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sealieRating: Slash
Word count: ~3,700
Warning: skip PTSD flashback/upset and nasty imagery/consideration of a threat to a woman.
Advisory: NSFW; emotional roller-coaster; potty mouth; disability; violence! IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling, chance of more spelling and grammatical mistakes than normal – I’m not feeling that well.
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Spring woof, thank you, thank you, thank you.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Unsurprisingly, Danny woke before an exhausted Steve. Danny blinked at the slowly rotating fan hanging from the ceiling, as he lay flat on his back, wondering what had woken him. A shaft of bright sunlight through the partially opened windows told him that it was late morning.
Steve slept a good three foot away, perched near the edge of the bed, curled in the centre of his pillow fort, defended by mounds of goose feathers. His little rasping snores spoke of him being deeply asleep.
Danny smacked his lips, his mouth was dry; he had been mouth breathing.
“What?” Danny asked the world. What had woken him? The frittering edges of a dream teased him. He was surprised that nightmares had not disturbed his sleep. Arm wrapped around his abdomen, Danny rolled off the far side of the bed. It wasn’t too bad, he thought as he tiptoed across the room, creased over at the waist.
The siren call of a hot shower and a handful of Tylenol led him to the bathroom. He did his best thinking in the shower. The image in the bathroom mirror in the vanity unit showed a strip of red across his nose and cheekbones -- which promised freckles in the future, but otherwise he appeared to have staved off a bad sunburn. T-shirtless, the tennis ball-sized, lurid bruise spreading over the bottom side over his floating ribs was stark. Looking at it made it hurt more. Danny dry-swallowed a couple of Tylenol from Steve’s stash.
“Shower. Shower.” His abdomen pinched slightly as he stepped over the edge of the bath. As the water warmed up to a comfortable level, he pissed down the sink drain, with a sigh of relief.
Showers were awesome. He scrubbed his fingers against his skull, working up a good lather, wishing that it was Steve massaging his scalp. He lost himself in the zone, going through the routine of getting clean.
“Shit?” Danny froze. He knew what had woken him: the slides. “Pictures. Pictures. Backdrop?” Quickly, he smoothed on conditioner -- otherwise his hair would be a rat’s nest -- rinsed, and got out of the shower. Still dripping, towel wrapped around his waist, he trotted out of the bathroom.
“Steve’s BlackBerry?” It was probably on his bedside table.
Leaving wet footprints on the highly polished floors, he jogged up the stairs. Steve still slept the sleep of the just and worn out, a long punctuation mark of curled up sleep.
Danny flipped through the sequence of all the photographs on the BlackBerry, focusing not on the obvious theme of the shots but the backgrounds. Surely they could identify where the pictures of the Mercury Marquis had been taken? Perhaps it was even where Wo Fat’s father had been murdered. The papers were framed so only the text was captured. The ‘Legend of the Curse of Seolh’ tapestry was similarly well framed. The Nandi’s Head was, as expected, in the museum judging from the cant of shelving behind the sculpture. Blurred, Danny couldn’t make out details of the shelf contents.
The splay of coins were on a simple white background -- paper, Danny guessed. Eight coins on the first picture, three of which were in a neat diagonal line, the mess of others tossed off-kilter in the corners. The other coin photo was of all the ten coins splayed over the paper in no discernable pattern -- there was maybe a vee shape. The vase was photographed on the mahogany-like round table in the foyer, the multi-coloured sunlight through the stained glass window in the ceiling highlighting the ebony black porcelain with glints of blue and gold. The photo had been taken before the orphaned Steve and Mary had moved into the House.
“D--?”
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Danny greeted, watching the slow sweep of Steve’s incredibly long eyelashes. He set the phone back on the bedside table, so he could give Steve -- sans hearing aids -- all his attention.
“You all right?” Steve smacked his lips.
“I’ll live.” Danny pondered on going for hyperbole and exaggeration, and decided not to before he had fortified his body with a vat of hot sugary coffee.
“What are you doing?” Steve mumbled.
“I had a thought, but I don’t think that it came to anything.” Danny didn’t want to lean over with his sore ribs, so he settled for stroking the curve of Steve’s sleep creased cheek instead of leaning in to kiss.
“Huh?” Steve said, pushing into the caress like an affectionate cat.
“I thought that there might have been a clue in the backgrounds of the photographs, but after looking closer I’m not convinced.” The multiple doll pictures were… The porcelain doll with the golden ringlets was propped against a blue sofa, so that was taken in the blue room.
“You’re all wet,” Steve said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh, Babe….” Honestly, Danny thought, Steve was really endearing when he tried and failed to flirt.
Mischievously, Steve tugged on the edge of the towel wrapped around Danny’s hips.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Danny said, as, one-handed, he unhooked the tucked-in corner of the towel by his belly button.
Steve’s pupils dilated most satisfactorily. Grinning, Danny let the towel fall to the floor. His cock was already rising to greet Steve’s prurient interest.
“Danny. Danny. Danny,” Steve encouraged as he grabbed and hauled Danny into the bed, directing him with large hands spanning his hips.
“What’s the plan?” Danny said, almost, but not quite conversationally, as he straddled Steve’s chest and looked down at him.
“Been reading.” Steve batted long eyelashes.
