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sealieHawaii 5-0 fic: The Co-operative Season Two – 105
Rating: Slash
Word count: ~2,500
Warning: skip attempted suicide
Advisory: potty mouth; IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Springwoof, thank you.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Heulu Drive was long and straight, running north-south at a right angle to the peninsula. The suburb was home to large, expensive estates. High walls protecting large residences lined the road, which meant that no one registered their passage, but neither did White have anyone lined up in his sights. There was the sound of sirens reverberating, but judging from the racing police car earlier, people were dealing with some sort of emergency elsewhere. Danny wouldn’t have put it past Wo Fat to have orchestrated a diversion.
“So what’s the plan?” Danny asked, because, one, he wanted to know and, two, it distracted White from spotting Steve.
“Just drive where I tell you to,” White said uncompromisingly.
“Fine.”
At the junction ahead a recognisably heavy black limousine turned onto the wide road.
Yes, Danny exulted.
Simons was in the front passenger seat with the burly chauffeur, his face half obscured by the pulled down sun-visor. Danny saw Simons’ jaw drop as he leaned forwards and clearly spotted Danny at the helm of the Hummer.
The limo was built like a brick shit house; designed to protect the passengers from everything up to, and probably including, rocket launchers. For a fraction of a heartbeat, Danny entertained the idea of smacking the Hummer into the limousine.
White swore viciously.
Simons beat Danny to the punch, reaching across the driver to yank hard down on the limo’s steering wheel. The long, heavy vehicle kangarooed directly into the Hummer’s path.
Danny saw the edge of the barrel of White’s gun in the corner of his eye.
Instinctively, Danny swerved to avoid the limousine. The Hummer was as responsive as a tank. The limousine smacked them sideways like a Pacific Rim Jæger slamming down into a Kaiju monster. There was a telephone post in front of them, and then there wasn’t a telephone post in front of them. The Hummer juddered to an abrupt, bone-jarring stop and White tumbled back in his seat. But Danny was held safe by his seatbelt. Steam, hissing loudly, gushed from the crumpled hood.
Freeing the seatbelt, Danny scrambled across the front passenger seat, away from the crumple zone on the driver’s side, intent on escape.
He got halfway out of the door, foot on the sidewalk.
“Freeze!” White ordered, tersely.
Hanging on the door frame, Danny pivoted on one foot. White was also halfway out the Hummer. The backseat window was rolled down and White had him in his sights. The assault rifle would shred him into pieces at such close range. The face above the seemingly abyssal black hole of the muzzle was zombie pale.
“Damn,” White said hollowly.
Simons was eeling around the far side of the limousine, keeping low but edging towards them with surety. He was on the opposite side to Danny, trying to find the best angle between the obstruction of the heavy roll cage of the Hummer and the heft of the limo piled into the vehicle.
Directly behind them, Steve pulled up kitty corner to the back of the Hummer and simply abandoned the motorcycle. He let it crash down on the tarmac, as he vaulted aside. He held a handgun that seemed large in his gigantic clenched hands. Taking account of absolutely no cover, he advanced forwards, eyes wide.
“Stand down, White!” Steve rapped.
Despair flared in White’s eyes; penned in by advancing SEALs -- Simons to the left and Steve behind him. Danny was close enough to feel the slow, deliberate exhale of breath that White blew out, as he lifted his machine gun up.
“No!” Danny protested, seeing impending death in White’s eyes.
But it wasn’t his own death that Danny saw.
White swung his lethal gun around, angling it tight against his chest, the stubby barrel dug under his chin.
“Holy!” Danny startled.
A shot -- a simple sharp, horribly loud shot -- and White slumped.
Horrified, Danny tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but his brain refused to engage. There was no blood and gore and brain matter splattered over the ceiling of the Hummer. White had just slumped.
Peculiarly detached from the scene before him, Danny watched Steve dart forwards and reach into the backseat. He caught White’s arm and dragged him bodily off the backseat and into the gutter between road and sidewalk.
Blood stained White’s right side, turning his light grey t-shirt into a horror movie.
Steve, Danny realised, had shot White.
Steve stood over his ex-commanding officer, face devoid of expression. White, at his feet, gasped in pain, eyes shut. There was a puddle forming under White. Danny flashed on Governor Jameson lying on a highway, her hair fanned out, as her life started to bleed away. The clearness of the recall was as stark as a migraine.
“You okay, Danny?” Steve asked.
