warm and alive (i'm all over you)

When Danny hung up with Steve, he was riding in the aforementioned Corvette with his aforementioned father. He couldn't hide the fond but also the he is slowly driving me insane smile on his face.

"McGarrett. again?" his dad asked, in a tone that suggested he didn't really need to.

Danny shifted in his seat, trying to find a position for his legs that didn't feel like he was getting bent into a pretzel. Even for him this car was tiny, and he could practically hear Chin and Steve laughing at him as clearly as if they were right there—after close to four years, the short jokes had ripened instead of tapering off.

This was the seventh time he and Steve had talked since Danny left for Newark two days ago… he wasn't going to analyze that one too closely. He could pin it on the rest of the team taking off suddenly to meet up with Kono and Steve wanting to keep him in the loop, or any number of things. Perfectly plausible things. Things that had nothing to do with the thing that had been simmering between them since they day they drew their guns on one another in front of Steve's house.

Danny shrugged. "What can I say? He's got social issues. Pretty sure I'm one of the only people he can talk to in more than grunts and clicks."

"Right." The old man was quiet for a moment, holding the car at a reasonable sixty miles-per-hour, considering they were on an interstate and not in the middle of downtown Honolulu, unlike some people Danny knew.

The Corvette was a little too compact for Danny's tastes but she was still a sweet ride, especially for zipping in and out of the never-ending traffic on the Turnpike. They'd spent most of the day cruising around after the paperwork signing, and Danny had spent a lot of that time staring out the window at the Jersey barriers and the cold gray sky. His suitcase was in the trunk, soaking in the new car smell. Yesterday they'd gone from the airport to the dealership as soon as they'd dropped off Danny's mom, and he'd never taken it out. Instead he'd used the spare toiletries in the upstairs bathroom. He was wearing the new clothes his mother had insisted on buying for him, like he was six years old again and he needed her to dress him.

Over the past thirty-six hours or so Danny had talked and hand gestured as usual, but his mind was somewhere else; on Grace, on his team, on Steve and maybe Steve with Catherine, as wrong as that was—

"Oh, fuck it." His dad jerked the wheel suddenly, and wasn't it just ducky that Danny didn't even grab for the door handle anymore when somebody pulled a move like that? They got into the exit lane. "I can't do this anymore—you look like a damn dog that got his bone taken away."

"What are you talking about?"

"You'd have to ask me that, since you can't figure it out for yourself." The old man shook his head. "We're going to the airport and you're getting on the first plane back to that goddamn island."

Danny was confused, indignant, and yet somehow relieved. "But it's your birthday—"

"My birthday was yesterday, Daniel—I'm old, not senile." They hit the bottom of the ramp and the blinker came on before they turned through the intersection sedately, so, so unlike—dammit, Danny needed to stop thinking about Steve! "You're pining like a tree. You need to go home."

Danny felt something lurch in his stomach even as a weight that he hadn't known was there came off his shoulders. "Dad, look around—this is New Jersey, I am home." The words rung hollowly and they both knew it, but they had to be said anyway.

His dad glanced at him as they turned again, into the parking lot at Liberty International. "No, kid, I don't think you are."

So that was how Danny ended up on a flight back to Hawaii, that wound up delayed in Los Angeles due to a mechanical problem found during refueling. He catnapped in a very uncomfortable chair in the terminal at LAX, the drone of CNN his lullaby and his sidearm a slight comfort.

Once he felt a little more human he ate some Fritos and called Rachel to let her know he'd be back for his weekend with Gracie—they talked for a while without Danny feeling like he wanted to rip his hair out, which he thought was good.

He tried calling Steve twice, but it went straight to voicemail—he hung up at the beep both times, not sure why it felt like more words than usual were trying to crawl up his throat to be vomited out. As an alternative, he punched up Chin's number and got the same result. Danny wasn't worried—if Steve was out wreaking havoc without his supervision, Chin was probably running damage control.

