Hawaii 5-0 fic: The Co-operative 48/?
Sep. 8th, 2012 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sealiefor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bluespirit_star
Rating: Slash (very pre-slashy at the moment/will be slash in future instalments); h/c
Word count: ~3, 700
Warning:
Advisory: potty mouth; disability.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling
Spoilers: none
Beta: Springwoof, my clanger-spotter! ❤,Babe.
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
“Whoa, babe.” Danny did not drool. He did not carefully check his chin. Steve in uniform was a special treat to the eyes. “What are you wearing?”
“Navy Service Dress Blues.” Steve tipped off his white and midnight blue cap as he stepped over the threshold and into the House, tucking it under his arm.
“Was there a special occasion?” Danny asked, since Steve had actually shaved closely, judging by the bare hint of stubble in the early evening.
Steve smiled a smirk of a smile. “You could say so.”
“Did you get a medal or something?” Danny wondered, although Sunday afternoon seemed a weird time for a ceremony and why hadn’t he invited his Ohana? “You saw White, didn’t you? What did he have to say about the McGarretts?”
“Is there coffee?” Steve asked.
“Of course.” Danny rolled his eyes, and led Steve into the kitchen. Steve’s drinking tastes were diverse; if he wanted coffee he was tired. “Sit,” he directed. “Have you had lunch?”
Steve placed his cap on the table and sat after carefully tugging at the material above his knees to maintain the creases.
“Yes, I grabbed something at the base,” Steve said as the ancient espresso machine huffed and spat.
So he had been to Pearl-Harbour Hickam, Danny noted, as he frothed milk to make an indulgent latte.
“I don’t know if it has come up in conversation before?” Steve said. “As well as being my commanding officer, Joe White is an old friend of my dad’s. He’s been a mentor throughout my whole career. He knew both my mom and dad. I used to call him Uncle Joe.”
“Okay.” That kind of possibly explained the reason why the guy seemed to drop out of the woodwork left, right and centre every time there was a problem. But Danny didn’t know anything about how the Navy or the Army or any type of military organisation worked. Maybe being over protective was the name of the game.
“So I asked him if Dad knew Wo Fat.”
“And?”
“He said no. Dad was a detective in Honolulu PD. And Wo Fat would have been something like twenty back when my parents died.”
“So I guess that I didn’t hear properly, or read too much into the creep’s words?” Danny set the coffee down.
Eyebrow raised, Steve eyed the chocolate sprinkles on the top and Danny.
“Natural endorphins… in chocolate.” Danny turned to make his own coffee. “Helps with muscle pain, or so I’ve been told.”
“How are you feeling?” Steve asked. “I meant to check your graze.”
“Did you now?” Back to Steve, Danny rolled his eyes, because he was the one with the first aid skills, and started on his own coffee. “It’s healing nicely, thank you.”
“Have you changed the dressing?” Steve persisted.
“Why are you being so picky about this?” Danny asked, laughingly, turning slightly to look over his shoulder.
“You kept after me when I cut my foot. I’m just returning the favour.” Steve leaned back in his chair, a long line of perfectly tailored humanity.
Snorting, Danny focussed on his own espresso, opting for a tiny, perfect hit of caffeine, rather than a milky, sugary vat. He left it in the shot glass, rather than fooling around with another cup. He leaned up against the counter.
Steve glanced, pointedly, at Danny’s leg, where the white dressing and tape was a little grubby after the afternoon’s shenanigans.
“Slightly different. This is a graze,” Danny observed between sips of coffee. “You had something like a hundred stitches--”
“Slight exaggeration.”
“And it being right on the bottom of your foot, and hence inaccessible even if you can twist like a pretzel, you needed my help,” Danny said staunchly.
Steve snorted. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” Danny said. He raised his glass, sort of pointing to the band aid tucked high in Steve’s hairline. “And how is that healing, hmmm?”
“So where is everyone? Shouldn’t--” Steve leaned over to the side and glanced at the white board on the back of the kitchen door, “-- Chin be preparing dinner?”
“You missed out on the start of what I think might be the most laborious food preparation ritual in the world,” Danny said. “And, no, I’m not talking about that shark meat thing that you urinate on and stick in a pit for month. Although.... I hope that there’s no urine in the pork thing.”
“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, aghast.
“Mamo had this enormous chainsaw.” Danny held his arms outstretched. “And Al’u cut down a banana tree. He and Chin started cutting it into small chunks. And Kono, saying that it was good exercise, dragged me into the woods where we collected ti leaves.”
“Are we having a Christmas lu’au?” Steve asked, brightening. His smile lit up, incandescent. “Really? I didn’t think -- are we using the pit?”
“They’re out there clearing out some pit by the workshops. I came in -- honestly, I had to sit down, and get some more sunscreen. And then you came.”
“I haven’t been to a Christmas lu’au for years. Oh, you’ll love kalua pig. You’re in for a treat.” Quickly, Steve tossed down a mouthful of coffee. “I need to go get changed and go see what’s happening.”
Chortling happily, Steve snatched up his cap and dashed off upstairs. It was if he had suddenly metamorphosed into a kid.