“Oh, really?” Danny started to say, as Steve carefully lifted him up onto his knees. Following the guiding hands, Danny leaned forwards to grab the headboard as he basically sat on Steve’s face. The morning stubble set all kinds of interesting sensations off over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as Steve mouthed behind his balls.
Steve’s large hands cupped and squeezed Danny’s ass, as he nuzzled in. The rasping kiss of his stubble was all kinds of awesome. Danny could feel his balls contracting against Steve’s nose.
“Sweet Jesu--” Danny kind of froze as Steve’s blunt finger played with his asshole. “Oh, God.”
Steve hummed. Danny gripped the headboard hard as Steve found Danny’s own hair trigger between his balls and ass. It wrung him out all the way up his spine, setting fireworks behind his eyes and probably shooting out of the top of the lighthouse for all to see.
Manfully, Danny managed not to squish Steve as the orgasm left him wobbly. Breathing hard, his heart was hammering. The pinch of his bruised abdomen also kept him upright. Their play was a good position for his sore chest, and Danny was fairly sure that Steve had thought of that.
“What have you been reading?” Danny finally found the coordination to ask, breathlessly. He pushed off the headboard and arthritically levered down on his side, rather than sitting back down on the arch of Steve’s vulnerable ribs.
Steve lay loose and pliable, sunk back into his pillows. A fatuous smile graced his face.
“Huh?”
Danny flipped up the edge of the blanket and followed the enticing line of sparse hairs all the way down to Steve’s flaccid cock. The big lump had also come, judging from the pearlescent drops dotting his hairy thighs. Letting the blanket fall back, Danny kissed the corner of Steve’s eye, although he aimed for his cheek.
“One of these days,” Danny said, “we’ll figure out how to draw this out, Speed Demon.”
“No ears, Danny,” Steve said. “Yes, we need to clean the headboard before it stains.”
“Most of it is on my chest.” Danny decided to follow the conversation that Steve was having with himself. He rubbed the thick hair on his chest into damp sticky swirls. He glanced upwards. “But yeah, a wet wipe won’t go amiss.”
Steve chortled as Danny kissed the side of his face, this time mashing his nose.
~*~
Almost an hour later they picked their way, showered (re-showered in Danny’s case) and dressed, down to the kitchen to get a late breakfast-brunch.
“Oh, good, you’re up,” Mrs. Keawe greeted them.
“Morning, Mrs. K.,” Steve responded, blinking, as she waggled a spatula at them.
“Sit. Sit. Omelettes? Cheese? Bacon?”
“Cheese, please,” Steve said rhyming, as they obediently sat in their customary places.
“Goat cheese and spinach?”
“Yes, please.” Steve nodded a little enthusiastically.
“Bacon and cheese?” Danny ventured. “No spinach.”
She ferried over the percolator coffee pot and two mugs. Milk and sugar were already set on the table. Steve snagged the cups and poured two generous portions. It smelt divine.
“I’m going to text the boys, and then they’ll come and plaster the holes in your little kitchen and replace the door,” Mrs. K. told them, with absolutely no room for argument, as she beat eggs in a bowl. Chin must have told her that the plasterboard was Swiss cheese. “I know that those people came and tidied up, but I want to wipe down the floor and make sure that it’s clean.”
“Yes, Mrs. Keawe,” Steve said from behind the dubious protection of his mug of coffee.
Mrs. K. had a bee in her bonnet, as Danny had heard Mamo say more than once. Those people -- the NCIS clean up crew -- had invaded her territory.
“So what are your plans today?” Mrs. K. asked as she poured beaten egg into the frying pan to a satisfying hiss.
“Uhm,” Danny glanced at Steve. Off the top of his head he could think of upwards of two handfuls of things that they needed to do, but what was the current priority escaped him.
“Everyone has had their breakfast. You’re the last ones up, but that’s understandable, Steve,” Mrs. Keawe continued as she tossed chunks of cheese and leafy spinach over the eggy mix. “The Navy people have given Malia an escort to the hospital; she was a little surprised. They weren’t going to let her out of the House. She insisted, though. I never knew that Malia had a temper. She does. Chin went with her. I think he’s planning to camp in the hospital staffroom, and make sure that she comes home safely.”
“Kono?” Steve coughed before asking.
“She’s surfing in the bay. The forecast is only for calm weather. But I think that she needed the water.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw Steve’s hands clench around his coffee mug.
“Toast went to bed after breakfast. He pulled an all nighter at the university. I don’t know.” Mrs. Keawe folded over the omelette. Rising up on his seat to see better, Danny thought that she was making multiple layers of eggy goodness. “He’s supposed to be an intelligent keiki, but getting him to go to sleep is like having a baby with croup. And I’ve had babies with croup.”
“Grace had croup,” Danny volunteered. “Longest week of my life. Four days without sleep.”
“Ah, son,” Mrs. K. said, with the wisdom that experiencing teething, croup, and diaper rash could develop.
They shared a commiserating smile.
“You’re ‘locked’? You can’t leave today?” Mrs. K. continued, as she tossed bacon into the frying pan. They were both getting cheese, bacon, and spinach omelettes by the look of things.
“Oh, yeah,” Danny remembered, “Archer said that we’re locked down.”
“I’m not entirely sure that he meant that we can’t leave the estate.” Steve’s expression turned obstinate. “I need to go into the base and find out what Paulo said. I’m betting he’s said a lot. And get updates on Anton Hesse’s condition.”