“Yes,” Danny managed, matching Steve’s equanimity.
Simons angled around Steve, crouching to divest White of his weapon. And then pushing one hand under White’s shoulder, the SEAL half-knelt on White, planting pressure directly on his chest.
“You shot White in the back,” Danny blurted.
“It was necessary,” Steve said blandly. “And to be accurate it was the back of his shoulder.”
“I’ve got EMTs coming in less than two,” the chauffeur announced, a cell phone plastered to his ear.
Judging by the echoing and resounding sirens, a thousand police cars, SWAT response units, ambulances, and Navy personnel were finally descending. A boxy emergency vehicle, flanked by a police car, raced down Heulu Drive, blue lights flashing.
“It’s just a shoulder wound,” Danny said, inanely, watching the puddle of blood growing under White’s shoulder.
Simons was muttering under his breath as he struggled to stem the flow of blood. The ambulance and police car both stopped, double parking by the next telephone post down.
“There’s a surprising amount of blood vessels and complicated joints and muscles in a person’s shoulder,” Steve said clinically. Chin tilted up, he viewed White lying in the gutter as if the man was a complete stranger. “It’s not like on television.”
“Clear? Is it clear?” the cop called out from behind the protection of his car door. Yet another gun was pointing at Danny, he was getting a little sick of it.
“It’s clear.” The chauffeur held up a wallet folder with some kind of identification up for the policeman.
“Guys, you’re good to go.” The cop waved to the paramedics poised beside the ambulance. They barrelled forwards as if reacting to a sprinter’s starting pistol.
“He’s a dangerous criminal,” Steve said tersely, as the pair seemingly teleported beside them. “You need to secure his hands.”
“Out the way, sir, please.” The leading paramedic said to Simons. Belatedly, Danny realised that it was Lori under the peak of that EMT baseball cap.. Max flashed the briefest of smiles at them, before kneeling opposite his trainer over White’s body.
Simons stood up and stepped aside, holding his dripping red hands before him. Danny watched a burgeoning drop elongate and splash down onto the sidewalk. Simons’ left knee was bloodstained all the way to the toe of his black shoe.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Danny noted.
It didn’t look like White was going anywhere -- shock or unconsciousness or, perhaps, resignation silencing the man. But Simons stood close by as the paramedics worked, his gun held down by his hip, primed.
There was a morass of activity around them, more cops and a couple of tan uniform-dressed Navy guys, momentarily held back by some sort of ephemeral barrier that Danny could not make out. Belatedly, he realised that he was in the way. Danny unpeeled his fingers from the Hummer door frame, and put another step between him and the drama.
“Update, Commander?” Simons asked, surprisingly. Danny thought that he was more in the loop.
“White’s working with Wo Fat.” The words catalysed Steve. “We have to get back to the House. Wo Fat is still at large. Come on, Danny.”
“What?”
Without a second glance at White, Steve pivoted on his heel and strode back to the Harley, flat down on the road. The wing mirror was broken. Danny crossed his fingers and hoped that this was not the start of seven years bad luck.
“Chin’s gonna kill you.”
“I’ll buy him a new one.” Grunting, Steve worked on lifting the bike. Danny squatted and loaned a hand, putting his back into moving the heavy weight. “You sure you’re all right, Danny?”
“I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown later this evening, but, you know, the adrenalin is about to make me levitate. What are we doing?” The bike weighed a ton. Working together they got it upright.
“I told you, we’ve got to go back to the House.” Steve swung his leg over the bike. “Wo Fat wasn’t on the balcony when I got back up to my loft.”
It wasn’t really the time to find it hot, but it was certainly hot. Danny clambered on behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s narrow waist.
“Follow us, Simons.” Steve revved the engine.
~*~
The wind ruffling his hair was exhilarating. Danny knew that they weren’t going that fast, but he understood the thrill of riding without a helmet. Steve had gunned the engine, zipping along the road, and then -- typically -- needed to decelerate practically immediately given the short distance back to the House. Danny leaned into Steve’s back as they turned onto the drive.
The crunch of the pebbly drive was strangely satisfying.
“So Wo Fat wasn’t on the balcony?” Danny said loudly into Steve’s ear.
“No. There was blood but not a lot. I don’t know where he went.” Steve angled around the House to pull up beside Kono’s jeep by the workshops.
“Did he come with White?” Danny nodded at the familiar vehicles.