Eventually he was told that his flight to good ol' Honolulu International would be on a different plane, and walked to the gate with a cramp in his back and a twinge in his bad knee. Danny found his seat and got one of those little bags of pretzels. The plane took off without incident. He studiously didn't think about flying over hundreds of miles of raging Pacific, instead chatting with the lady sitting next to him about whatever the hell it was that she was knitting.

They were almost to Oahu—Danny had made this trip enough times to be able to judge fairly well—when the plane made a slight, almost imperceptible turn to the north.

The troubling part was that there was nothing to the north.

Danny watched as one of the stewardesses went into the cockpit and came out a few moments later, pale and frazzled under her makeup. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his cop instincts sending up a silent alarm. He got out of his seat—carefully not to disturb Knitting Nancy, who had finally snored herself to sleep—and made his way to the front.

"Ma'am?" he asked when he reached the stewardess, who's nametag read Zoe. "Is everything all right?"

"You should return to your seat," she responded, calm on the outside, but the fine tremor in her voice gave her away.

Danny patted his back pocket and produced his badge. "Detective Williams, Five-0—Hawaiian governor's task force. I felt the plane drift. What's wrong?"

Zoe's eyes went wide. "Five-0?" she repeated in a whisper, keeping her words just as quiet as his. When he nodded, she grabbed his arm. "You need to hear this."

They went into the cockpit, where the co-pilot had his hands fisted in his hair and the pilot was pressing buttons and flipping switches while he swore under his breath. They both looked up when Zoe came in with Danny, and she quickly made the introductions.

"I'll tell you the situation," the pilot hedged. "But this cannot get out to those passengers, or we'll have a riot on our hands."

Danny rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. "Understood. Go for it."

"We've been hacked—the plane is totally out of our control. One minute everything was fine, and then I wasn't steering her anymore. We made that northward turn and she's holding, but if we go too far off course we're not going to have enough fuel to correct and land."

Danny fought to keep his expression neutral, searched for some of that semi-infuriating Zen that Chin possessed in nearly every situation. He rubbed at his mouth. "Have you contacted the tower at HIA?"

"Of course we have!" the co-pilot snapped. At Danny's raised eyebrows he lowered his voice. "There's nothing they can do for us. The asshole that did this took advantage of the GPS signal. Tower control is hearing that the hacker's broadcasting from somewhere on Oahu, but there's no way for us or them to trace it back, let alone stop what he's doing. Apparently, there's some kind of situation at the airport—a takedown or something—and your guys are there, but who knows if they'll be able to stop this in time for us to recover our course."

Danny could breathe easier knowing that Steve, Cath and Chin were already aware of what was going on. They were the best he'd ever encountered, and if anybody could stop this, it was them.

That didn't change the fact that there were over three hundred people—businessmen and elderly vacationers and little kids—on a tin can in the sky that could potentially meet a watery doom any minute now. It also didn't change the fact that if it did happen, Danny was completely helpless to stop it. At this point he knew he had no choice but try to keep these guys calm and roll with the punches, even if everything went to shit.

Steve was kicking himself in the ass as he stood outside the gate at Honolulu International, still strapped into his tactical vest, adrenaline and the shot of anesthetic he'd had in the ambulance muting the pain from his bullet wound.

Ian had been more ruthless and cunning than either he or Grover had anticipated and gotten away, the little prick, but what else were they supposed to do? There was no way in hell he was going to let that plane go down, and yet the SEAL in Steve still felt like he should've seen through the hacker's ruse sooner, like there should've been another way to stop him.

He glanced at Grover and could tell from the big man's expression that he was thinking the same thing. Steve had been sure they were going to strangle one another when the governor ordered them to work together, but when push came to shove the captain had had his back, because he was a good cop and that was what good cops did, no matter whether or not they liked somebody.

