Warnings: discussion of physical injury, chronic pain, and vomiting. Trigger warning for PTSD combat flashbacks, and for a brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Spoilers: none – it's an AU where the only character who works in law enforcement is Danny.

Author's notes: I hadn't intended to write a sequel to Mamo's Books and Music, but a prompt over at ariadnes_string's 'Running Hot II' comment!fic fest on Livejournal just seemed to fit that 'verse perfectly. This is the expanded and revised version of my original comment!fic – it has not been beta-read, so please feel free to point out any errors.

Thanks so much to embroiderama, for inspiring me in the first place, and to all the lovely LJ commenters who encouraged me to keep going over many weeks.

This fic is set in June 2013, so Steve and Danny have been together for close to two years at this point.

Chapter 1

It's Friday night, and the last customer has just left Mamo's weighed down with purchases.

Danny and Grace are still here, occupying their usual spots over in the children's section. She's sprawled out on the carpet where Steve himself spent so much time as a kid, absorbed in a new YA novel that's set on the Big Island; he's in a comfy armchair nearby, leafing through a pictorial history of baseball Steve ordered in for him.

But the two of them hardly count as customers anymore, no matter how many books Grace convinces Danny to buy for her.

They know the drill off by heart, by now, so Steve doesn't need to apologize for keeping them waiting. He just smiles at them both and sits back down at his desk, stretching out his aching right leg as Chin brings over one of the register drawers for him to count out. After a decade of working together, firstly as Mamo's employees and then as co-owners following his death, Steve and Chin have the closing process streamlined.

Once his own drawer's done, Chin heads up to the mezzanine to put away a big stack of CDs and DVDs. He always tries to clear the decks on Fridays, as much as possible. Steve has trouble climbing the stairs, even on his good days; and his Saturday assistant, Leilani, will be too busy to get much shelving done.

Steve used to reserve his Friday nights for dinner and drinks with his colleagues, but now they go out together less often. Back when he was single and lonely, Steve hadn't realized just how much their traditional wind-down was about his friends keeping him company.

Tonight, Chin's helping his ten-year-old son Kai prepare for the statewide piano competition tomorrow. Kono is also getting an early night: she's directing a documentary about the local surfing scene, at the moment, and filming starts at dawn. Steve will be working tomorrow with Kamekona and Toast, anyway. So, once the store's secured for the night, he goes out to dinner with Danny and Grace instead.

Rachel and Stan are in Maui right now, for a few days' break after the signing of his latest hotel deal. As Danny only sees Grace on Wednesday and Saturday nights, usually, he's really looking forward to spending a whole weekend with her.

The three of them head to a new Thai place that just opened near Mamo's. Thanks to Steve's ongoing efforts to expand his palate, Danny is now willing to eat Thai, Japanese, and Vietnamese food; he still draws the line at Korean, though, due to a persistent fear of kimchi.

The restaurant is pretty busy, and the food seems decent; Steve orders tom yum soup, extra spicy since he won't be going home with Danny tonight, but Danny plays it safe with a chicken pad thai. Grace gets spring rolls, expertly using her chopsticks to dip them in sweet and sour sauce.

Between mouthfuls, she tells Danny and Steve about her first week of summer school. When Steve was young, summer school was mostly for kids who'd flunked classes during the year. But Grace's expensive private school offers a wide range of extension and enrichment programs over the summer vacation, and she'd actually begged Danny and Rachel to let her attend. So she's starting to learn basic Mandarin, and doing hands-on science projects like building a LEGO robot.

Danny drops Steve back at his house around 9pm, and gives him a loving but chaste kiss. Though Grace is used to them being together, and even seems quite happy about it, they still try not to expose her to too much intimacy. Steve mostly stays over at Danny's place, now, but he usually gives Danny and Grace their space on custody nights.

It's still dark when Danny's ringtone jolts Steve out of a dream of blood-stained snow; he revisits Afghanistan's mountains more often when he sleeps alone.

With most of his mind still somewhere in transit between hell and Hawaii, Steve rolls over and manages to grab his phone off the nightstand on his second attempt. "Hey, Danny," he mumbles.