“Dude, what did you do to him?” Danny winced, viscerally recalling that crunching sound.
“I might have broken a few of the vertebra in his neck.” Steve actually smiled slightly.
“That’s horrifying,” Danny blurted.
Steve jerked in his seat away from Danny.
“He’s a terrorist, Danny.” Steve looked a little hurt. He set his coffee cup down on the table with a thump. “What leverage do you think that he would have used to make me talk if he’d caught us? Do you know who Victor and Anton would have used…?”
Slowly, Danny shook his head, mute in the face of Steve’s intensity.
“Malia. He would have used Malia, to get us to tell him everything that we know and have guessed. And he would have done it with a knife.”
Mrs. K. froze before them, two plated omelettes in her outstretched hands.
“Sorry, Mrs. K.,” Steve apologised.
“Eat up, boys.” She set the plates down with infinite caution before them. “I have to go and clean.”
She scurried out the kitchen, slippers scuffling.
“Damn,” Steve swore. He pushed up from the kitchen table to switch off the gas on the stove top. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
Danny regarded Steve’s miserable face as he turned from the oven.
“I know, I know,” Danny began, and thought carefully on his next words, “you’re ‘used’ to this, but it’s unreal. It’s like living a dream. Terrorists broke into the House last night, for the second time in a couple of months! It’s…”
“Unreal,” Steve repeated for Danny, derailing his words. “The reality is that this happens every day in other parts of the world. We’re lucky and we don’t appreciate how lucky we are.”
It was the inclusive ‘we’, Danny knew, Steve was talking for all the people that he protected as a military intelligence officer and SEAL in the Navy.
“I have the skill set and the backing of my colleagues to protect us,” Steve continued.
“And you did, last night!” Danny interrupted. “You realised that something was wrong.”
“That was lucky,” Steve said, mercurially turning from defensive to pensive.
“And the preparation and escape plan in place? That wasn’t luck. You were prepared,” Danny widened his arms to encompass everything that had happened the night before with the motion. “Okay, the thought that -- I dunno -- violence can come so close to home, is disturbing, not unreal. This is freaking everyone out. And if it’s not, it’s because they try not to think about it. But it’s not your fault. And I am ecstatic that you have the abilities -- that makes you sound like a superhero -- that you have. Even if you weren’t a SEAL, even if you weren’t in the Navy, this would still be happening, because your mom set it in motion twenty years ago. But if you weren’t an Intelligence Officer SEAL where would we be? I’m not horrified by you or your actions, I’m horrified by the world that we live in.”
Danny breathed out low and slow. He felt a little nauseous as emotions ran high.
Steve plopped down next to him. Danny leaned over and pushed his shoulder against Steve’s bicep.
“Eat your breakfast,” Danny said. “Mrs. K. prepared it especially for you.”
Steve poked the perfectly fluffy eggs with his fork. Danny thought that if Steve ate half he was going to count that as a win.
The silence as they ate was contemplative.
“We do have to go out,” Danny blurted, on the heels of a thought coming out of nowhere.
“Why?” Steve shifted in his seat, to see Danny better.
“We’ve got to pick up my dry cleaning unless, of course, lockdown means that we’re not going to the funeral tomorrow.”
“I’m not missing Auntie Pat’s funeral,” Steve said uncompromisingly.
“We better talk to Simons then, and organise whatever needs to be organised for a trip to the-- Where exactly is the funeral being held?”
“The official ceremony will be held at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. The family have chosen to carry out a small, private cremation before the ceremony, and scatter the ashes at a later date.”
“And are we going to the cremation?” Danny knew that Steve had a long history with the Governor, but he wasn’t sure that they were considered family. Additionally, if the family considered that Steve had failed to save her in the aftermath of Wo Fat’s shooting, they might not want to see his face.
Steve shook his head. “Only Uncle Brian, and their kids, Charlene and Robert.”
“Okay. What tim--”
“Commander?” Man on a mission, Simons strode into the kitchen from the corridor. Even though he wore civilian dark blue pressed slacks and white shirt he seemed to be in uniform. All that was lacking was a tie.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” Steve sat up straighter.
“Search and Rescue have confirmed that they have Victor Hesse’s body,” Simons rapped out.
“Oh.” With great deliberation, Steve set his fork down beside his plate.
Danny expected Steve to ask for more information, but he remained mute, digesting Simons’ words.
“They’re transporting the body to Pearl Harbour-Hickam to the NCIS mortuary,” Simons volunteered into the silence.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Steve said woodenly.
Danny could feel the infinitesimal shiver walking up Steve’s spine, which made his whole body shake, against his own thigh.
“Yes, sir.” Simons nodded. “I’ll be in the room I’ve been assigned. We’ve set it up as a security centre.”
He executed a turn worthy of the parade ground and marched out of the kitchen.
“Babe?” Danny checked.
“I--” Steve tried. “I… God.” He rubbed his hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I should be compartmentalising.”
“Steve?”
Steve glanced at Danny sideways, and swallowed, Adam’s apple working, as his gorge clearly rose. He was pale, sickly pale. The muscle in his jaw flexed as he swallowed convulsively. Abruptly, Steve’s gaze slid away from Danny.
“Steve?”
