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Sympathy for the werewolf	By : mermaidnz Category: G through L > Hawaii Five-0 (2010) > Hawaii Five-0 (2010) Views: 3438 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hawaii Five-0, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The grocery store is crowded, reminding Danny why he tries to avoid shopping on a Saturday. He picks up everything on his mental list – he really hadn't been kidding about having the chicken soup recipe memorized – and Steve's written list.

Steve writes in steeply-sloping capitals, like a man who's in a hurry but needs to make himself understood. A handwriting analyst would have a field day with Steve...hell, any kind of analyst would. Even his issues have issues, and that was before one of his friends tried to kill him.

Danny picks up the Honolulu paper at the checkout, suppressing a sigh. God, he misses waking up to find the New York Times on his doorstep; he can read it online, sure, but it's just not the same. Danny would even settle for the Newark Star-Ledger, which he used to skim-read in his precinct's break room. He thought it was full of boring local news, back then. Now he'd treasure every word.

He stops by his apartment and packs a bag of spare clothes, since he doesn't know how long Steve will need him to stay. It actually might be a good idea to stockpile some stuff at the McGarrett house anyway, considering how often they need to get changed during a case (Danny's lost count of the shirts he's had ruined since joining Five-0). Stopping at both his place and Steve's seems like a waste of time when there's important work to do.

Danny picks up a book about the Yankees from his desk – his brother sent it as a birthday present, and it's been gathering dust ever since. The soup takes a couple of hours to cook, so he'll have time to do some reading this afternoon.

His laptop is on the desk too, and Danny's fingers itch to start researching everything he's seen and heard since last night. But he'll do Steve the courtesy of waiting 'til he's healthy again.

Back at the house, Danny checks on Steve and finds him fast asleep, breathing steadily. He's kicked off the covers but is no longer shivering; the chills stage of his fever must have passed.

Danny fixes himself a sandwich, and reads the paper as he eats. The cover story is about Governor Jameson's chances of re-election in 2012. It's hard for Danny to think about her in the purely political sense, when she's practically his direct boss. He's always been a conscientious voter, but he might skip the gubernatorial section of the ballot paper come next Election Day.

Poll results indicate that the governor's popularity has been increasing recently. Danny wonders if it's a coincidence that the upward trend started after she created her task force. Five-0 has left a trail of collateral damage across the islands, as Danny's repeatedly and loudly pointed out to Steve. But they've done some damn good work too, and maybe the local folks are starting to appreciate the results.

Despite all his perfectly justified complaints, Danny is proud of what he's achieved here in the past few months. It'd be so boring to go back to ordinary police work after this, even if it would lower his blood pressure and possibly raise his life expectancy.

And God help him, but he'd really miss Steve.

***

Danny washes his hands and starts on the soup, losing himself in the familiar rhythms: preparing the chicken, chopping the vegetables, and skimming the fat off the top. It's the first time he's done this in Hawaii. Making soup just for himself is too depressing a prospect, and Grace hasn't needed this type of traditional medicine since she moved here. Whatever else Danny may hate about this place, at least the climate's good for his little girl's health.

As he works, he thinks about his mother. She'd insisted that all four of her kids – sons as well as daughters – learn this recipe that her beloved Italian grandmother had brought over from the old country. Danny can clearly remember Ma standing at the stove, waving a wooden spoon around, as she talked about the ingredients and proportions and method.

The smell of the soup is the most evocative thing of all, a scent memory transporting Danny across 2,000 miles of ocean and 3,000 miles of land to home. Steve had given him shit about being homesick for Jersey's restaurants...Christ, it's hard to believe that conversation only happened yesterday. But truly, it's his mother's kitchen that he misses the most.

Danny gets to the point where he can leave the broth alone to simmer. So he brews some coffee, sits down in one of the chairs outside, and calls his parents in Jersey. Ma answers, and they swap news of Grace and the rest of the family for a few minutes. Danny mentions that he's making great-grandma's chicken soup for his sick partner, and she approves warmly.

In the background, he can hear the bubbling of the pasta Ma's cooking for supper; his folks always eat late on a Saturday, after coming home from evening Mass. There's also the faint sound of the game Pop's watching in the next room. Danny feels a wave of homesickness wash over him, and his view of the ocean goes blurry.

These days, Danny has some idea of how his great-grandmother must have felt after leaving Italy.

He talks to Pop for a while, getting a blow-by-blow of the game that's almost as good as watching it himself, before hanging up and going back inside to check on the soup.

Danny's just sat down with his Yankees book, at last, when he hears a low groan from upstairs. Letting the paperback fall to the floor, he takes the stairs two at a time. Steve is spread-eagled on the bed, sweat-slicked chest heaving, head twitching from side to side and eyelids flickering. Danny assumes he's having a nasty fever dream and moves closer, intending to wake him up.

But two things stop him: the sight of Steve's erection, clearly outlined by his close-fitting pajamas; and the sound of Steve moaning Danny's name, and not in the 'I'm having a nightmare that my partner's in danger' kind of way. Apparently it's a different type of dream altogether. Danny backs out of the room and heads back downstairs, feeling shocked and confused and more than a little turned on.