“What?” Steve kicked down the foot stand and, standing akimbo, held the bike steady, allowing Danny to climb off first.
“Where’s Wo Fat’s car?” Danny came around the bike into Steve’s line of sight. He flicked his fingers at Kono’s jeep, indicating that there were no unfamiliar cars on the premises.
“I can’t imagine White giving Wo Fat a lift. But then again, I could never have imagined White being in cahoots with Wo Fat. Why the hell did White work with Wo Fat?” Steve finished plaintively, demanding answers that no one could give.
“Because…. Because he was going to give the bankbook to Wo Fat?” Danny shrugged, because he only had guesses.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Steve remained sitting on the bike, deliberation wrought in every tense line around his eyes behind his Ray Bans.
“Maybe the bankbook with the accounts needs Wo Fat with, I dunno, his birth certificate to get the money?” Danny offered. “I don’t know how Swiss Bank accounts work. Will it be linked to the Fat Family? I mean the Wo Family? White couldn’t use the accounts?”
“Depends on the bank account set up, but….” Steve’s words ebbed.
“Yeah, what are you thinking?” Danny asked, as he turned to scan the House. Weirdly, it seemed as if the old world spires and balconies and cornicing were looming, as if the House held a threat. The House had never been anything other than welcoming. Was Wo Fat scurrying in the wainscoting? They needed to make sure that Wo Fat wasn’t contaminating their home.
“If that was the case, Wo Fat wouldn’t have kept the contents of the stash secret. He would have got Kaye or Hesse to come and find the stuff. Wo Fat has never wanted his people to know what he’s after,” Steve said thinking out loud, breaking Danny’s mad thoughts. “That’s been obvious since the beginning. It’s very valuable to him. Something which White could sell to him, ransom? Or maybe swap for a way off the islands?”
“Needed some heavies to help him?” Danny knew that that idea was nonsensical because he guessed that White could get heavies anywhere.
“I still don’t get why he worked with Wo Fat,” Steve repeated. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed a large hand over his face.
“Because….” Danny tugged momentarily on his bottom lip, thinking. “The stash has to contain more than just a bankbook and your dad and Mary’s passports. The item, not the bankbook, is only valuable to Wo Fat. When I met Archer -- when he came to the House after the Hesse Brothers attacked -- it was obvious that Archer didn’t trust White. He’d sidelined White, didn’t let him stay with us, gave us Simons instead. And didn’t Archer send White away months ago and take over the P-One case?”
“I thought that it was more about White not wanting to talk to me. You know, making up a mission,” Steve said. “But if he was trying to figure out where mom’s stash was, he wouldn’t have left. He would have needed our help to find the stash.”
“Shit,” Danny swore. “Sorry, Steve, yeah, that’s exactly what White was up to. He broke into the House today just to see the clues. Your mom created them for him. I figured that out.”
“What?” Steve gazed at Danny, face crumpling.
Danny wanted to hug the stuffing out of him, to dispel that wide-eyed hurt expression.
“I’m sorry, Babe.” Danny reached over and cupped his cheek.
“He really did kill my parents, didn’t he?” Steve leaned into Danny’s touch.
“Yeah. I think he was going to use Asian guys to pretend to be Triad, to get your mom to give up her insurance. But they fucked up when they tried to stop your car. It was an accident.”
Shying away, Steve slung himself off the motorbike and turned his back to Danny.
“That doesn’t really help, Danny,” he said quietly.
Danny refrained from responding, Steve had deliberately set his back to him. Carefully, Danny set the palm of his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He was breathing hard. And Danny could easily imagine the trip-hammer beat of a hurt heart beneath his fingertips.
“Wo Fat’s been running his investigation as long as we have,” Steve said clinically dry, “but from his end. Wo Fat probably got something on White; he’s clearly dirty. And then Wo Fat used that card he was holding as a last ditch attempt to get to the item before we and White did.”
“And?”
“We’re going to find it first!” Steve spun around making Danny jerk back. “Come on.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Danny held his place. “This is a bad idea.”
“What is?” Steve snorted. “Going back into the House with terrorist possibly on the premises?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
~*~
Tbc
Part one hundred and six
Rating: Slash
Word count: ~2,500
Warning: skip attempted suicide
Advisory: potty mouth; IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Springwoof, thank you.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Heulu Drive was long and straight, running north-south at a right angle to the peninsula. The suburb was home to large, expensive estates. High walls protecting large residences lined the road, which meant that no one registered their passage, but neither did White have anyone lined up in his sights. There was the sound of sirens reverberating, but judging from the racing police car earlier, people were dealing with some sort of emergency elsewhere. Danny wouldn’t have put it past Wo Fat to have orchestrated a diversion.