Steve shook his head: no -- a tiny, almost imperceptible, emphatic, no. He wasn’t listening to Danny, though. His stare was a sniper’s stare, fixed on memories far beyond the walls of the House.
Carefully, Danny rose to his feet, and telegraphing every step, worked his way slowly and cautiously to the sink to rinse out a clean dishtowel. Every urge within Danny told him to hold, to hug, to touch Steve -- but no, a quieter, more logical voice said, give him space.
“Babe.” Danny offered him the wrung out dishtowel. Wet -- the total opposite of the deserts of Afghanistan. A cool droplet trickled down his wrist.
Mechanically, Steve turned his head, and Danny was pinned by an eerie, fixed, assessing gaze. The unshed tears in Steve’s staring eyes were the only sign of life.
“Steven.” Danny proffered the towel again.
Staccato, Steve reached, paused, and then finally took the damp towel. They both froze for a long heartbeat. And then Steve pressed his face into the cloth and there was a low, almost imperceptible keen.
The terrorist, who had just been confirmed dead, had permanently injured Steve, killed his friends and comrades, attacked his home on two separate occasions, threatened his family, and had no doubt tried to kill Steve multiple times.
“Steve, just tell me: where you are? Steve?”
The shaking of Steve’s shoulders was Danny’s only answer.
“Steve, it’s over, you’re in Seolh,” Danny said solidly. He flicked a quick glance at the kitchen door into the hallway, wondering if he should shut it. “That bastard can never hurt you again. Okay? I can only guess what you’re feeling. They’re both out of the picture. Dead. They’ll never hurt you again.”
“I shouldn’t be feeling this,” Steve said muffled. “I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”
Danny clenched and unclenched his hands. The fall out from the attack last night and six months ago was long overdue. For one bare millisecond, Danny wondered whether or not he should call Dr. Chowdhry. And then, muffled by the towel, the sound of sobs were unmistakable.
“Seolh,” Steve said. “I’m home...”
Danny slid around the table and curled his arm over Steve’s shoulders.
“Your family is here,” Danny said into that delicate, shell-like ear and nestling hearing aid. “You are indeed home, with your family.”
“I shouldn’t--”
“You can.” Danny squeezed him tightly.
“No,” Steve protested.
“You can,” Danny repeated. Knowing that Steve was present, and that he knew that he was home, Danny bodily turned Steve on his favourite carved chair, and into Danny’s arms. The curve of Steve’s spine accentuated the knobbles of his backbone as he pressed his face into Danny’s neck.
“Shusssh, shush,” Danny soothed, running a hand up and down over Steve’s taut back. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Danny.” Steve curled his hands around Danny’s waist and gripped tightly.
“It’s okay,” Danny soothed. The dampness from the towel, pressed between them, seeped into the collar of his t-shirt.
Danny had no frame of reference to know the best way to help Steve. He could only go with his gut. A weight had been lifted from Steve, the likes of which Danny could only compare to… nothing in his experience. Danny, emphatically, had no single frame of reference. His empathy was piecemeal and built on knowing that hurt, emphatically hurt, and sometimes the surcease of hurt, meant more pain on the rebound, because you’d lived with it so very long.
Danny held him tightly. Steve was going to be embarrassed by this breakdown, even if there was nothing to be embarrassed about. As if thinking led to realisation, Steve sniffed, and pulled free, using the dishtowel to scrub at his red face.
“Sorry,” Steve said gruffly.
“Doofus.” Danny hooked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in close. He planted a kiss on Steve’s creased forehead, and released him. Steve didn’t cry prettily, he went flushed and snotty. “Nothing to apologise for.”
“I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that.” Steve brushed the back of his hand over his left cheek and then right, sniffing. “I’m not eight years old.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you were eighty years old,” Danny said sagely. “Something has just came to an abrupt end. Hesse, your personal bugbear, is out of the picture. Freddie’s avenged?”
Steve absorbed that statement, face poker still. He nodded shortly, and sniffed again.
“Here.” Danny snagged Steve’s lukewarm coffee and pressed it into his hands. “Drink.”
Steve drank, accustomed to following orders.
“A glass of water would be better for you,” Danny decided, and stood.
Steve caught Danny’s fingertips in his own long fingers, and squeezed.
“Yeah, Babe?” Danny asked, stopping as if tethered to an anchor.
“Thank you,” Steve said softly.
~*~
Tbc
Part ninety nine
Word count: ~3,700
Warning: skip PTSD flashback/upset and nasty imagery/consideration of a threat to a woman.
Advisory: NSFW; emotional roller-coaster; potty mouth; disability; violence! IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling, chance of more spelling and grammatical mistakes than normal – I’m not feeling that well.
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Spring woof, thank you, thank you, thank you.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Unsurprisingly, Danny woke before an exhausted Steve. Danny blinked at the slowly rotating fan hanging from the ceiling, as he lay flat on his back, wondering what had woken him. A shaft of bright sunlight through the partially opened windows told him that it was late morning.
Steve slept a good three foot away, perched near the edge of the bed, curled in the centre of his pillow fort, defended by mounds of goose feathers. His little rasping snores spoke of him being deeply asleep.
Danny smacked his lips, his mouth was dry; he had been mouth breathing.
“What?” Danny asked the world. What had woken him? The frittering edges of a dream teased him. He was surprised that nightmares had not disturbed his sleep. Arm wrapped around his abdomen, Danny rolled off the far side of the bed. It wasn’t too bad, he thought as he tiptoed across the room, creased over at the waist.