“Huh.” Danny folded his hands on the table. Perhaps there was something to this Christmas lu’au thing.
~*~
“Chin Ho Kelly!” Steve sang out as he strode diagonally across the lawn to the workshops. “Mamo Kahike, what are you planning?”
Mamo laughed a belly laugh. Kono and Chin joined in.
They stood around the dirt area directly opposite the pottery kiln where an old deep pit had been dug. During the afternoon, Danny knew that Chin and Mamo had cleaned out the collected windblown rubbish and old leaves, and checked the stones lining the pit. Mamo’s giant nephew Al’u had dropped by earlier to help move the heavy, round, dark-grey rocks that were scattered all around the workshops into a handy pile next to the pit, before wielding the chainsaw to decimate a poor little banana tree.
Since Danny had taken a little break, Kono had a piled their large banana leaves and long, green fronds of ti leaves into a heap on a tarpaulin. Forearm-long chunks of pale yellow banana wood were stacked on another tarpaulin.
“So what’s the plan?” Steve asked, rubbing his palms together, taking in their preparations.
Kono wiped a grubby hand across her forehead. “Build the fire tomorrow, so we can light it first thing on Tuesday.”
“It should be hot enough by mid-late afternoon,” Mamo estimated.
“You’ve got a hog? A big hog?” Steve asked, looking back towards the House.
“Should take about twelve hours to steam,” Mamo said.
Steve grinned happily at Danny, and Danny couldn’t help but respond wholeheartedly. This appeared to be the best Christmas present that Mamo and Chin could have given him. Danny bet that they were relieved to see that happy grin, because earlier Danny had had the distinct impression that they had been shitting bricks.
“So,” Chin began, looking heavenwards at couple of clouds building on the horizon, “let’s cover everything with tarpaulins in case it rains.”
Mamo raised his chin and sniffed. “We should be okay, but better safe than sorry.”
“Okay.” Steve glanced at his overly pretentious and shiny diving watch. “Danny, do you want to go back in the House and order pizza while we get all this stuff locked down? It’s late to start preparing dinner, and you guys look like you all need showers.”
“Gee, thanks, Steve.” Kono huffed.
“Subtle, babe.” Danny laughed and took himself off to the House, to get out of the line of fire, and ensure that decent pizzas were ordered.
~*~
“So, Steve, what’s happening tomorrow?” Danny asked, as they set out plates and napkins for the pizzas on the kitchen table.
Mamo had headed on home, with promises to return tomorrow with his wife and a plethora of family to help with the imu. Kono and Chin were catching much needed showers.
Steve read the question correctly, somehow knowing that Danny was not asking about the Christmas lu’au, but rather Grace.
“Get ready for midday.”
“You spoke to your lawyer? Lawyers today? On a Sunday?” Danny asked.
“Yes.” Steve nodded definitely and seriously. “They’re on retainer.”
“Do they think we’ve… I’ve got a good case?”
Steve set down a handful of cutlery with a clunk on the table. Stilling, he set his most serious gaze on Danny, adroitly requesting all of Danny’s attention.
“What?” Danny fidgeted. “What!”
“Danny. Trust me when I say that you will see Grace this Christmas. I can’t tell you not to worry, because you’re a worrier.”
“I am not!”
“You will see Grace. I promise.”
“You can’t promise, Steven,” Danny said weakly.
“I can.”
There was a tap on the kitchen window, and the young student who usually delivered their pizzas waved enthusiastically.
“Door’s open,” Danny hollered. It usually was.
“Hey, Elaine,” Steve greeted, as he rooted in the rent tin on the top of the fridge, and pulled out some bills.
“Hi, guys.” Elaine set a padded messenger bag, which probably weighed the same as she did, on the kitchen table and began unpacking. “Mele Kalikimaka!”
“Mele Kalikimaka,” Steve returned, handing over payment and what looked like an impressive Christmas tip.
Elaine clutched the wad of cash, then flicked a fleeting look up at Steve and blushed.
“Thank you. I hope you have a good Christmas.” Still blushing furiously, she snatched up her bag and darted away.
“Hey, Babe, I think you have a fan.” Danny chuckled.
“She’s like twelve,” Steve protested.
“I’m guessing nineteen-twenty,” Danny said, as he closed the door that the student had left open in her rush.
“Still a baby.” Steve lifted the lid of the top box. “Hey, we got free garlic bread.”
~*~
Danny paced. Danny tidied. Danny wrapped Christmas presents with grim resignation. The clock on his bedside table ticked its way interminably to eleven o’clock when he would put on his best dress trousers, shirt, and the single tie that he had recently purchased and then go to the lawyers.
Danny smoothed a strip of scotch tape over a fold of gold wrapping paper until there wasn’t a single bobble of air.
“Why, Rachel, why?” he asked a curly bow. Fear ruled Rachel’s life -- fear of instability: no money; no pension; no security; people judging her actions. They were real fears, and they were destructive. She never looked for hope, just reacted and moved on, searching for stability. Danny’s itinerant photographic contracts and projects and resultant ebb and flow of money had driven her up the proverbial wall.