“So what’s the plan?” Danny asked, because, one, he wanted to know and, two, it distracted White from spotting Steve.
“Just drive where I tell you to,” White said uncompromisingly.
“Fine.”
At the junction ahead a recognisably heavy black limousine turned onto the wide road.
Yes, Danny exulted.
Simons was in the front passenger seat with the burly chauffeur, his face half obscured by the pulled down sun-visor. Danny saw Simons’ jaw drop as he leaned forwards and clearly spotted Danny at the helm of the Hummer.
The limo was built like a brick shit house; designed to protect the passengers from everything up to, and probably including, rocket launchers. For a fraction of a heartbeat, Danny entertained the idea of smacking the Hummer into the limousine.
White swore viciously.
Simons beat Danny to the punch, reaching across the driver to yank hard down on the limo’s steering wheel. The long, heavy vehicle kangarooed directly into the Hummer’s path.
Danny saw the edge of the barrel of White’s gun in the corner of his eye.
Instinctively, Danny swerved to avoid the limousine. The Hummer was as responsive as a tank. The limousine smacked them sideways like a Pacific Rim Jæger slamming down into a Kaiju monster. There was a telephone post in front of them, and then there wasn’t a telephone post in front of them. The Hummer juddered to an abrupt, bone-jarring stop and White tumbled back in his seat. But Danny was held safe by his seatbelt. Steam, hissing loudly, gushed from the crumpled hood.
Freeing the seatbelt, Danny scrambled across the front passenger seat, away from the crumple zone on the driver’s side, intent on escape.
He got halfway out of the door, foot on the sidewalk.
“Freeze!” White ordered, tersely.
Hanging on the door frame, Danny pivoted on one foot. White was also halfway out the Hummer. The backseat window was rolled down and White had him in his sights. The assault rifle would shred him into pieces at such close range. The face above the seemingly abyssal black hole of the muzzle was zombie pale.
“Damn,” White said hollowly.
Simons was eeling around the far side of the limousine, keeping low but edging towards them with surety. He was on the opposite side to Danny, trying to find the best angle between the obstruction of the heavy roll cage of the Hummer and the heft of the limo piled into the vehicle.
Directly behind them, Steve pulled up kitty corner to the back of the Hummer and simply abandoned the motorcycle. He let it crash down on the tarmac, as he vaulted aside. He held a handgun that seemed large in his gigantic clenched hands. Taking account of absolutely no cover, he advanced forwards, eyes wide.
“Stand down, White!” Steve rapped.
Despair flared in White’s eyes; penned in by advancing SEALs -- Simons to the left and Steve behind him. Danny was close enough to feel the slow, deliberate exhale of breath that White blew out, as he lifted his machine gun up.
“No!” Danny protested, seeing impending death in White’s eyes.
But it wasn’t his own death that Danny saw.
White swung his lethal gun around, angling it tight against his chest, the stubby barrel dug under his chin.
“Holy!” Danny startled.
A shot -- a simple sharp, horribly loud shot -- and White slumped.
Horrified, Danny tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but his brain refused to engage. There was no blood and gore and brain matter splattered over the ceiling of the Hummer. White had just slumped.
Peculiarly detached from the scene before him, Danny watched Steve dart forwards and reach into the backseat. He caught White’s arm and dragged him bodily off the backseat and into the gutter between road and sidewalk.
Blood stained White’s right side, turning his light grey t-shirt into a horror movie.
Steve, Danny realised, had shot White.
Steve stood over his ex-commanding officer, face devoid of expression. White, at his feet, gasped in pain, eyes shut. There was a puddle forming under White. Danny flashed on Governor Jameson lying on a highway, her hair fanned out, as her life started to bleed away. The clearness of the recall was as stark as a migraine.
“You okay, Danny?” Steve asked.
“Yes,” Danny managed, matching Steve’s equanimity.
Simons angled around Steve, crouching to divest White of his weapon. And then pushing one hand under White’s shoulder, the SEAL half-knelt on White, planting pressure directly on his chest.
“You shot White in the back,” Danny blurted.
“It was necessary,” Steve said blandly. “And to be accurate it was the back of his shoulder.”