The siren call of a hot shower and a handful of Tylenol led him to the bathroom. He did his best thinking in the shower. The image in the bathroom mirror in the vanity unit showed a strip of red across his nose and cheekbones -- which promised freckles in the future, but otherwise he appeared to have staved off a bad sunburn. T-shirtless, the tennis ball-sized, lurid bruise spreading over the bottom side over his floating ribs was stark. Looking at it made it hurt more. Danny dry-swallowed a couple of Tylenol from Steve’s stash.
“Shower. Shower.” His abdomen pinched slightly as he stepped over the edge of the bath. As the water warmed up to a comfortable level, he pissed down the sink drain, with a sigh of relief.
Showers were awesome. He scrubbed his fingers against his skull, working up a good lather, wishing that it was Steve massaging his scalp. He lost himself in the zone, going through the routine of getting clean.
“Shit?” Danny froze. He knew what had woken him: the slides. “Pictures. Pictures. Backdrop?” Quickly, he smoothed on conditioner -- otherwise his hair would be a rat’s nest -- rinsed, and got out of the shower. Still dripping, towel wrapped around his waist, he trotted out of the bathroom.
“Steve’s BlackBerry?” It was probably on his bedside table.
Leaving wet footprints on the highly polished floors, he jogged up the stairs. Steve still slept the sleep of the just and worn out, a long punctuation mark of curled up sleep.
Danny flipped through the sequence of all the photographs on the BlackBerry, focusing not on the obvious theme of the shots but the backgrounds. Surely they could identify where the pictures of the Mercury Marquis had been taken? Perhaps it was even where Wo Fat’s father had been murdered. The papers were framed so only the text was captured. The ‘Legend of the Curse of Seolh’ tapestry was similarly well framed. The Nandi’s Head was, as expected, in the museum judging from the cant of shelving behind the sculpture. Blurred, Danny couldn’t make out details of the shelf contents.
The splay of coins were on a simple white background -- paper, Danny guessed. Eight coins on the first picture, three of which were in a neat diagonal line, the mess of others tossed off-kilter in the corners. The other coin photo was of all the ten coins splayed over the paper in no discernable pattern -- there was maybe a vee shape. The vase was photographed on the mahogany-like round table in the foyer, the multi-coloured sunlight through the stained glass window in the ceiling highlighting the ebony black porcelain with glints of blue and gold. The photo had been taken before the orphaned Steve and Mary had moved into the House.
“D--?”
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Danny greeted, watching the slow sweep of Steve’s incredibly long eyelashes. He set the phone back on the bedside table, so he could give Steve -- sans hearing aids -- all his attention.
“You all right?” Steve smacked his lips.
“I’ll live.” Danny pondered on going for hyperbole and exaggeration, and decided not to before he had fortified his body with a vat of hot sugary coffee.
“What are you doing?” Steve mumbled.
“I had a thought, but I don’t think that it came to anything.” Danny didn’t want to lean over with his sore ribs, so he settled for stroking the curve of Steve’s sleep creased cheek instead of leaning in to kiss.
“Huh?” Steve said, pushing into the caress like an affectionate cat.
“I thought that there might have been a clue in the backgrounds of the photographs, but after looking closer I’m not convinced.” The multiple doll pictures were… The porcelain doll with the golden ringlets was propped against a blue sofa, so that was taken in the blue room.
“You’re all wet,” Steve said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh, Babe….” Honestly, Danny thought, Steve was really endearing when he tried and failed to flirt.
Mischievously, Steve tugged on the edge of the towel wrapped around Danny’s hips.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Danny said, as, one-handed, he unhooked the tucked-in corner of the towel by his belly button.
Steve’s pupils dilated most satisfactorily. Grinning, Danny let the towel fall to the floor. His cock was already rising to greet Steve’s prurient interest.
“Danny. Danny. Danny,” Steve encouraged as he grabbed and hauled Danny into the bed, directing him with large hands spanning his hips.
“What’s the plan?” Danny said, almost, but not quite conversationally, as he straddled Steve’s chest and looked down at him.
“Been reading.” Steve batted long eyelashes.
“Oh, really?” Danny started to say, as Steve carefully lifted him up onto his knees. Following the guiding hands, Danny leaned forwards to grab the headboard as he basically sat on Steve’s face. The morning stubble set all kinds of interesting sensations off over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as Steve mouthed behind his balls.
Steve’s large hands cupped and squeezed Danny’s ass, as he nuzzled in. The rasping kiss of his stubble was all kinds of awesome. Danny could feel his balls contracting against Steve’s nose.
“Sweet Jesu--” Danny kind of froze as Steve’s blunt finger played with his asshole. “Oh, God.”
Steve hummed. Danny gripped the headboard hard as Steve found Danny’s own hair trigger between his balls and ass. It wrung him out all the way up his spine, setting fireworks behind his eyes and probably shooting out of the top of the lighthouse for all to see.
Manfully, Danny managed not to squish Steve as the orgasm left him wobbly. Breathing hard, his heart was hammering. The pinch of his bruised abdomen also kept him upright. Their play was a good position for his sore chest, and Danny was fairly sure that Steve had thought of that.