But it's a small, scared voice he hears. "Steve, Danno's sick!"

Steve sits upright, now wide awake. "Gracie? What's wrong with him?"

"He's been in the bathroom for hours, barfing, but he didn't want me to call 911. And he said I couldn't wake you up until now."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his free hand, and glances over at the clock. It's 6am, less than an hour before he was due to start his day – even when sick, Danny is considerate. But in just under three hours, Steve has to open the store.

"Is he awake at the moment?" he asks.

"Yeah," Grace says. "He's lying on the bathroom floor, holding his stomach. Please, Steve, you gotta come help him."

"All right, I'm on my way. See if you can get him to drink a glass of water, real slow. And tell him I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," Grace says, and hangs up.

Steve calls a cab and then rolls out of bed, wincing as he reaches for his cane. His knee is always stiff, first thing, and moving around in a hurry like this makes it even worse.

He throws on yesterday's outfit, aware that some unpleasant clean-up might be required; he keeps a stash of spare clothes at Danny's, anyway. Steve leaves a note for his mom, who likes to sleep in on Saturdays, and limps out the door.

As Steve's been using this taxi company for years, the drivers know him well. This morning, it's Cara who pulls up.

"Howzit, Steve. Mamo's opening extra early today?" she asks, snapping her gum.

"No, I'm heading to Danny's," Steve tells her. "He's sick, so I need to stop by a grocery store first."

She nods, accelerating away from the curb. Cara's normally a chatterbox, but she seems to understand that he needs silence and speed right now.

Steve pulls out his phone and starts looking up medical websites. Danny probably just has food poisoning, or the stomach flu, or something else with no cure except time. Still, Steve needs to know what to do. He got extensive first-aid training in the Navy, of course, but that focused mostly on injuries.

Before Danny, Steve's only serious relationship was with Cath, in high school. He used to rub her lower back when she had cramps, sure. But he never had to look after her like this, nor any of his partners since then. And though Danny's gotten hurt on the job a couple of times since transferring to Hawaii, including a flare-up of his own knee trouble last year, he's been remarkably healthy otherwise.

Steve is used to being the one who needs help, and this role reversal feels strange. God, he hopes he's up to the job.

At the store, he picks up Pepto-Bismol, Gatorade, saltine crackers, applesauce, and ginger root tea. Steve never suffered seasickness, not even in the worst storms, but some of the guys he sailed with swore by ginger's anti-nausea properties.

Traffic is light, this early, so Cara gets him to Danny's apartment in record time – Steve gives her a big tip. Grace must have been watching for him, because she opens the front door immediately. She's barefoot, in her pink bathrobe, and looks like she hardly slept.

She launches herself at Steve, and he only just manages to avoid toppling over. It's testament to how anxious and tired she is; she always checks Steve is braced and ready before hugging him.

"I gave Danno the water, but he threw it up again." Grace's words are muffled against his chest.

Steve bends to kiss her forehead. "That's okay, sweetheart, you did the best you could. I brought some stuff that might make him feel better, okay?"

Grace nods, sniffling, and steps aside so Steve can head for the bathroom. "Hey, Danny," he says, knocking on the door.

"'s not pretty in here," comes the hoarse reply.

"I can guarantee I've seen worse," Steve says. He takes Danny's silence as permission, and opens the door.

The smell hits him immediately, but Steve wasn't lying: he's spent enough time in war zones and in hospitals to be pretty damn resilient. He switches on the extractor fan, opens the window, and then moves to Danny's side. At least the floor itself is clean.

Danny's lying in front of the toilet, curled up with his arms crossed over his belly. He's just wearing boxers; a stained T-shirt is crumpled on the floor by the shower stall.

"Yeah, you're definitely not at your prettiest," Steve tells him, reaching down to push a wayward lock of hair off his face. Danny feels hot and clammy, and he's trembling slightly.

Steve just gets a weak glare in return, and his own stomach clenches up. If Danny can't even muster any scathing words, something's very wrong.

Grace is watching from the doorway. She looks understandably grossed-out by Danny's condition, but deeply worried too.

Steve gives her a smile he hopes is reassuring. "Hey, I forgot to check before: are you feeling sick, Gracie?"