And thinking about good cops made him think of Danny, and he had to squelch the sudden, unfamiliar pull of longing he felt behind his sternum at the thought of his partner. Now wasn't the time or the place—or the company, he added mentally as his gaze fell on Catherine.

She caught him looking and glanced at the flow of disembarking passengers. Her eyes came back to him and she smiled slightly, trying for reassurance. "You did the right thing."

"I know," Steve replied automatically, "I just—"

Then he looked over Cath's shoulder and his knees nearly gave way.

Grover caught him by his good elbow and Steve could hear Chin asking him what was wrong, but from far away, like he was underwater and everything was fuzzy and dull. The only thing he could focus on, the thing that was making his heart pound double-time and lessening the oxygen in his lungs was that Danny was walking through the terminal on his way off the plane—the plane that had nearly crashed into the Pacific, the plane he wasn't supposed to be on—

He shook Grover off and stumbled between Chin and Catherine, ignoring their own exclamations of realization. The crowd of passengers parted almost instantly for the six-foot-two guy strapped with multiple holsters, who looked an awful lot like a drowning man that had just gotten his first breath of air.

Danny saw him, of course—Danny always saw Steve, could see right through him in a way that made him exhilarated and terrified at the same time—and headed his way, dragging his suitcase along behind him as an afterthought.

"Danno?" Steve managed to choke out.

"Steven—Jesus, babe."

Steve wasn't sure which one of his so-called "faces" he was wearing at that moment, but whichever one it was, it was enough to make Danny drop the handle of his suitcase and reach up with both hands to cup Steve's jaw. Steve leaned into the touch unconsciously, felt the callouses against his own rough skin and had the horrifying realization—for the fiftieth time in the past ten seconds or so—that he'd unknowingly come very close to never feeling Danny's touch again.

"I came back early—that's pretty obvious now I guess—because my dad essentially booted my ass onto a plane, but I got delayed in LA and they put me on this flight—" Danny let out an oof when Steve's arms wrapped around him, pulling him into his vest-covered chest and holding tight, but wasn't fazed enough to stop talking "—and I felt the plane turn and found out what was going on, and yes, I'll admit it, I was scared shitless, but I knew you guys would—"

"Danno." Steve's throat felt like it was filled with glass shards, and he was trying to reign himself in but couldn't stop his hands from sliding up to Danny's shoulders and then back down to his waist, one venturing briefly into that ridiculous hair that he loved so much. "Danny, I… I can't—"

"I know, babe." Danny had his arms wrapped around his neck, and they were pressed so closely together that Steve had no choice but to believe that his was real, that the worst hadn't actually happened. His breath was warm against Steve's neck, just like one of his hands where it rested above the top of the vest. "It's okay. That would probably be more convincing if I could stop shaking like one of those little dogs, but I'm okay."

He stepped back to greet Cath and Chin, who were just as surprised and relieved as Steve had been but without being shaken to the core. Hugs were exchanged and Grover came over to shake Danny's hand.

He didn't go far, though, and Steve was more grateful for that than he'd been in a long time.

Danny wasn't exactly shocked Steve showed up on his doorstep at ten o'clock that night, a six-pack of Longboards and his debit card clenched in one hand.

He'd gotten a rather vehement text about the incident at the ATM and had known, somehow, instinctively, that Steve had been on his way over when he'd stopped to get the money for beer. He was sort of surprised that the crazy bastard had knocked instead of kicking down the door, or God forbid, using his key.

Danny had run a hand through his hair before he opened the door, and he knew without a mirror that it was a complete disaster zone after the day he'd had. He'd been too exhausted and jittery to fix it even when he figured out Steve was coming. He was wearing an old Nets T-shirt and boxers and figured he should be a little embarrassed considering his major crush on the guy, but this was still his own crazy Captain America—a few hours ago Steve had just been grateful Danny was alive, so fuck what he was wearing.

Steve barreled past him and into the living room, completely ignoring Danny's ironic, "come on in!" and the delayed sweeping gesture of his arm.