“What have you been reading?” Danny finally found the coordination to ask, breathlessly. He pushed off the headboard and arthritically levered down on his side, rather than sitting back down on the arch of Steve’s vulnerable ribs.
Steve lay loose and pliable, sunk back into his pillows. A fatuous smile graced his face.
“Huh?”
Danny flipped up the edge of the blanket and followed the enticing line of sparse hairs all the way down to Steve’s flaccid cock. The big lump had also come, judging from the pearlescent drops dotting his hairy thighs. Letting the blanket fall back, Danny kissed the corner of Steve’s eye, although he aimed for his cheek.
“One of these days,” Danny said, “we’ll figure out how to draw this out, Speed Demon.”
“No ears, Danny,” Steve said. “Yes, we need to clean the headboard before it stains.”
“Most of it is on my chest.” Danny decided to follow the conversation that Steve was having with himself. He rubbed the thick hair on his chest into damp sticky swirls. He glanced upwards. “But yeah, a wet wipe won’t go amiss.”
Steve chortled as Danny kissed the side of his face, this time mashing his nose.
~*~
Almost an hour later they picked their way, showered (re-showered in Danny’s case) and dressed, down to the kitchen to get a late breakfast-brunch.
“Oh, good, you’re up,” Mrs. Keawe greeted them.
“Morning, Mrs. K.,” Steve responded, blinking, as she waggled a spatula at them.
“Sit. Sit. Omelettes? Cheese? Bacon?”
“Cheese, please,” Steve said rhyming, as they obediently sat in their customary places.
“Goat cheese and spinach?”
“Yes, please.” Steve nodded a little enthusiastically.
“Bacon and cheese?” Danny ventured. “No spinach.”
She ferried over the percolator coffee pot and two mugs. Milk and sugar were already set on the table. Steve snagged the cups and poured two generous portions. It smelt divine.
“I’m going to text the boys, and then they’ll come and plaster the holes in your little kitchen and replace the door,” Mrs. K. told them, with absolutely no room for argument, as she beat eggs in a bowl. Chin must have told her that the plasterboard was Swiss cheese. “I know that those people came and tidied up, but I want to wipe down the floor and make sure that it’s clean.”
“Yes, Mrs. Keawe,” Steve said from behind the dubious protection of his mug of coffee.
Mrs. K. had a bee in her bonnet, as Danny had heard Mamo say more than once. Those people -- the NCIS clean up crew -- had invaded her territory.
“So what are your plans today?” Mrs. K. asked as she poured beaten egg into the frying pan to a satisfying hiss.
“Uhm,” Danny glanced at Steve. Off the top of his head he could think of upwards of two handfuls of things that they needed to do, but what was the current priority escaped him.
“Everyone has had their breakfast. You’re the last ones up, but that’s understandable, Steve,” Mrs. Keawe continued as she tossed chunks of cheese and leafy spinach over the eggy mix. “The Navy people have given Malia an escort to the hospital; she was a little surprised. They weren’t going to let her out of the House. She insisted, though. I never knew that Malia had a temper. She does. Chin went with her. I think he’s planning to camp in the hospital staffroom, and make sure that she comes home safely.”
“Kono?” Steve coughed before asking.
“She’s surfing in the bay. The forecast is only for calm weather. But I think that she needed the water.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw Steve’s hands clench around his coffee mug.
“Toast went to bed after breakfast. He pulled an all nighter at the university. I don’t know.” Mrs. Keawe folded over the omelette. Rising up on his seat to see better, Danny thought that she was making multiple layers of eggy goodness. “He’s supposed to be an intelligent keiki, but getting him to go to sleep is like having a baby with croup. And I’ve had babies with croup.”
“Grace had croup,” Danny volunteered. “Longest week of my life. Four days without sleep.”
“Ah, son,” Mrs. K. said, with the wisdom that experiencing teething, croup, and diaper rash could develop.
They shared a commiserating smile.
“You’re ‘locked’? You can’t leave today?” Mrs. K. continued, as she tossed bacon into the frying pan. They were both getting cheese, bacon, and spinach omelettes by the look of things.
“Oh, yeah,” Danny remembered, “Archer said that we’re locked down.”
“I’m not entirely sure that he meant that we can’t leave the estate.” Steve’s expression turned obstinate. “I need to go into the base and find out what Paulo said. I’m betting he’s said a lot. And get updates on Anton Hesse’s condition.”
“Dude, what did you do to him?” Danny winced, viscerally recalling that crunching sound.
“I might have broken a few of the vertebra in his neck.” Steve actually smiled slightly.
“That’s horrifying,” Danny blurted.
Steve jerked in his seat away from Danny.
“He’s a terrorist, Danny.” Steve looked a little hurt. He set his coffee cup down on the table with a thump. “What leverage do you think that he would have used to make me talk if he’d caught us? Do you know who Victor and Anton would have used…?”
Slowly, Danny shook his head, mute in the face of Steve’s intensity.
“Malia. He would have used Malia, to get us to tell him everything that we know and have guessed. And he would have done it with a knife.”
Mrs. K. froze before them, two plated omelettes in her outstretched hands.
“Sorry, Mrs. K.,” Steve apologised.
“Eat up, boys.” She set the plates down with infinite caution before them. “I have to go and clean.”
She scurried out the kitchen, slippers scuffling.
“Damn,” Steve swore. He pushed up from the kitchen table to switch off the gas on the stove top. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
Danny regarded Steve’s miserable face as he turned from the oven.