"No, but I really gotta pee," she says plaintively.

With a wince, Danny sits up. Holding tight to the towel rack, as a counterbalance, Steve plants his cane in front of him so Danny can use it to haul himself up off the floor.

Grace darts away, coming back with Danny's bathrobe. "You're shivering," she tells him, draping it over his shoulders.

"Thanks, monkey," Danny says. He pulls it on, and staggers out of the bathroom. Steve gives the toilet a quick clean, grabs some washcloths from the cabinet, and then follows his partner.

Steve finds Danny at the kitchen table, heaving into a metal bowl.

"God, kill me now," Danny rasps, once he's done.

Hearing Danny say that sends a chill through Steve...because he'd thought that exact same thing, over and over, during his long painful journey from battlefield to hospital to rehab. Hell, there were times he would have killed himself, if only he'd had the means.

He doesn't know how to respond, now, but luckily Danny keeps talking. "There's nothing left, but I can't stop retching."

"Yeah, that's the worst stage," Steve says. He rinses the bowl out, then dampens a washcloth with warm water and wipes Danny's face clean.

Danny sighs deeply. "Thanks."

Steve pulls a Gatorade out of the CVS bag, and hands the bottle to him. "Just take small sips, okay? Even if most of it comes back up, it should start rehydrating you."

Sitting down beside Danny, Steve wraps an arm around him. "So when did you start feeling sick, huh?"

"Felt fine when I went to bed," Danny says. "Woke up at 2am, guts on fire; been vomiting ever since. Got the runs, too...it's fucking awful."

Steve shifts his hand so he can rub Danny's neck, which usually soothes him after a bad day. Danny makes a small sound, tipping his head onto Steve's shoulder.

"Does it hurt the same, all over your belly, or is it worse on the lower right-hand side?"

"Same," Danny croaks.

"Been around anyone who's had the stomach flu recently?" Steve asks.

"Don't think so, but you know how many people I deal with on the job."

Steve nods; working in retail exposes him to just about every bug that's going around, and being a cop can't be too far behind.

"Any other symptoms? Muscle aches, joint pain, chills, headache, sensitivity to light?"

"I feel hot and cold by turns," Danny reports, taking another sip of Gatorade. "There's some soreness – mostly from spending hours on the floor, I think. But I've got a bad headache."

Steve hums, and starts working on the pressure points at the base of Danny's skull.

"Feels good," Danny mumbles. "So what's the diagnosis, doctor?"

"Given how suddenly it started, my first guess would be food poisoning from the Thai place," Steve says.

"That's what I figured, yeah. I had it once before, as a rookie. Ma was nagging me to eat healthier, so I picked up a chicken salad sandwich for lunch and then got called out to a double homicide. By the time I finally ate, it had been sitting in my car for hours but I was too hungry to care. Regretted it pretty soon, though."

Steve gives an exaggerated shudder of disgust. That's the most Danny's managed to say so far today, though, which he takes as a positive sign.

"Still, it might be a more serious condition," Steve points out. "Appendicitis or meningitis, maybe, or some nasty virus."

"I know the symptoms of those two, for Gracie's sake, so we can both keep a look-out. But it's probably not viral; you stayed with me Thursday and she was here Wednesday, and neither of you are sick. Plus, I'm the only one who ate chicken last night."

"Chicken seems to be your nemesis," Steve says, and Danny huffs out a laugh that turns into a groan.

"Fuck, my throat hurts."

"If you can keep down the Gatorade, next stop is ginger tea with honey," Steve tells him. "That should be nice and soothing."

"You sure know how to incentivize a guy."

Steve kisses Danny's temple. "Well, I learned by example. You're the one who promises to blow me in the morning, if I manage to get back to sleep after a nightmare. I know tea doesn't compare to a blowjob, but it's the best I can offer."

"In the circumstances," Danny says, "I can't think of anything better."

Steve runs a clean washcloth under cold water, wrings it out, and presses it to Danny's forehead. He can remember his mom doing this, whenever he was feverish as a kid. The compress cooled his skin, but the gesture was always filled with loving warmth. He hopes it feels the same for Danny, now.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Danny slowly drinking Gatorade and Steve gently massaging the nape of his neck.