Steve was pissed—big surprise—at Ian and himself, his stiff spine and death-march gate making that obvious as he stormed into the kitchen, setting the beer down on the counter with an overly-loud clank.

Danny followed him—again, big surprise—and observed the rigid muscles in his back standing out under one of those McGarrett-patented, stupidly clingy shirts. The white bandage around the bullet graze on his biceps was visible, stark against the inked skin of his arm.

"Do you need to change that?" Danny asked. Steve turned to face him with a blank, puzzled expression, and Danny rolled his eyes. He pointed at the bandage and made sure he enunciated carefully and very, very slowly, so maybe it would penetrate the man's thick skull. "Do you need to change that? How long has it been since you sprinted away from the back of the ambulance, huh?"

"Oh." Steve frowned and looked down at his arm like he'd never seen it before, and that was when Danny noticed the remnants of the thousand-yard stare in his eyes. "A couple hours, I guess. Doesn't hurt."

"Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean you don't take care of it, Steven," Danny said, and he made sure that he moderated the snark in his tone. Anger was one thing—anger he dealt with all the time, both his and Steve's—but that look in Steve's eyes right then was another thing entirely. He shook his head and sighed, bridging the three-step gap between them and hooking his fingers around Steve's forearm, to get a better look at the situation but also just to touch. He didn't miss the way Steve tensed and relaxed under his hand, or how his throat clicked when he swallowed. "Don't they teach you stuff like this in Ranger school?"

Steve's lips twitched upward at the old line of teasing. "Navy, Danny, I'm in the Navy." He jerked his head toward the sink. "First aid kit's under there."

"Of course it is—never mind the fact that this is my house, you freak." Danny opened the cabinet and retrieved the kit before jerking his own head toward the nearest chair. "Go sit down, would you? I'd rather not get a crick in my neck while I'm dousing you with antiseptic. God knows you probably rolled down a hill for fun on your way here."

Steve pulled out the chair with his foot and sat, and then apparently decided this situation required him to take off his shirt. Honestly, Danny was surprised he'd lasted this long; if he didn't know better, if he was more delusional, he'd think that Steve knew exactly how much of a magnet his half-naked self was for Danny's eyes. And how his pants usually got a little uncomfortable as soon as all that skin and those ridiculous abs were revealed.

"Are you allergic to staying clothed for more than five minutes?" Danny groused for appearances, as he yanked out his own chair and positioned it at an angle to Steve's. He studiously ignored the fact that his partner's knee was essentially between his legs as he reached up and unwound the bandage around his arm. "I mean, seriously—gives whole new meaning to airing it out. Pretty sure they've got laws against that."

Steve looked equal parts mischievous and amused. "Pretty sure it's not public indecency if we're in your house." He hissed as the sterile pad came away from the stitches, but tried to cover it up.

"Idiot," Danny murmured, turning Steve's arm a bit to take a look at the whole mess. "Shock of all shocks, I was right—needs to be cleaned. Hold still." He got out an antiseptic wipe, ripped open the package with his teeth, and went to work.

Steve paused for a moment. "So, did you talk to Gracie?"

"Yeah, apparently it was all over the news—and so were we." When Steve gave him the Confused-and-Slightly-Constipated-Puppy look, Danny rolled his hand. "The hugging. In the middle of the terminal. It made CNN."

Steve shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "Danny, I'm—"

"Do not give me that crap, Steven. Nothing to be sorry for." Danny disregarded the fluttering in his stomach and wrote it off to indigestion, even though the only thing he'd eaten when he finally got back home was a half-desiccated frozen dinner. He tossed the antiseptic wipe and went for a new sterile pad. "Why don't you tell me what happened with this Ian kid?"

Steve's brows furrowed. "But you already proofread my paperwork—"

"Yes, because you have a tendency to frighten the budget people with it while I don't. Tell me anyway."