“I know, I know,” Danny began, and thought carefully on his next words, “you’re ‘used’ to this, but it’s unreal. It’s like living a dream. Terrorists broke into the House last night, for the second time in a couple of months! It’s…”
“Unreal,” Steve repeated for Danny, derailing his words. “The reality is that this happens every day in other parts of the world. We’re lucky and we don’t appreciate how lucky we are.”
It was the inclusive ‘we’, Danny knew, Steve was talking for all the people that he protected as a military intelligence officer and SEAL in the Navy.
“I have the skill set and the backing of my colleagues to protect us,” Steve continued.
“And you did, last night!” Danny interrupted. “You realised that something was wrong.”
“That was lucky,” Steve said, mercurially turning from defensive to pensive.
“And the preparation and escape plan in place? That wasn’t luck. You were prepared,” Danny widened his arms to encompass everything that had happened the night before with the motion. “Okay, the thought that -- I dunno -- violence can come so close to home, is disturbing, not unreal. This is freaking everyone out. And if it’s not, it’s because they try not to think about it. But it’s not your fault. And I am ecstatic that you have the abilities -- that makes you sound like a superhero -- that you have. Even if you weren’t a SEAL, even if you weren’t in the Navy, this would still be happening, because your mom set it in motion twenty years ago. But if you weren’t an Intelligence Officer SEAL where would we be? I’m not horrified by you or your actions, I’m horrified by the world that we live in.”
Danny breathed out low and slow. He felt a little nauseous as emotions ran high.
Steve plopped down next to him. Danny leaned over and pushed his shoulder against Steve’s bicep.
“Eat your breakfast,” Danny said. “Mrs. K. prepared it especially for you.”
Steve poked the perfectly fluffy eggs with his fork. Danny thought that if Steve ate half he was going to count that as a win.
The silence as they ate was contemplative.
“We do have to go out,” Danny blurted, on the heels of a thought coming out of nowhere.
“Why?” Steve shifted in his seat, to see Danny better.
“We’ve got to pick up my dry cleaning unless, of course, lockdown means that we’re not going to the funeral tomorrow.”
“I’m not missing Auntie Pat’s funeral,” Steve said uncompromisingly.
“We better talk to Simons then, and organise whatever needs to be organised for a trip to the-- Where exactly is the funeral being held?”
“The official ceremony will be held at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. The family have chosen to carry out a small, private cremation before the ceremony, and scatter the ashes at a later date.”
“And are we going to the cremation?” Danny knew that Steve had a long history with the Governor, but he wasn’t sure that they were considered family. Additionally, if the family considered that Steve had failed to save her in the aftermath of Wo Fat’s shooting, they might not want to see his face.
Steve shook his head. “Only Uncle Brian, and their kids, Charlene and Robert.”
“Okay. What tim--”
“Commander?” Man on a mission, Simons strode into the kitchen from the corridor. Even though he wore civilian dark blue pressed slacks and white shirt he seemed to be in uniform. All that was lacking was a tie.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” Steve sat up straighter.
“Search and Rescue have confirmed that they have Victor Hesse’s body,” Simons rapped out.
“Oh.” With great deliberation, Steve set his fork down beside his plate.
Danny expected Steve to ask for more information, but he remained mute, digesting Simons’ words.
“They’re transporting the body to Pearl Harbour-Hickam to the NCIS mortuary,” Simons volunteered into the silence.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Steve said woodenly.
Danny could feel the infinitesimal shiver walking up Steve’s spine, which made his whole body shake, against his own thigh.
“Yes, sir.” Simons nodded. “I’ll be in the room I’ve been assigned. We’ve set it up as a security centre.”
He executed a turn worthy of the parade ground and marched out of the kitchen.
“Babe?” Danny checked.
“I--” Steve tried. “I… God.” He rubbed his hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I should be compartmentalising.”
“Steve?”
Steve glanced at Danny sideways, and swallowed, Adam’s apple working, as his gorge clearly rose. He was pale, sickly pale. The muscle in his jaw flexed as he swallowed convulsively. Abruptly, Steve’s gaze slid away from Danny.
“Steve?”
Steve shook his head: no -- a tiny, almost imperceptible, emphatic, no. He wasn’t listening to Danny, though. His stare was a sniper’s stare, fixed on memories far beyond the walls of the House.
Carefully, Danny rose to his feet, and telegraphing every step, worked his way slowly and cautiously to the sink to rinse out a clean dishtowel. Every urge within Danny told him to hold, to hug, to touch Steve -- but no, a quieter, more logical voice said, give him space.
“Babe.” Danny offered him the wrung out dishtowel. Wet -- the total opposite of the deserts of Afghanistan. A cool droplet trickled down his wrist.
Mechanically, Steve turned his head, and Danny was pinned by an eerie, fixed, assessing gaze. The unshed tears in Steve’s staring eyes were the only sign of life.
“Steven.” Danny proffered the towel again.
Staccato, Steve reached, paused, and then finally took the damp towel. They both froze for a long heartbeat. And then Steve pressed his face into the cloth and there was a low, almost imperceptible keen.
The terrorist, who had just been confirmed dead, had permanently injured Steve, killed his friends and comrades, attacked his home on two separate occasions, threatened his family, and had no doubt tried to kill Steve multiple times.