While she had the bathroom to herself, Grace apparently took the opportunity for a quick shower. Her timing is excellent; soon after she heads to her room to get dressed, Danny clutches at his belly and groans, "Oh, God, here we go again."

As Danny hurries back to the bathroom, Steve checks his watch: it's just past 7am, now. He has to leave in an hour, if he's going to open Mamo's on time. He and Chin usually cover for each other, in case of illness or emergency. But Steve can't pull Chin away from his son's big day.

Kono has been in charge of the store before, but only for a few hours here and there. Anyway, she's up at the North Shore right now. Even if she could get back from the shoot in time, Steve can't ask that of her. Filmmaking is her passion and her profession...working part-time at Mamo's just pays the bills.

Briefly, Steve wonders if he could ask Pat Jameson to come out of retirement, just for today; she used to manage the store whenever Mamo wasn't there. But they've upgraded all the computer systems since she left seven years ago, and Steve can imagine the chaos that might ensue.

Not opening at all has to be an absolute last resort, because Saturday is their most profitable day of the week. But Steve simply can't leave Grace alone to care for Danny. Smart and responsible though she is, she's only ten years old.

As Steve's making a mental shortlist of people he could ask to come over and help, Grace walks into the kitchen. She's dressed, clean, and seems a little more cheerful.

"Have you had breakfast?"

Grace shakes her head. "Danno was gonna make me choc-chip pancakes."

"Sorry, sweetheart, I think pancakes are off the menu today," Steve tells her. "Maybe tomorrow, if he's feeling better."

"Okay," she says, and fixes herself a bowl of cereal instead. Steve does likewise, and pours them each a glass of juice. His knee twinges sharply as he leans against the counter for support. Danny's kitchen isn't adapted for Steve's needs, unlike the one at his mom's house.

"You were very brave this morning," Steve tells Grace, as they sit down again. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help."

"So why don't you live with Danno all the time?" she asks. "That way, you'd always be around if he got sick."

Steve opens his mouth, and closes it again. The thing is, he and Danny have increasingly talked about moving in together, seeing as they've been together for over a year and a half now. But they're not free agents: Grace's happiness is Danny's top priority, of course, and Steve has his mom's welfare to consider.

"Don't you like it, when it's just you and Danno here?"

"Sure," Grace says, "but I like hanging out with you, too. I think he's happier when you're around, anyway."

Steve smiles at her. "Thank you, Gracie; that's so nice to hear. And yeah, I would like to live with your dad. There's a lot we'd have to work out first, though, and it probably won't happen for a while. So I'm glad you're keeping an eye on him when I'm not here."

She frowns. "But what about today – do you have to go to work?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. But I can ask someone to help you watch over Danno. Or if you want a break, you could come with me instead."

Grace looks torn: she loves Mamo's, and can happily sit reading for hours. Then she shakes her head. "Danno always looks after me real good, when I'm sick. Now I'm big enough to help him, too."

"You're an awesome person, Grace Williams," Steve says, in all sincerity, and she beams at him.

Danny emerges from the bathroom, then, looking like death warmed over. Steve grimaces in sympathy, and passes him the Pepto-Bismol. He gets up to rinse the breakfast dishes and put away the food, in case the smells trigger another bout of nausea. Rejoining Danny and Grace at the table, he says, "Danny, listen: I can only stay for another hour. I'm sorry to have to go, but Chin can't fill in for me today."

"Yeah, I figured," Danny says. "Kai is doing that big piano thing, right?"

Steve nods, relieved that Danny understands.

"He's been practicing for months," Grace informs them, "so he should definitely get first prize."

"Trying real hard doesn't always mean you get to win, unfortunately," Danny says, and Steve's impressed he can still impart valuable life lessons when he's feverish.

That thought reminds Steve of an important step he forgot to take earlier. "Hey, do you have a thermometer?"

"Yeah; should be in the bathroom cabinet."

Steve turns to Grace. "Can you go find it, please?"

She takes off at a run, so keen to help Danny that it puts a lump in Steve's throat.