Danny drew his fingers across the edge of his scissors, testing the sharpness.
There was a rap-rappity-rap on the door that was Steve’s distinctive knock. Instead of waiting for the room’s occupant to open the door for him, as was his usual habit, Steve opened the door and just poked his head in.
“Hey, Danny.” He was edgy, but a pleased smile bubbled under his skin. “I’ve got an early Christmas present for you.”
The door flung open, and…
“Monkey!”
His daughter stood in the doorway, pink suitcase resting at her feet. “Daddy!”
They met halfway across the room in the biggest hug since the volcanic islands of Hawaii were created. Kneeling, Danny held her tight, cradling her in the arch of his body. Her head tucked against his neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. She kept switching between Daddy and Danno, voice rough with tears. Danny rocked back and forth.
Danny looked up, catching Steve’s gaze. Steve lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and then simply retreated, closing the door with a soft snick.
~*~
“I don’t know whether to punch you or punch you,” Danny opened with.
Danny caught up with Steve who was covering a butt-load of casserole dishes with aluminium foil on the kitchen table. Grace was outside in the workshops visiting Mamo, harvesting in the vegetable gardens with Chin, and doing something arcane at the imu with Kono. She would probably run back and forth between them in a large circle for half and hour or so and then collapse in a puddle of glee. She was beyond excited.
“Aren’t you supposed to say: punch you or kiss you?” Steve slid around to the opposite side of the table, displaying that even SEALs knew that sometimes discretion was the better part of valour.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean--” Danny actually stamped his foot. “I haven’t slept. I haven’t… I… And you talked to Rachel, without me? Why? How? What gave you the right? I asked you for help; I didn’t ask you to take over.”
Steve was watching him, hawkeyed. Without breaking his gaze, he pulled his ITE aid remote out of his side pocket and set it on the kitchen table.
“My turn?” he asked.
It was hard arguing with someone who was deaf. “Yes,” Danny grated out.
“Right.” Steve held up one finger. “I was eighty nine percent sure that it was going to work. But if it hadn’t, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. She could have changed her mind. We still have an appointment at midday with Seolh’s lawyers.”
“What did you do? How did you do it?” Danny asked. Rachel had been insistent that Grace was not spending any time with him and that they were going back to court. She hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. “Did you… Did you… visit my ex wearing your uniform and charm her?”
Steve straightened, affronted. “I merely ensured professional deportment, to underscore the seriousness of our discussion, and to emphasise that Seolh is not a community of dilettantes.”
“Professional deportment. Dilettantes,” Danny mouthed.
“She went up against the community, Danny,” Steve said, voice level. “She was using Seolh as an excuse to take Grace from you. She wasn’t going to win.”
Danny took that sentence and turned it on its head. “Okay, I accept that. But…”
“No. She operated from a false sense of security that money buys, or, I don’t know, psychosis.”
“She was protecting her baby,” Danny said, suddenly defending his ex-wife.
“Danny. Danny. Danny.”
“Don’t ‘Danny’ me. What did you do?”
“I merely explained to Rachel and Stan that you were part of Seolh and that Seolh would support you in any custody discussions. I also explained to them how Seolh fits into the Island structure: historically to the present day; community development and charitable works; the police force, and the government. I also mentioned its links with the building and service industry.”
“Links with the building industry?” Danny parroted.
“You’ve met Kavika. A lot of his people work in the building industry. Build resorts and work at hotels and such like.”
“You blackmailed them?”
“Blackmail is such a strong word.” Steve stood a little straighter, shoulders rolling back. “And inaccurate. There was no blackmail involved. I merely stated my -- Seolh’s position.”
Emperor of Seolh, indeed. He had ran it like a strategic operation, planned and thought out down to the last iota, even to meeting with Rachel and Stan in his military uniform.
“We still have an appointment scheduled with your lawyer?” Danny asked, wondering whether he needed it or not.
“Yes, if you wish to discuss alternate custody arrangements. Rachel has, however, defaulted to the original arrangement,” Steve reported.
“Hardly, since I wasn’t scheduled to have Grace until Christmas morning,” Danny said. Grace had her large pink wheelie suitcase, which meant a visit longer than an overnighter. He hadn’t liked to ask her, to upset her, to state he didn’t know how long that his daughter would be visiting.
“Well, I pointed out to Rachel and Stan that they took Gracie off the Island and had her for all of Thanksgiving.”
“So what did you arrange for my daughter and I, Steven?” Danny asked priggishly.
Steve finally had the grace to look a little embarrassed at his presumption, but it warred with smooth satisfaction.
“Twenty hundred hours -- eight o’clock in the evening on Christmas Day. I figured that Grace would want to see her mom.”
“You figured? Hmmm.” Danny set his hands on his hips.
Steve glanced to the right, suddenly interested in the garbage can by the back door.
“If my mom was around,” he said. “I’d want to, you know, spend time… with her.”