“Steve, just tell me: where you are? Steve?”
The shaking of Steve’s shoulders was Danny’s only answer.
“Steve, it’s over, you’re in Seolh,” Danny said solidly. He flicked a quick glance at the kitchen door into the hallway, wondering if he should shut it. “That bastard can never hurt you again. Okay? I can only guess what you’re feeling. They’re both out of the picture. Dead. They’ll never hurt you again.”
“I shouldn’t be feeling this,” Steve said muffled. “I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”
Danny clenched and unclenched his hands. The fall out from the attack last night and six months ago was long overdue. For one bare millisecond, Danny wondered whether or not he should call Dr. Chowdhry. And then, muffled by the towel, the sound of sobs were unmistakable.
“Seolh,” Steve said. “I’m home...”
Danny slid around the table and curled his arm over Steve’s shoulders.
“Your family is here,” Danny said into that delicate, shell-like ear and nestling hearing aid. “You are indeed home, with your family.”
“I shouldn’t--”
“You can.” Danny squeezed him tightly.
“No,” Steve protested.
“You can,” Danny repeated. Knowing that Steve was present, and that he knew that he was home, Danny bodily turned Steve on his favourite carved chair, and into Danny’s arms. The curve of Steve’s spine accentuated the knobbles of his backbone as he pressed his face into Danny’s neck.
“Shusssh, shush,” Danny soothed, running a hand up and down over Steve’s taut back. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Danny.” Steve curled his hands around Danny’s waist and gripped tightly.
“It’s okay,” Danny soothed. The dampness from the towel, pressed between them, seeped into the collar of his t-shirt.
Danny had no frame of reference to know the best way to help Steve. He could only go with his gut. A weight had been lifted from Steve, the likes of which Danny could only compare to… nothing in his experience. Danny, emphatically, had no single frame of reference. His empathy was piecemeal and built on knowing that hurt, emphatically hurt, and sometimes the surcease of hurt, meant more pain on the rebound, because you’d lived with it so very long.
Danny held him tightly. Steve was going to be embarrassed by this breakdown, even if there was nothing to be embarrassed about. As if thinking led to realisation, Steve sniffed, and pulled free, using the dishtowel to scrub at his red face.
“Sorry,” Steve said gruffly.
“Doofus.” Danny hooked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in close. He planted a kiss on Steve’s creased forehead, and released him. Steve didn’t cry prettily, he went flushed and snotty. “Nothing to apologise for.”
“I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that.” Steve brushed the back of his hand over his left cheek and then right, sniffing. “I’m not eight years old.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you were eighty years old,” Danny said sagely. “Something has just came to an abrupt end. Hesse, your personal bugbear, is out of the picture. Freddie’s avenged?”
Steve absorbed that statement, face poker still. He nodded shortly, and sniffed again.
“Here.” Danny snagged Steve’s lukewarm coffee and pressed it into his hands. “Drink.”
Steve drank, accustomed to following orders.
“A glass of water would be better for you,” Danny decided, and stood.
Steve caught Danny’s fingertips in his own long fingers, and squeezed.
“Yeah, Babe?” Danny asked, stopping as if tethered to an anchor.
“Thank you,” Steve said softly.
~*~
Tbc
Part ninety nine
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2014-07-05 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-05 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:50 pm (UTC)'pent up inside' -- yes, that is accurate.
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Date: 2014-07-06 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 01:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:46 pm (UTC)I said in a comment below that Steve was completely blindsided by the announcement of Victor Hesse's death. SO much hung on that terrorists actions.... It's very much the dawn of a new chapter in Steve's life.
Thank you for commenting, I appreciate it.
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Date: 2014-07-06 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 05:29 am (UTC)So well done!!!!
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Date: 2014-07-06 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 02:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:38 pm (UTC)As for what's next? Do you really want to know?
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Date: 2014-07-06 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 03:56 pm (UTC)I waffle a lot, some days.
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Date: 2014-07-06 03:59 pm (UTC)The end
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Date: 2014-07-06 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 04:20 pm (UTC)There's a reason why I haven't posted it on A03 every week. It's here. If you want to pop in on the weekend or once a month or when it's finished.... You can.
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Date: 2014-07-11 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-06 04:02 pm (UTC)He's been carrying so much grief and emotion an to finally have such a release, to know that the man responsible for so much pain is dead--it's unimaginable. Steve's reaction was palpable as was Danny's comfort. Beautiful and and moving.
An I hope after the danger is over, Steve and the navy will realize want a powerful asset Steve still is and allow him to continue in some capacity in the military.
Now onto that lingering mystery..... :)
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Date: 2014-07-06 04:40 pm (UTC)I've mentioned a couple of times in the comments above that I didn't plot Steve's reaction to Victor's death it occurred as I wrote the announcement, but I think that it was a very real reaction.
Lingering mystery? What lingering mystery?
Wow
Date: 2014-07-24 03:37 pm (UTC)Re: Wow
Date: 2014-07-24 08:06 pm (UTC)i think that it helps that it is essentially episodic and there's several stories running through it. And yeah it is long; I genuinely didn't plan to be writing it for over two years. I intend to finish it (and will endeavour to avoid any lightning strikes and other phenomena) *fingers crossed*
no subject
Date: 2014-07-27 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-02 04:39 pm (UTC)