His own relationship with his father was nothing like this. Steve understands, now, that parenting while on active duty is hard. Some of his SEAL buddies used to talk with regret about missing so many milestones, and feeling disconnected from their kids.

But even when Dad was ashore, he never showed Steve anything like the unconditional affection that Danny lavishes on Grace. Dad loved his only child, sure, but he had expectations that Steve struggled to fulfill: that he should share his father's interest in all things military, that he should prefer football to reading, and that he should take advantage of all the female attention his letterman jacket attracted.

Something of this must show in his face, because Danny says, "Hey, what is it?"

"I'm just worried about you," Steve says. But Danny's been encouraging him to talk more about the past, so he adds, "And wishing my dad and I were ever as close as you two are."

Danny nods, and reaches across the table to lay his too-warm hand on Steve's.

Grace comes back, thermometer in hand, and hovers close by while Steve takes Danny's temperature. "101.8," he says.

"Not good, but not bad enough to need a doctor, either," Danny interprets. "I'm a parent; I know these things."

The medical websites classified that as a mild to moderate fever, Steve remembers, and suggested some ways to bring the number down. "Do you have any liquid Tylenol? It might be easier for your system to handle."

"Yup, I know where it is," Grace says.

"And can you grab the Tylenol tablets for me, please?" Steve asks.

His knee is already throbbing, and he has a long, busy day ahead. But Steve tries to avoid taking prescription painkillers on Saturdays; they fog up his brain, and he needs to stay sharp when Chin and Kono aren't on deck. Though Leilani is an experienced sales clerk who really knows her music, she can't make managerial decisions.

Grace darts away again, and Danny leans back in his chair. "You don't need to worry about me, babe. I'll probably be fine by the time you get home tonight."

"Probably, yeah," Steve says, "but I want to have someone come sit with you anyway."

When Danny looks like he's going to argue, Steve plays his trump card. "It's not fair to Gracie, to make her cope with this alone. And if you do have something more serious than food poisoning, you need an adult here to pick up on the signs and get you to the hospital, ASAP."

"Yeah, okay," Danny sighs.

Grace returns with both forms of Tylenol. Danny takes his dose and says, "You're doing a great job of helping, monkey."

Steve swallows two tablets, and smiles in agreement. "So I'll call around, see who's free to come over: Mom, Meka or Amy, Cath...any other suggestions?"

"Billy's got a soccer game this morning," Danny says, "so Amy and Meka will be busy until at least noon. And I don't want anyone else on the force witnessing this."

Steve nods. Danny's formed a solid partnership with Meka, but doesn't have many other close friends at HPD. And Steve understands, maybe better than anyone, how hard it is to let people see you when you're weak and in pain.

"Otherwise, I think I'd prefer Cynthia," Danny goes on. "If I pass out in a puddle of vomit, Cath might sketch me and then use the picture for blackmail purposes."

Grace pulls a face, but Steve laughs – Danny and Cath have developed a sincere yet wonderfully snarky friendship. "Oh, I'm sure she'd check you were breathing okay, first."

So Steve calls his mom, pretty certain she'll be awake by now. She's been a teacher for most of her life; even during the summer vacation, she has trouble sleeping past 7am.

Sure enough, she picks up straight away. "Hey, I just saw your note. How's Danny?"

"Not great...it might be food poisoning, but we don't know for sure."

"What a shame, when he had this whole weekend with Grace to look forward to," Mom says. "Is it going to be safe for you to leave them today?"

"That's why I was calling, actually. Is there any chance you could come over and help Grace look after him, please?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Grace perk up at being designated Danny's chief caregiver. He winks at her.

"I did plan on running a few errands and doing some paperwork today," his mom says, "but none of it's too urgent. So yes, I can come over – just give me an hour or so."

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom, you're the best."

"Hey, any excuse to hang out with my honorary granddaughter," she says, and Steve smiles. Mom and Grace liked each other the moment they met, and have only gotten closer with time.

Ending the call, Steve tells the others, "Mom should be here by the time I have to leave."

Grace bounces in her chair. "Oh, cool; I want to ask her something."

Steve glances at Danny, who shrugs a little. Maybe it's girl stuff that Grace doesn't feel able to discuss with them.