“I’ve got EMTs coming in less than two,” the chauffeur announced, a cell phone plastered to his ear.
Judging by the echoing and resounding sirens, a thousand police cars, SWAT response units, ambulances, and Navy personnel were finally descending. A boxy emergency vehicle, flanked by a police car, raced down Heulu Drive, blue lights flashing.
“It’s just a shoulder wound,” Danny said, inanely, watching the puddle of blood growing under White’s shoulder.
Simons was muttering under his breath as he struggled to stem the flow of blood. The ambulance and police car both stopped, double parking by the next telephone post down.
“There’s a surprising amount of blood vessels and complicated joints and muscles in a person’s shoulder,” Steve said clinically. Chin tilted up, he viewed White lying in the gutter as if the man was a complete stranger. “It’s not like on television.”
“Clear? Is it clear?” the cop called out from behind the protection of his car door. Yet another gun was pointing at Danny, he was getting a little sick of it.
“It’s clear.” The chauffeur held up a wallet folder with some kind of identification up for the policeman.
“Guys, you’re good to go.” The cop waved to the paramedics poised beside the ambulance. They barrelled forwards as if reacting to a sprinter’s starting pistol.
“He’s a dangerous criminal,” Steve said tersely, as the pair seemingly teleported beside them. “You need to secure his hands.”
“Out the way, sir, please.” The leading paramedic said to Simons. Belatedly, Danny realised that it was Lori under the peak of that EMT baseball cap.. Max flashed the briefest of smiles at them, before kneeling opposite his trainer over White’s body.
Simons stood up and stepped aside, holding his dripping red hands before him. Danny watched a burgeoning drop elongate and splash down onto the sidewalk. Simons’ left knee was bloodstained all the way to the toe of his black shoe.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Danny noted.
It didn’t look like White was going anywhere -- shock or unconsciousness or, perhaps, resignation silencing the man. But Simons stood close by as the paramedics worked, his gun held down by his hip, primed.
There was a morass of activity around them, more cops and a couple of tan uniform-dressed Navy guys, momentarily held back by some sort of ephemeral barrier that Danny could not make out. Belatedly, he realised that he was in the way. Danny unpeeled his fingers from the Hummer door frame, and put another step between him and the drama.
“Update, Commander?” Simons asked, surprisingly. Danny thought that he was more in the loop.
“White’s working with Wo Fat.” The words catalysed Steve. “We have to get back to the House. Wo Fat is still at large. Come on, Danny.”
“What?”
Without a second glance at White, Steve pivoted on his heel and strode back to the Harley, flat down on the road. The wing mirror was broken. Danny crossed his fingers and hoped that this was not the start of seven years bad luck.
“Chin’s gonna kill you.”
“I’ll buy him a new one.” Grunting, Steve worked on lifting the bike. Danny squatted and loaned a hand, putting his back into moving the heavy weight. “You sure you’re all right, Danny?”
“I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown later this evening, but, you know, the adrenalin is about to make me levitate. What are we doing?” The bike weighed a ton. Working together they got it upright.
“I told you, we’ve got to go back to the House.” Steve swung his leg over the bike. “Wo Fat wasn’t on the balcony when I got back up to my loft.”
It wasn’t really the time to find it hot, but it was certainly hot. Danny clambered on behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s narrow waist.
“Follow us, Simons.” Steve revved the engine.
~*~
The wind ruffling his hair was exhilarating. Danny knew that they weren’t going that fast, but he understood the thrill of riding without a helmet. Steve had gunned the engine, zipping along the road, and then -- typically -- needed to decelerate practically immediately given the short distance back to the House. Danny leaned into Steve’s back as they turned onto the drive.
The crunch of the pebbly drive was strangely satisfying.
“So Wo Fat wasn’t on the balcony?” Danny said loudly into Steve’s ear.
“No. There was blood but not a lot. I don’t know where he went.” Steve angled around the House to pull up beside Kono’s jeep by the workshops.
“Did he come with White?” Danny nodded at the familiar vehicles.
“What?” Steve kicked down the foot stand and, standing akimbo, held the bike steady, allowing Danny to climb off first.
“Where’s Wo Fat’s car?” Danny came around the bike into Steve’s line of sight. He flicked his fingers at Kono’s jeep, indicating that there were no unfamiliar cars on the premises.
“I can’t imagine White giving Wo Fat a lift. But then again, I could never have imagined White being in cahoots with Wo Fat. Why the hell did White work with Wo Fat?” Steve finished plaintively, demanding answers that no one could give.