Steve talked, haltingly at first but quickly gaining momentum. He started with being called to the governor's mansion and went from there. He told Danny about Grover and their almost-matching trucks, the arguing, the shootout at Ian's house. Danny guffawed when he got to the part about the horses—"that poor animal needs a chiropractor and therapy, oh my God"—and shook his head in disgust when he told him about Grover's daughter almost showing herself to some guy on the internet. Gradually the tension bled from Steve's body, even when he talked about the hijacking, and he was watching Danny's face for reactions instead of looking off into the middle distance.

As Danny finished wrapping the new bandage around Steve's arm, the bumbling giant asked cautiously, "Why'd you come back early, anyway? You were supposed to be in New Jersey until Monday."

Danny shrugged. "Missed you too much, I guess." It was supposed to be a joke—not that it actually is to you, that little annoying voice in his head reminded—but Steve looked like he'd sucked on a lemon after the words came out. "What?"

"Nothing—not important." Steve rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward into Danny's space. This was nothing new, but Danny still experienced a traitorous jolt every time it happened. "But seriously, Danno, did something happen?"

"Nothing happened, per se," Danny hedged. "It's just, we kept talking on the phone, right? And pretty much every time was in front of the old man, so my dad tells me I might as well go home, because his birthday was the day before and really, that Corvette is only big enough for one person anyway. Basically I wasn't given a choice in the matter." He spread his hands. "You know the rest."

"Do I?" Steve asked in a low voice, his eyes searching Danny's face for… something. "Because I'm not sure I do."

Danny drew in a breath and licked his lips, choosing to study Steve's long eyelashes instead of thinking about how he'd just tracked the movement. Was he really about to bring up the sparkly pink elephant that had been camped out in the room with them for so long? Yeah, he totally was, because he'd almost died today and he was beyond tired and most likely in for some great nightmares later this evening.

"We can't screw this up," he said finally, gesturing at the (minimal) space between them. "The odds are against us, because I don't have the best track record in the long-term relationship department, and you are an emotionally stunted giant of a man that probably eats grenades for breakfast, but I'm pretty sure that if we keep ignoring whatever this is I may spontaneously combust and you'll probably lose your remaining marble." He paused. "What about Catherine?"

"I talked to her earlier," Steve said, and pulled a face at Danny's snort. "Really, I did—she didn't seem surprised. She's still going to be living at my place for a while, until she finds one for herself… come to think of it, she wasn't surprised at all. Maybe she and your dad have been trading notes on us."

Danny's eyes went wide. "No, no, no—that is too scary to even contemplate. I love and respect Catherine, she is a wonderful woman, but her and my dad whispering about our prolonged mating dance? No." His gaze dropped to Steve's mouth briefly, subconsciously, before coming up again. He rubbed the back of his neck. "So are we gonna—"

The do this or what was lost along with half of Danny's brain cells as Steve surged toward him, big hands coming up to frame his face as their lips met in a searing kiss, full of the longing and emotion that neither of them had been able to put into words.

At first Danny flailed a lot, completely at a loss for where to put his hands, but then he thought ah, fuck it and slide them around Steve's sides, not missing the shiver at his touch or their tongues meeting with little to no hesitancy.

The kissing was good, it was lovely—nothing like making up for lost time—but Danny's lower back was doing a particularly painful samba after leaning forward for so long. Almost without him realizing it, Steve's hands had moved from Danny's face, smoothing down his back before coming to rest on his waist. Danny let out a noise that was half yelp and half groan when Steve lifted him into his lap like he was a goddamn doll and pulled back a moment later, because unlike a half-dolphin person with SEAL training he couldn't hold his breath for two minutes straight.

Steve's lips were on the corner of Danny's mouth, his chin, his jaw—no teeth, just touching as he murmured Danny's name over and over, like he was afraid he'd disappear if he didn't, hands gripping tightly and desperately.

"Not going anywhere, babe," Danny reminded, and nuzzled his cheek. "I'm home."