"She's looking forward to seeing you too, sweetheart," Steve says.

Grace nods, and heads to her room. Through the open doorway, Steve can see her booting up her pink laptop.

He gets up, too, dampening Danny's washcloth again and setting water on to boil for the ginger tea. Danny can always drink it cold, later, if his system can't handle it yet.

"I need to go shower," Steve says. "Do you feel up to joining me?"

"Nope, sorry. I think I'd be a liability instead of a stabilizing influence, today."

Steve has to be careful, using the shower here: unlike the en suite bathroom at his mom's house, there are no built-in modifications in Danny's rented apartment. They've tried to make it safer, though, with suction grab bars on the walls and non-slip mats on the floor.

Still, they normally shower together when Steve stays over, for protection as well as pleasure. But if Danny's unsteady on his feet, too, they could end up in a tangled painful heap.

"Okay, no problem," Steve says, handing him the wrung-out washcloth. "But feel free to barge into the bathroom, if you can't wait until I'm done. I promise to still love you, no matter what foulness your digestive tract produces."

With a grimace, Danny says, "You'd think a guy who was raised by an English teacher and runs a bookstore would be better at saying romantic stuff."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Steve dutifully recites, hand over his heart. "Thou art more lovely and more...flatulent."

"Oh, Jesus," Danny groans. But he's doubled over with laughter instead of pain, so Steve counts it as a win. He bends down to kiss Danny's cheek, and limps to the bedroom to grab some spare clothes.

Aware of the minutes ticking by, Steve showers as fast as he safely can. He skips shaving and hurriedly gets dressed, wincing as the waistband of his cargo pants slides over his knee.

It's been over a decade since he was wounded, but some days it hurts so bad that Steve could believe he never left Afghanistan. Some days, only the multicolored tattoo surrounding the scars can convince Steve that this ugly, ruined flesh is still his own, and under his control.

Even light contact can be too much to bear, so Danny tries to avoid touching his knee. But he loves to trace Steve's other big piece, a black ink tattoo that loops and swirls around the shrapnel scarring on his chest. That reverent and careful touch, with hands or mouth, can help Steve relax after a long and pain-filled day.

Danny didn't wind up bursting into the bathroom while Steve was showering, which seems like a positive development. But as Steve's pulling his shirt on, Danny knocks and then wanders in.

He still looks pretty awful, though at least he isn't quite so pallid now. Steve grabs his cane and turns to face Danny, who's leaning against the far wall. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Improving, I think – the Pepto-Bismol and Tylenol have stayed down so far." Danny clear his throat, then adds, "So Grace just asked me why we don't live together."

"Huh," Steve says. "She asked me that earlier, too."

"Yeah? What'd you tell her?"

Steve shrugs. "The truth: I'd like for it to happen, but that it's kind of complicated."

"I said pretty much the same thing." Danny grins. "Good thing we've got our stories straight, or she'd never quit bugging us."

"I guess it's natural for her to be curious," Steve says.

"We always encouraged Gracie to ask questions about what she's reading, and about the wider world. It's just a little weird to have her turn that laser focus on my private life."

"Hoist by your own petard, in other words."

Danny laughs, and then his expression turns serious. "I know you have to go soon, babe, but I really appreciate you coming over so early on a work day."

Steve crosses the room, and props his hip against the wall so he can take both Danny's hands in one of his.

"It was a no-brainer," he says quietly. "You do so much for me, Danny, and I don't thank you nearly enough. I'm sorry you're sick, but I'm glad I could help you out for a change."

"You do help me, all the time, just by being around," Danny assures him. "And trust me, I'd let you know if I was feeling used or undervalued."

Steve has to smile at that, because yeah...Danny doesn't hesitate to express his opinions, except for when he's feeling critical of Rachel and Grace is in earshot.

He leans in to kiss Danny's forehead, wrapping his free arm around his waist. Danny sticks his hands in Steve's back pockets, and rests his head against Steve's chest. They stand like that for a minute, until Steve reluctantly says, "I need to call a cab."

"Yeah, okay," Danny says, and heads out to lie down on the sofa while Steve goes to find his phone.