Danny pondered on that statement until Steve shifted, uncomfortably. Danny kind of wanted the man to stew, dwell on his presumptuousness, until he figured out that he had overstepped his bounds. If Danny had had a roll of newspaper he would have batted Steve on the nose. But Steve’s heart was in the right place.
“Next time. Next time, you involve me in any of your plans. Especially if they involve my daughter. Now come here.” Danny crooked his finger.
Sensibly, Steve stepped back, even though he was still on the other side of the table.
“Steve.” Danny pointed at his feet.
Hesitantly, Steve slipped around the table as if heading to the guillotine. He came in close, head hanging dejectedly, which would have worked if he wasn’t ten foot tall.
“Thank you, Steve.” Danny hooked his arms around Steve’s narrow shoulders and hauled him in tightly, tucking Steve’s head against his neck.
“Oh.” Steve sagged, relieved. So he had realised that he had been high handed, Danny noted.
Carefully, Steve’s hands came up and circled Danny’s waist.
It was wonderful and exhilarating, and Steve smelled of the sea and a hint of Old Spice. He was warm and comfortable, despite being made of angles and long lines.
“Thank you,” Danny repeated, squeezing a little tighter.
Steve squeaked -- loudly, and surprisingly -- he squeaked.
“Shit! Your ribs!” Danny released him at the speed of light, wrenching right out of his orbit. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Yes,” Steve said, too high to be believable.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sit. Sit.” Danny grabbed his elbow.
“It’s okay, Danny. Let me just get my breath.” Steve didn’t shift, preferring to bend over, hand splayed over his left side. “You could hug for the Olympics, dude.”
“What a pair of decrepit old fools we are. Sit, man.” Danny ducked down to look in his eyes. “Have you taken any ibuprofen today?”
“Yeah, early,” Steve said. Probably just before he had driven over to Stan and Rachel’s estate and liberated Grace from their clutches, Danny added inwardly.
“So you’re due.” Danny pulled the military issue blister pack out of the back pocket of his khaki slacks. They could share meds.
Steve accepted the two white pills with a grimace, and swallowed them down dry.
“No!” Danny protested. “You’ll destroy your stomach lining!”
Danny darted, as much as an arthritically beaten up guy could, over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of organic milk.
Steve set his hand on the table and levered himself down into a chair. “It’s okay, you just took me by surprise.”
“Daddy.” Grace raced into the kitchen. “We’re going to have a bonfire and roast a pig. This is so cool.” She launched herself at Steve. “Thank you, Uncle Steve.”
Steve caught her against his right side, bracing himself against the table.
“Careful!” Danny admonished.
“It’s okay,” Steve said, as Grace rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Steve froze, mouth dropped open in surprise and eyes wide. The heat of his flush would probably be visible from outer space -- aliens would be able to use it as a homing beacon.
Danny cackled, delighted. “I think that you surprised Uncle Steve, Monkey.”
Grace laughed and was out the back door in a flash, unaware that she had shocked a Navy SEAL comatose.
Danny poured the milk in a glass and pushed it across the table into Steve’s orbit. Steve didn’t move a muscle.
“Drink your milk, tough guy.”
“I.” Steve grabbed the milk like it was a lifeline and downed it in one go.
“You okay, Babe?” Danny asked, as Steve thumped the glass back on the table.
Steve blinked at him. “It’s like riding a rollercoaster,” he muttered.
“Williamses?” Danny guessed, and shrugged. Steve was the one that had come up with a description of ‘dynamic’ for him. Grace was her father’s daughter.
Steve nodded mutely. A line of milk edged his top lip.
“Is that a bad thing?” Danny scratched at his chin.
Steve stared up at him, eyes too wide and vulnerable for a trained, professional soldier. Suddenly, he smiled, fine lines crinkling around his eyes.
“No,” he said. “I like rollercoasters.”
“Danno!” Grace came screaming back into the kitchen, reversed and raced out, hollering, “We’re building the fire. You gotta help.”
“Well, you’re about to experience a Christmas rollercoaster with a seven and a half year old, who I think was given a bag of sugar before she left her mom’s house.” As revenge went it was a subtle and evil machination on Rachel’s part.
“Oh.” Steve suddenly looked guilty.
“Did you give my daughter sugar, Steve?” Danny asked perceptively. He had probably given it to her on the way over, as an ice breaker or something. No doubt his Navy Intelligence Officer mission spec had included ‘methods of interacting with a small person while transporting said person to base.’
“I might have,” Steve said cagily, standing, and edging towards the door.
“You’re batting a thousand, Babe,” Danny observed. “Kids really aren’t in your skill set are they?”
Steve shrugged ruefully. “I can learn. I thought that they liked sugar?”
“Oh, they do. What was it? Chocolate?”
Steve had almost made it to the door. He held up one finger. “A bar.”
“A whole bar?” Danny asked faux conversationally.
“I don’t know. It was a Hershey’s Symphony bar, they’re kind of big. She might not have eaten it all.” And then he was out the door, and, ostensibly, safe.
Danny rinsed the milk glass, upturned it on the sink counter, and then set off to educate one Navy SEAL on the dietary habits of children, especially when left unsupervised.