“Because…. Because he was going to give the bankbook to Wo Fat?” Danny shrugged, because he only had guesses.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Steve remained sitting on the bike, deliberation wrought in every tense line around his eyes behind his Ray Bans.
“Maybe the bankbook with the accounts needs Wo Fat with, I dunno, his birth certificate to get the money?” Danny offered. “I don’t know how Swiss Bank accounts work. Will it be linked to the Fat Family? I mean the Wo Family? White couldn’t use the accounts?”
“Depends on the bank account set up, but….” Steve’s words ebbed.
“Yeah, what are you thinking?” Danny asked, as he turned to scan the House. Weirdly, it seemed as if the old world spires and balconies and cornicing were looming, as if the House held a threat. The House had never been anything other than welcoming. Was Wo Fat scurrying in the wainscoting? They needed to make sure that Wo Fat wasn’t contaminating their home.
“If that was the case, Wo Fat wouldn’t have kept the contents of the stash secret. He would have got Kaye or Hesse to come and find the stuff. Wo Fat has never wanted his people to know what he’s after,” Steve said thinking out loud, breaking Danny’s mad thoughts. “That’s been obvious since the beginning. It’s very valuable to him. Something which White could sell to him, ransom? Or maybe swap for a way off the islands?”
“Needed some heavies to help him?” Danny knew that that idea was nonsensical because he guessed that White could get heavies anywhere.
“I still don’t get why he worked with Wo Fat,” Steve repeated. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed a large hand over his face.
“Because….” Danny tugged momentarily on his bottom lip, thinking. “The stash has to contain more than just a bankbook and your dad and Mary’s passports. The item, not the bankbook, is only valuable to Wo Fat. When I met Archer -- when he came to the House after the Hesse Brothers attacked -- it was obvious that Archer didn’t trust White. He’d sidelined White, didn’t let him stay with us, gave us Simons instead. And didn’t Archer send White away months ago and take over the P-One case?”
“I thought that it was more about White not wanting to talk to me. You know, making up a mission,” Steve said. “But if he was trying to figure out where mom’s stash was, he wouldn’t have left. He would have needed our help to find the stash.”
“Shit,” Danny swore. “Sorry, Steve, yeah, that’s exactly what White was up to. He broke into the House today just to see the clues. Your mom created them for him. I figured that out.”
“What?” Steve gazed at Danny, face crumpling.
Danny wanted to hug the stuffing out of him, to dispel that wide-eyed hurt expression.
“I’m sorry, Babe.” Danny reached over and cupped his cheek.
“He really did kill my parents, didn’t he?” Steve leaned into Danny’s touch.
“Yeah. I think he was going to use Asian guys to pretend to be Triad, to get your mom to give up her insurance. But they fucked up when they tried to stop your car. It was an accident.”
Shying away, Steve slung himself off the motorbike and turned his back to Danny.
“That doesn’t really help, Danny,” he said quietly.
Danny refrained from responding, Steve had deliberately set his back to him. Carefully, Danny set the palm of his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He was breathing hard. And Danny could easily imagine the trip-hammer beat of a hurt heart beneath his fingertips.
“Wo Fat’s been running his investigation as long as we have,” Steve said clinically dry, “but from his end. Wo Fat probably got something on White; he’s clearly dirty. And then Wo Fat used that card he was holding as a last ditch attempt to get to the item before we and White did.”
“And?”
“We’re going to find it first!” Steve spun around making Danny jerk back. “Come on.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Danny held his place. “This is a bad idea.”
“What is?” Steve snorted. “Going back into the House with terrorist possibly on the premises?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
~*~
Tbc
Part one hundred and six
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-09-13 11:18 pm (UTC)Still holding my breath since Wo Fat is in the wind...he could possibly be hiding within the house, but with him being injured, that's probably not a safe thing to do.
no subject
Date: 2014-09-14 10:34 am (UTC)*Bwahhha hahah ha hah*
no subject
Date: 2014-09-14 12:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-14 10:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-18 08:52 pm (UTC)BTW, you didn't link the last chapter to this one. Thought you might like to know. :)
no subject
Date: 2014-09-28 09:01 am (UTC)Danny: "No, Steve."
Steve: does it anyway
no subject
Date: 2014-09-20 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-28 09:02 am (UTC)glad you're enjoying it.