Grace is curled up in a nearby armchair with her laptop, reading her summer school handout about basic electronics – building that LEGO robot seems to have sparked a real interest. Steve is already compiling a mental list of books and kitset projects he could order for her, if this continues.

It'll be a ten-minute wait for the cab, so Steve makes the ginger tea and leaves it to steep. He adds plenty of honey to soothe Danny's throat, as the taste is bitter even by Steve's standards.

A car pulls up outside, then, and Steve's pleased to see his mom beat the taxi here.

Grace runs across the room and gives her a big hug, which his mom returns with equal enthusiasm; Steve waits his turn, smiling.

"Hi, Cynthia," Danny says, lifting his head off the sofa pillow. "Was your hair that color last time I saw you, or am I hallucinating?"

She chuckles, touching her short burgundy hair. Mom always chooses brighter colors once school lets out.

"Fresh dye job," she tells him. "If it looks purple-red to you right now, then congratulations: your brain isn't irreparably cooked by the fever."

Danny grins. "Good to hear. And hey, thanks for coming over on such short notice."

"Of course," Mom says. "You're family."

The cab arrives a few minutes later, and Steve stops by the sofa to bid Danny goodbye. "Drink your tea, drink more Gatorade, get some rest, and don't get any sicker. Okay?"

"I thought I was the bossy one in this relationship," Danny retorts, but tilts his face up for a quick kiss.

Grace hugs Steve – more careful now that she was earlier – and says, "I hope you sell lots of books today."

"Selling books is my superpower, but don't tell anyone," he mock-whispers in reply, winking over her shoulder at his mom. Grace is still giggling as he closes the front door.

One of Steve's favorite drivers is waiting outside: Bill, a Vietnam vet with scars of his own. The two of them have developed an unspoken understanding, over the years. Steve just nods at him, slides the passenger seat right back, straightens his leg out, and closes his eyes. It's 8.10am, he has a long and demanding day ahead, and he's already tired and sore.

Saturday morning traffic usually isn't too bad, but today one rental car has rear-ended another on the H1. Two lobster-red guys in ugly aloha shirts are yelling at each other while their wives exchange insurance details. Steve grits his teeth, and thinks uncharitable thoughts about tourists.

Bill does his best, but Steve still gets to Mamo's ten minutes late. Kamekona appears at the top of the stairs, wiping floury hands on his apron. "Howzit, Steve?"

"Hey, brah. I'm okay, but Danny's sick today...ate some bad Thai food, maybe."

"Damn, that sucks. Should've stuck to deep-fried local grinds," Kamekona calls out, retreating into his kitchen. "Boiling oil's gonna kill just about any kind of bug."

Kamekona's love of Hawaiian-style fried food is profound, and he's damn good at making it too. On Memorial Day, he hosted a family luau and invited his work 'ohana too. Grace tried every dish on offer – even the chili shrimp, on a dare from Kai – and could barely move afterwards.

Unfortunately, Kamekona can't serve anything fried in the café; the kitchen's extractor fan is too weak, and the odors would permeate the whole store. A new ventilation system is on Steve and Chin's wish list, sure, but an elevator is their top priority.

Steve hurries through his pre-opening routine, and is relieved when Leilani arrives on time at 8.45. There's no way Steve can climb the stairs today, not with his knee this bad. So she gets everything ready upstairs and then gives Steve a hand on the main floor, checking that the displays look shipshape before the customers come in to mess it all up.

They open just a few minutes late, but luckily there's nobody waiting outside. Pretty soon, though, the store starts filling up.

There's the usual Saturday crowd: parents with their kids, people who can't get away from work during the week, and others who only come into Honolulu at the weekends. They get semi-regular visitors from the neighbor islands, too. Mamo's offers online shopping, with cheap statewide delivery, but some customers much prefer to browse in person.

Add to that the tourists, the casual customers, and all the people who frequent Kamekona's café, and it's no wonder Saturday is the store's busiest day by far.

Steve is always glad of the increased takings, and today he's also thankful to be distracted from worrying about Danny. But God, his knee hurts.