~*~
Part forty nine
bluespirit_star Rating: Slash (very pre-slashy at the moment/will be slash in future instalments); h/c
Word count: ~3, 700
Warning:
Advisory: potty mouth; disability.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling
Spoilers: none
Beta: Springwoof, my clanger-spotter! ❤,Babe.
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
“Whoa, babe.” Danny did not drool. He did not carefully check his chin. Steve in uniform was a special treat to the eyes. “What are you wearing?”
“Navy Service Dress Blues.” Steve tipped off his white and midnight blue cap as he stepped over the threshold and into the House, tucking it under his arm.
“Was there a special occasion?” Danny asked, since Steve had actually shaved closely, judging by the bare hint of stubble in the early evening.
Steve smiled a smirk of a smile. “You could say so.”
“Did you get a medal or something?” Danny wondered, although Sunday afternoon seemed a weird time for a ceremony and why hadn’t he invited his Ohana? “You saw White, didn’t you? What did he have to say about the McGarretts?”
“Is there coffee?” Steve asked.
“Of course.” Danny rolled his eyes, and led Steve into the kitchen. Steve’s drinking tastes were diverse; if he wanted coffee he was tired. “Sit,” he directed. “Have you had lunch?”
Steve placed his cap on the table and sat after carefully tugging at the material above his knees to maintain the creases.
“Yes, I grabbed something at the base,” Steve said as the ancient espresso machine huffed and spat.
So he had been to Pearl-Harbour Hickam, Danny noted, as he frothed milk to make an indulgent latte.
“I don’t know if it has come up in conversation before?” Steve said. “As well as being my commanding officer, Joe White is an old friend of my dad’s. He’s been a mentor throughout my whole career. He knew both my mom and dad. I used to call him Uncle Joe.”
“Okay.” That kind of possibly explained the reason why the guy seemed to drop out of the woodwork left, right and centre every time there was a problem. But Danny didn’t know anything about how the Navy or the Army or any type of military organisation worked. Maybe being over protective was the name of the game.
“So I asked him if Dad knew Wo Fat.”
“And?”
“He said no. Dad was a detective in Honolulu PD. And Wo Fat would have been something like twenty back when my parents died.”
“So I guess that I didn’t hear properly, or read too much into the creep’s words?” Danny set the coffee down.
Eyebrow raised, Steve eyed the chocolate sprinkles on the top and Danny.
“Natural endorphins… in chocolate.” Danny turned to make his own coffee. “Helps with muscle pain, or so I’ve been told.”
“How are you feeling?” Steve asked. “I meant to check your graze.”
“Did you now?” Back to Steve, Danny rolled his eyes, because he was the one with the first aid skills, and started on his own coffee. “It’s healing nicely, thank you.”
“Have you changed the dressing?” Steve persisted.
“Why are you being so picky about this?” Danny asked, laughingly, turning slightly to look over his shoulder.
“You kept after me when I cut my foot. I’m just returning the favour.” Steve leaned back in his chair, a long line of perfectly tailored humanity.
Snorting, Danny focussed on his own espresso, opting for a tiny, perfect hit of caffeine, rather than a milky, sugary vat. He left it in the shot glass, rather than fooling around with another cup. He leaned up against the counter.
Steve glanced, pointedly, at Danny’s leg, where the white dressing and tape was a little grubby after the afternoon’s shenanigans.
“Slightly different. This is a graze,” Danny observed between sips of coffee. “You had something like a hundred stitches--”
“Slight exaggeration.”
“And it being right on the bottom of your foot, and hence inaccessible even if you can twist like a pretzel, you needed my help,” Danny said staunchly.
Steve snorted. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” Danny said. He raised his glass, sort of pointing to the band aid tucked high in Steve’s hairline. “And how is that healing, hmmm?”
“So where is everyone? Shouldn’t--” Steve leaned over to the side and glanced at the white board on the back of the kitchen door, “-- Chin be preparing dinner?”
“You missed out on the start of what I think might be the most laborious food preparation ritual in the world,” Danny said. “And, no, I’m not talking about that shark meat thing that you urinate on and stick in a pit for month. Although.... I hope that there’s no urine in the pork thing.”
“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, aghast.
“Mamo had this enormous chainsaw.” Danny held his arms outstretched. “And Al’u cut down a banana tree. He and Chin started cutting it into small chunks. And Kono, saying that it was good exercise, dragged me into the woods where we collected ti leaves.”
“Are we having a Christmas lu’au?” Steve asked, brightening. His smile lit up, incandescent. “Really? I didn’t think -- are we using the pit?”
“They’re out there clearing out some pit by the workshops. I came in -- honestly, I had to sit down, and get some more sunscreen. And then you came.”
“I haven’t been to a Christmas lu’au for years. Oh, you’ll love kalua pig. You’re in for a treat.” Quickly, Steve tossed down a mouthful of coffee. “I need to go get changed and go see what’s happening.”
Chortling happily, Steve snatched up his cap and dashed off upstairs. It was if he had suddenly metamorphosed into a kid.
“Huh.” Danny folded his hands on the table. Perhaps there was something to this Christmas lu’au thing.
