowers his voice. "And for your information, this is me. This is who I was, before the Sea Cadets and BUD/S and the 'Stan. I've just come home, is all."

But his efforts to make Nick understand are apparently wasted.

"Christ, McGarrett, do you have any idea how gay that sounds?" His mocking tone frays Steve's already raw nerves.

Belatedly, Steve recalls just how badly Nick used to react when things didn't go his way. It's time to de-escalate, before this gets real ugly. So, as calmly as he can, Steve says, "I think we're done here. But hey, thanks for stopping by."

Nick steps closer to Steve. "No, we're not done. You and me, we went through hell together in those mountains. I kept you alive until the chopper could reach us, and all I get now is 'Thanks for stopping by'? You owe me, McGarrett."

"I'm grateful that you saved my life," Steve says, teeth gritted, "but I still don't want the job. So please, get out of my store."

"Or what – you'll hit me with your cane?"

Nick is so close now that Steve can smell the cigarette smoke and cinnamon gum on his breath...just like when Nick was bent low over Steve's broken body, covered in Steve's blood.

And Steve freezes, unable to speak or even breathe, unable to stop himself reliving the pain and the fear.

His vision blurs, but he's aware of Danny hurrying across the store. Without turning his head, Nick says, "Stay out of this, man. It's none of your damn business."

"Yeah, except I'm a police officer," Danny tells him, not stopping until he reaches Steve, "and the proprietor of this fine establishment has asked you to vacate the premises. As you are refusing to comply, it is my business."

When he sees Danny's gun and badge, Nick backs off. "If I'd known you'd turn into such a motherfucking pussy, I would've let you die," he snarls at Steve, then walks out.

Steve just stands there, heart racing and fists clenched. His shrapnel scars feel red-raw again, and his knee pulses with fiery agony.

Chin is already half-way down the stairs; he takes the rest two at a time and approaches Steve, looking worried as hell. Grace rushes over to Danny, tears in her eyes, and he holds her tight while calling Steve's name softly.

Feeling trapped, suffocated, Steve waves them back. "No, sorry, I...just wait, okay?"

He stumbles to the stockroom, collapses into a chair, and rests his pounding head in his shaking hands.

It's been years since Steve had a flashback this bad, this overwhelming. With his mind full of blood and cold and panic and noise, he struggles to remember the coping mechanisms he learned in hospital.

Breathing, he thinks desperately; his therapist went on and on about breath control. So he focuses on that (in-two-three, out-two-three) until finally it feels like he's got enough air in his lungs.

After that, Steve can open his eyes and focus on where he is. He stares at the stock-filled shelves he used to dust for Mamo, 20 years ago. Steve counts the books, naming each one in a whisper as he strokes its spine. Then he touches the upright CD cases, his fingernails raking noisily across the ridged top edges.

These concrete objects and distinct sensations, plus the happier memories layered atop each other in this place, eventually combine to wrench Steve's mind out of Afghanistan. He's back home now, alive and safe and loved.

Steve leans back, flexing his knee as he processes the flashback. Even without being triggered by that smell, he knows he would have been left shaken just by seeing Nick.

Though he owes his life to the guy, in Steve's head Nick is also bound up with the cause of his injuries. It was bad intel that sent their SEAL team into that Al Qaeda trap, after a CIA asset in Kabul – personally vouched for by Nick – pulled a double-cross. But Nick kept denying he'd been played, even as their friends fell around them.

Steve was medevac'd to Bagram, leg mangled and chest full of metal. At least he got out alive...a decade on, he still dreams of all the guys that didn't.

But Danny, instincts honed by parenthood and policing, has a real knack for calming him down after a nightmare. And Steve gets more sleep with Danny beside him than with anyone else since Cath, like his senses recognize Danny and trust him.

Steve's life has only gotten better since he met Danny, in every respect. Nick, who used to tell viciously homophobic jokes, will never understand that either.

His heartbeat has slowed, his breathing has evened out, and the pain flare-up has receded. Steve's stunned to see that only ten minutes have passed since Nick first arrived; it's nearly closing time, now.

He wipes his eyes, limps from the stockroom, and finds Chin, Danny, and Grace waiting just outside the door.

"Hey, guys. I'm so sorry you had to see all that."

Danny says nothing, but lays one hand on his wrist and gently squeezes. His warmth seeps into Steve's chilled skin.

Chin knows Steve too well to bother with dumb questions, like 'Are you okay?' He just says, "I'll finish up here. You get going."

"Your taste in friends has improved a lot over the years," Danny says, with a grateful nod at Chin.

"My taste in men, too," Steve admits, and Danny grimaces.

"From 'Bullfrog' to me? Yeah, I'd damn well hope so."

"'Bullfrog' is a stupid name," Grace says, defiant words belied by her shaky voice. "Bad guys in books have much scarier nicknames."

Steve manages a smile, and holds his hand out to her. Grace hugs him, and he strokes her hair. The smooth, soft texture, so unlike anything he'd touched in Afghanistan, helps ground him in the here and now.

Grace has stopped crying, but she still looks upset. Steve feels sick with guilt and worry: fuck, what if Danny decides she isn't safe around him anymore? What if Rachel hears about this, and restricts Danny's access?

Chin must realize that Steve is freaking out again. He heads back to his desk, and holds out the tray of rubber stamps they keep for little kids. "Want to come pick one, Grace?"

She lets go of Steve, and goes over to Chin. Danny then wraps his arms around Steve and rubs soothing circles into his back, just like it's 4am and Steve has woken up in a shuddering sweat.

"Hey, it's okay," Danny murmurs. "That wasn't your fault – in fact, I'm real proud of how you handled it. I love you, Gracie loves you, and we're not going anywhere. Everything's gonna be fine, okay?"

Steve swallows hard. "Thank you," he whispers.

At the music desk, Chin applies Grace's chosen stamp to the back of her hand. "Cool," she says, admiring the blue dolphin.

"And hey," Chin says, "we'll see the three of you Saturday for Kai's birthday luau, right?"

Grace perks up further as she nods. She and Chin's son have become close, and she spent an hour today choosing a present for him. Their friendship is a pure, positive thing for Steve to think about, and he relaxes a little more in Danny's embrace.

"C'mon, babe," Danny says, kissing Steve's cheek, "time to get out of here."

As they cross the store together, Steve is very glad to realize that no customers witnessed the shitstorm with Nick. Professor Lee is still sitting at the listening station; lost in the music, his eyes closed, he seems blissfully unaware of the outside world. Steve envies him.

Steve takes deep breaths as he gets his stuff together, looking around Mamo's. With Valentine's Day coming up, he's arranged some great literary romances and collections of love poetry on the central display table. The kids' picture books are a mess after Mrs. Keawe's visit, as always; he'll tidy them tomorrow morning.

Beside his desk is a box of paperbacks, waiting to be priced and shelved. Steve runs his fingertips over the pricing gun lying on top. It's the only weapon he wields anymore, and he's pretty much okay with that.

"I'm ready," he tells Danny. "Let's go."

End.