Though he says nothing about it, his colleagues know him too well. Steve doesn't normally snack before lunch, but Toast brings down a savory scone with his mid-morning coffee. Steve devours it gratefully and then swallows two Advil as a chaser, since the Tylenol alone isn't enough today.

And Leilani, bless her, does her utmost to be everywhere at once. She handles all the enquiries about music and DVDs, as well as leading customers to the shelves if their book question is a simple one. Steve takes over if anyone needs more help, though, making recommendations and placing orders for out of stock items.

Steve always eats lunch at his desk on Saturdays, because there's nobody to cover for him if he goes out for a break. It's just a sandwich – no chicken, as per Steve's request to Kamekona – but it takes him over an hour to eat because of the many interruptions.

After all these years, though, Steve has perfected the art of smiling and looking attentive while chewing.

There's a lull after the lunch rush, so Steve calls his mom.

"Danny's doing better," she tells him. "He hasn't vomited or had diarrhea since you left."

"That's great news," Steve says, leaning back in his chair. "Is he being a co-operative patient?"

"Pretty good; I think he's just too tired to be difficult. I told him to go lie down, so he's been asleep for a couple of hours now."

"Are you checking on him regularly?"

"Don't teach your mother to suck eggs, kiddo – I nursed you through far worse than this," she says dryly, and Steve bites his lip.

"Sorry. I'm just worried about him, that's all."

Her voice softens. "I know, honey, but I really think we're out of the woods now. I'll call if his condition deteriorates, I promise."

"Thanks, Mom," he says.

Steve ends the call, and turns around to see one of his regulars waiting patiently. He musters up a smile and says, "Sorry about that, Dr. Suzuki."

"No problem," she says. "I couldn't help overhearing, Steve – is everything okay at home?"

Though he normally doesn't discuss his private life with customers, Steve's known the UH professor for years. "My partner isn't feeling too good," he tells her.

"I mostly teach medicine these days, instead of practicing," Dr. Suzuki says. "But I could still offer an unofficial opinion, if you'd like?"

Steve glances around, but sees nobody else seeking his assistance. So he gives her a grateful smile, and describes Danny's condition.

After listening carefully and asking a few questions, she says, "Yeah, I'd say food poisoning seems the most likely explanation. He started feeling nauseous about 12 hours ago, right? If it was something more serious, other symptoms should probably have manifested by now."

"That's good to hear, thanks," Steve says.

"Which restaurant were you at, by the way?"

He tells her, and she nods. "I might give the County Health Department a call. Food poisoning counts as a reportable disease, so the department may already know of other people becoming ill after eating there. But without your partner having samples taken and tested, he won't be counted in the official figures."

Steve shakes his head. "Danny's pretty stubborn about seeing a doctor. If he suffers a relapse, though, I'll put him in a taxi and take him to Urgent Care myself."

"If he's gone a few hours without incident, then he probably won't need medical attention. But he could be weak and listless for quite a few days yet. He'll need lots of fluid, plenty of rest, and small quantities of bland food only."

"Thank you, Dr. Suzuki," Steve says, and she chuckles.

"Steve, you know my taste in books better than my husband does, and now I'm intimately familiar with your partner's digestive tract. I think you can call me Youko, after this."

He grins at her and says, "Okay, Youko. So how may I help you today?"

Once he's sold her a picture book about butterflies for her great-niece's birthday – and discounted it by 25% 'for services rendered' – Steve is kept busy by a steady stream of customers.

Chin calls, mid-afternoon, to say Kai won third prize at the piano competition. Steve offers heartfelt congratulations, and tells Chin that all is well at this end; he doesn't want to burst Chin's jubilant mood by mentioning Danny's illness or his own pain.

Steve sends Leilani upstairs to spread the news. He hears Kamekona and Toast high-five each other, referring to Kai as an "Akamai keiki"* and a "Wicked talented little dude" respectively. Steve smiles to himself. Chin may have been ostracized by most of his family, besides Kono, but at least he has another 'ohana here who all love his son.

Toast brings Steve another coffee before him and Kamekona leave at 4pm; that energy boost, plus another couple of Tylenol, keeps Steve going until closing time.

Note: Akamai keiki = 'smart kid' in Hawaiian.