~*~
“Chin Ho Kelly!” Steve sang out as he strode diagonally across the lawn to the workshops. “Mamo Kahike, what are you planning?”
Mamo laughed a belly laugh. Kono and Chin joined in.
They stood around the dirt area directly opposite the pottery kiln where an old deep pit had been dug. During the afternoon, Danny knew that Chin and Mamo had cleaned out the collected windblown rubbish and old leaves, and checked the stones lining the pit. Mamo’s giant nephew Al’u had dropped by earlier to help move the heavy, round, dark-grey rocks that were scattered all around the workshops into a handy pile next to the pit, before wielding the chainsaw to decimate a poor little banana tree.
Since Danny had taken a little break, Kono had a piled their large banana leaves and long, green fronds of ti leaves into a heap on a tarpaulin. Forearm-long chunks of pale yellow banana wood were stacked on another tarpaulin.
“So what’s the plan?” Steve asked, rubbing his palms together, taking in their preparations.
Kono wiped a grubby hand across her forehead. “Build the fire tomorrow, so we can light it first thing on Tuesday.”
“It should be hot enough by mid-late afternoon,” Mamo estimated.
“You’ve got a hog? A big hog?” Steve asked, looking back towards the House.
“Should take about twelve hours to steam,” Mamo said.
Steve grinned happily at Danny, and Danny couldn’t help but respond wholeheartedly. This appeared to be the best Christmas present that Mamo and Chin could have given him. Danny bet that they were relieved to see that happy grin, because earlier Danny had had the distinct impression that they had been shitting bricks.
“So,” Chin began, looking heavenwards at couple of clouds building on the horizon, “let’s cover everything with tarpaulins in case it rains.”
Mamo raised his chin and sniffed. “We should be okay, but better safe than sorry.”
“Okay.” Steve glanced at his overly pretentious and shiny diving watch. “Danny, do you want to go back in the House and order pizza while we get all this stuff locked down? It’s late to start preparing dinner, and you guys look like you all need showers.”
“Gee, thanks, Steve.” Kono huffed.
“Subtle, babe.” Danny laughed and took himself off to the House, to get out of the line of fire, and ensure that decent pizzas were ordered.
~*~
“So, Steve, what’s happening tomorrow?” Danny asked, as they set out plates and napkins for the pizzas on the kitchen table.
Mamo had headed on home, with promises to return tomorrow with his wife and a plethora of family to help with the imu. Kono and Chin were catching much needed showers.
Steve read the question correctly, somehow knowing that Danny was not asking about the Christmas lu’au, but rather Grace.
“Get ready for midday.”
“You spoke to your lawyer? Lawyers today? On a Sunday?” Danny asked.
“Yes.” Steve nodded definitely and seriously. “They’re on retainer.”
“Do they think we’ve… I’ve got a good case?”
Steve set down a handful of cutlery with a clunk on the table. Stilling, he set his most serious gaze on Danny, adroitly requesting all of Danny’s attention.
“What?” Danny fidgeted. “What!”
“Danny. Trust me when I say that you will see Grace this Christmas. I can’t tell you not to worry, because you’re a worrier.”
“I am not!”
“You will see Grace. I promise.”
“You can’t promise, Steven,” Danny said weakly.
“I can.”
There was a tap on the kitchen window, and the young student who usually delivered their pizzas waved enthusiastically.
“Door’s open,” Danny hollered. It usually was.
“Hey, Elaine,” Steve greeted, as he rooted in the rent tin on the top of the fridge, and pulled out some bills.
“Hi, guys.” Elaine set a padded messenger bag, which probably weighed the same as she did, on the kitchen table and began unpacking. “Mele Kalikimaka!”
“Mele Kalikimaka,” Steve returned, handing over payment and what looked like an impressive Christmas tip.
Elaine clutched the wad of cash, then flicked a fleeting look up at Steve and blushed.
“Thank you. I hope you have a good Christmas.” Still blushing furiously, she snatched up her bag and darted away.
“Hey, Babe, I think you have a fan.” Danny chuckled.
“She’s like twelve,” Steve protested.
“I’m guessing nineteen-twenty,” Danny said, as he closed the door that the student had left open in her rush.
“Still a baby.” Steve lifted the lid of the top box. “Hey, we got free garlic bread.”
~*~
Danny paced. Danny tidied. Danny wrapped Christmas presents with grim resignation. The clock on his bedside table ticked its way interminably to eleven o’clock when he would put on his best dress trousers, shirt, and the single tie that he had recently purchased and then go to the lawyers.
Danny smoothed a strip of scotch tape over a fold of gold wrapping paper until there wasn’t a single bobble of air.
“Why, Rachel, why?” he asked a curly bow. Fear ruled Rachel’s life -- fear of instability: no money; no pension; no security; people judging her actions. They were real fears, and they were destructive. She never looked for hope, just reacted and moved on, searching for stability. Danny’s itinerant photographic contracts and projects and resultant ebb and flow of money had driven her up the proverbial wall.
Danny drew his fingers across the edge of his scissors, testing the sharpness.
There was a rap-rappity-rap on the door that was Steve’s distinctive knock. Instead of waiting for the room’s occupant to open the door for him, as was his usual habit, Steve opened the door and just poked his head in.
“Hey, Danny.” He was edgy, but a pleased smile bubbled under his skin. “I’ve got an early Christmas present for you.”
The door flung open, and…
“Monkey!”
His daughter stood in the doorway, pink suitcase resting at her feet. “Daddy!”
They met halfway across the room in the biggest hug since the volcanic islands of Hawaii were created. Kneeling, Danny held her tight, cradling her in the arch of his body. Her head tucked against his neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. She kept switching between Daddy and Danno, voice rough with tears. Danny rocked back and forth.
Danny looked up, catching Steve’s gaze. Steve lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and then simply retreated, closing the door with a soft snick.
~*~
“I don’t know whether to punch you or punch you,” Danny opened with.
Danny caught up with Steve who was covering a butt-load of casserole dishes with aluminium foil on the kitchen table. Grace was outside in the workshops visiting Mamo, harvesting in the vegetable gardens with Chin, and doing something arcane at the imu with Kono. She would probably run back and forth between them in a large circle for half and hour or so and then collapse in a puddle of glee. She was beyond excited.
“Aren’t you supposed to say: punch you or kiss you?” Steve slid around to the opposite side of the table, displaying that even SEALs knew that sometimes discretion was the better part of valour.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean--” Danny actually stamped his foot. “I haven’t slept. I haven’t… I… And you talked to Rachel, without me? Why? How? What gave you the right? I asked you for help; I didn’t ask you to take over.”
Steve was watching him, hawkeyed. Without breaking his gaze, he pulled his ITE aid remote out of his side pocket and set it on the kitchen table.
“My turn?” he asked.
It was hard arguing with someone who was deaf. “Yes,” Danny grated out.
“Right.” Steve held up one finger. “I was eighty nine percent sure that it was going to work. But if it hadn’t, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. She could have changed her mind. We still have an appointment at midday with Seolh’s lawyers.”
“What did you do? How did you do it?” Danny asked. Rachel had been insistent that Grace was not spending any time with him and that they were going back to court. She hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. “Did you… Did you… visit my ex wearing your uniform and charm her?”
Steve straightened, affronted. “I merely ensured professional deportment, to underscore the seriousness of our discussion, and to emphasise that Seolh is not a community of dilettantes.”
“Professional deportment. Dilettantes,” Danny mouthed.
“She went up against the community, Danny,” Steve said, voice level. “She was using Seolh as an excuse to take Grace from you. She wasn’t going to win.”
Danny took that sentence and turned it on its head. “Okay, I accept that. But…”
“No. She operated from a false sense of security that money buys, or, I don’t know, psychosis.”
“She was protecting her baby,” Danny said, suddenly defending his ex-wife.
“Danny. Danny. Danny.”
“Don’t ‘Danny’ me. What did you do?”
“I merely explained to Rachel and Stan that you were part of Seolh and that Seolh would support you in any custody discussions. I also explained to them how Seolh fits into the Island structure: historically to the present day; community development and charitable works; the police force, and the government. I also mentioned its links with the building and service industry.”
“Links with the building industry?” Danny parroted.
“You’ve met Kavika. A lot of his people work in the building industry. Build resorts and work at hotels and such like.”
“You blackmailed them?”
“Blackmail is such a strong word.” Steve stood a little straighter, shoulders rolling back. “And inaccurate. There was no blackmail involved. I merely stated my -- Seolh’s position.”
Emperor of Seolh, indeed. He had ran it like a strategic operation, planned and thought out down to the last iota, even to meeting with Rachel and Stan in his military uniform.
“We still have an appointment scheduled with your lawyer?” Danny asked, wondering whether he needed it or not.
“Yes, if you wish to discuss alternate custody arrangements. Rachel has, however, defaulted to the original arrangement,” Steve reported.
“Hardly, since I wasn’t scheduled to have Grace until Christmas morning,” Danny said. Grace had her large pink wheelie suitcase, which meant a visit longer than an overnighter. He hadn’t liked to ask her, to upset her, to state he didn’t know how long that his daughter would be visiting.
“Well, I pointed out to Rachel and Stan that they took Gracie off the Island and had her for all of Thanksgiving.”
“So what did you arrange for my daughter and I, Steven?” Danny asked priggishly.
Steve finally had the grace to look a little embarrassed at his presumption, but it warred with smooth satisfaction.
“Twenty hundred hours -- eight o’clock in the evening on Christmas Day. I figured that Grace would want to see her mom.”
“You figured? Hmmm.” Danny set his hands on his hips.
Steve glanced to the right, suddenly interested in the garbage can by the back door.
“If my mom was around,” he said. “I’d want to, you know, spend time… with her.”
Danny pondered on that statement until Steve shifted, uncomfortably. Danny kind of wanted the man to stew, dwell on his presumptuousness, until he figured out that he had overstepped his bounds. If Danny had had a roll of newspaper he would have batted Steve on the nose. But Steve’s heart was in the right place.
“Next time. Next time, you involve me in any of your plans. Especially if they involve my daughter. Now come here.” Danny crooked his finger.
Sensibly, Steve stepped back, even though he was still on the other side of the table.
“Steve.” Danny pointed at his feet.
Hesitantly, Steve slipped around the table as if heading to the guillotine. He came in close, head hanging dejectedly, which would have worked if he wasn’t ten foot tall.
“Thank you, Steve.” Danny hooked his arms around Steve’s narrow shoulders and hauled him in tightly, tucking Steve’s head against his neck.
“Oh.” Steve sagged, relieved. So he had realised that he had been high handed, Danny noted.
Carefully, Steve’s hands came up and circled Danny’s waist.
It was wonderful and exhilarating, and Steve smelled of the sea and a hint of Old Spice. He was warm and comfortable, despite being made of angles and long lines.
“Thank you,” Danny repeated, squeezing a little tighter.
Steve squeaked -- loudly, and surprisingly -- he squeaked.
“Shit! Your ribs!” Danny released him at the speed of light, wrenching right out of his orbit. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Yes,” Steve said, too high to be believable.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sit. Sit.” Danny grabbed his elbow.
“It’s okay, Danny. Let me just get my breath.” Steve didn’t shift, preferring to bend over, hand splayed over his left side. “You could hug for the Olympics, dude.”
“What a pair of decrepit old fools we are. Sit, man.” Danny ducked down to look in his eyes. “Have you taken any ibuprofen today?”
“Yeah, early,” Steve said. Probably just before he had driven over to Stan and Rachel’s estate and liberated Grace from their clutches, Danny added inwardly.
“So you’re due.” Danny pulled the military issue blister pack out of the back pocket of his khaki slacks. They could share meds.
Steve accepted the two white pills with a grimace, and swallowed them down dry.
“No!” Danny protested. “You’ll destroy your stomach lining!”
Danny darted, as much as an arthritically beaten up guy could, over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of organic milk.
Steve set his hand on the table and levered himself down into a chair. “It’s okay, you just took me by surprise.”
“Daddy.” Grace raced into the kitchen. “We’re going to have a bonfire and roast a pig. This is so cool.” She launched herself at Steve. “Thank you, Uncle Steve.”
Steve caught her against his right side, bracing himself against the table.
“Careful!” Danny admonished.
“It’s okay,” Steve said, as Grace rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Steve froze, mouth dropped open in surprise and eyes wide. The heat of his flush would probably be visible from outer space -- aliens would be able to use it as a homing beacon.
Danny cackled, delighted. “I think that you surprised Uncle Steve, Monkey.”
Grace laughed and was out the back door in a flash, unaware that she had shocked a Navy SEAL comatose.
Danny poured the milk in a glass and pushed it across the table into Steve’s orbit. Steve didn’t move a muscle.
“Drink your milk, tough guy.”
“I.” Steve grabbed the milk like it was a lifeline and downed it in one go.
“You okay, Babe?” Danny asked, as Steve thumped the glass back on the table.
Steve blinked at him. “It’s like riding a rollercoaster,” he muttered.
“Williamses?” Danny guessed, and shrugged. Steve was the one that had come up with a description of ‘dynamic’ for him. Grace was her father’s daughter.
Steve nodded mutely. A line of milk edged his top lip.
“Is that a bad thing?” Danny scratched at his chin.
Steve stared up at him, eyes too wide and vulnerable for a trained, professional soldier. Suddenly, he smiled, fine lines crinkling around his eyes.
“No,” he said. “I like rollercoasters.”
“Danno!” Grace came screaming back into the kitchen, reversed and raced out, hollering, “We’re building the fire. You gotta help.”
“Well, you’re about to experience a Christmas rollercoaster with a seven and a half year old, who I think was given a bag of sugar before she left her mom’s house.” As revenge went it was a subtle and evil machination on Rachel’s part.
“Oh.” Steve suddenly looked guilty.
“Did you give my daughter sugar, Steve?” Danny asked perceptively. He had probably given it to her on the way over, as an ice breaker or something. No doubt his Navy Intelligence Officer mission spec had included ‘methods of interacting with a small person while transporting said person to base.’
“I might have,” Steve said cagily, standing, and edging towards the door.
“You’re batting a thousand, Babe,” Danny observed. “Kids really aren’t in your skill set are they?”
Steve shrugged ruefully. “I can learn. I thought that they liked sugar?”
“Oh, they do. What was it? Chocolate?”
Steve had almost made it to the door. He held up one finger. “A bar.”
“A whole bar?” Danny asked faux conversationally.
“I don’t know. It was a Hershey’s Symphony bar, they’re kind of big. She might not have eaten it all.” And then he was out the door, and, ostensibly, safe.
Danny rinsed the milk glass, upturned it on the sink counter, and then set off to educate one Navy SEAL on the dietary habits of children, especially when left unsupervised.
~*~
Part forty nine
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Date: 2012-09-08 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-15 08:56 am (UTC)glad you enjoyed it.