'Cos yeah, he's been interested in Steve since they met. Danny was attracted despite himself, at first, when the guy seemed like a jackass lunatic who just happened to be stupidly hot. As he got to know Steve it became stronger and more real, based on his many excellent qualities as well as his physical appeal.

But Danny had no idea that Steve felt the same thing – hell, no idea that he might swing that way at all. So much for gaydar, huh? To be fair, though, if Steve is into guys, he's probably been in stealth mode for years. 'Don't ask, don't tell' may be getting repealed sometime soon, but Steve's presumably still subject to it.

So Danny can't do anything with this information, or not yet anyway. You can't hold a person's subconscious thoughts against them, especially when they're injured and sick. Still, the idea of Steve dreaming about him makes Danny's heart beat faster, and his mind fills with explicit images of the two of them together.

He stirs the soup far more vigorously than it deserves, then goes back to the couch. He doesn't have the concentration for reading anymore, so he attempts the crosswords and Sudoku puzzles in the paper. Danny manages to keep himself occupied until it's time to add the pasta and the other finishing touches to the soup.

***

Steve's timing is perfect; he comes downstairs just after Danny does the last taste test, decides the soup is just right, and takes the pot off the heat. Steve manages to navigate the stairs unaided, which is a big improvement on earlier. He looks slightly less gray, and his eyes are clearer. Danny is relieved that he's wearing a bathrobe, because seeing him half-naked right now would be even more of a temptation than usual.

Steve licks his lips and says, "Wow, Danny, that smells incredible. I had no idea you were such a good cook."

"Hey, there's a lot of things you don't know about me," Danny shoots back as he ladles the soup into bowls, and Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

"Really? I thought you'd told me your life story several times over by now – sure feels like it, anyway."

He must be feeling better if he can engage in mockery, so Danny settles for a glare rather than arguing. He doesn't want to dwell on the things Steve doesn't know, like the fact Danny's bisexual or that he has this massive crush on Steve.

Steve makes an appreciative mmm noise as he takes his first mouthful, smiling across at Danny who feels absurdly pleased. It was worth all the time and effort of making the soup, just to hear that sound. Taylor hurt Steve 24 hours ago, and this is the happiest Danny's seen him since.

Steve manages two helpings, which is another good sign of recovery. Once Danny's done eating, he reaches over to feel his partner's forehead: definitely cooler now, thank God. Steve holds himself still under his touch.

"Let me check your dressings," Danny says, and Steve obediently opens his robe and lets it slip down to reveal his upper arms. Both bandages are clean and dry, and that bitter burning smell seems to have faded. Steve is clearly still exhausted, though, as he's allowing Danny to fuss over him without complaint.

"Right," Danny says, "back to bed."

Steve yawns. "Okay. Thanks for the soup, and for being a great nurse today."

"I've had worse patients," Danny says, and it's entirely true. Rachel had always been grouchy as hell when she was sick, her tongue even sharper than usual.

And once, when she had the flu and was flailing around in a fever dream, Gracie not only kicked Danny in the balls but also smacked him hard enough to cause a nosebleed. That had been a seriously unpleasant night.

"Well, I should be fine by Monday, so you can pick me up as usual," Steve says.

"Oh, no, my friend," Danny replies, "what makes you think you can get rid of me that easy? I'm staying here tonight, and Sunday night too if you're still sick."

"I can take care of myself," Steve protests, trying and failing to stifle another yawn.

"I don't doubt that you can perform field surgery on yourself – while hanging upside down from a tree, maybe, or even underwater if you feel like an extra challenge. But this silver allergy thing is awful, and nobody should have to suffer through it alone."

As he speaks, Danny's watching Steve closely...and yeah, there's that tiny flinch again. Does repeating the cover story back to him trigger a painful memory, something older and even worse than Taylor's betrayal?

But Steve says nothing, and Danny goes on. "I'll crash on the couch if necessary, though I'd prefer an actual bed. So: where can I sleep?"

After another moment of silence, where Danny can't read his expression at all, Steve offers, "My old room only has a single bed, and it's not made up. But you're welcome to it."

"That's mighty hospitable of you, partner," Danny drawls, and Steve manages a small grin.

The soup has cooled off, so Danny pours it into Tupperware containers and sticks it in the fridge; he'll deal with the dishes tomorrow. He stays close behind as they head upstairs, but Steve's reassuringly steady on his feet.

Steve goes to take another shower, promising to keep his dressings dry, and Danny opens the linen closet to grab some sheets – damn, how many years has it been since he last slept in a single? He also pulls out clean sheets for Steve's bed, because it's nice to have fresh bedding when you've been feeling sick and sweaty.

***

Danny's just finishing up in the master bedroom, getting the last creases out of the fitted sheet, when his fingers brush against a small cylindrical object tucked underneath the mattress. He knows he shouldn't look, knows it's an invasion of privacy, but the shower's still running and he's been plagued by unbearable curiosity all day.

Danny's initially disappointed to see that it's just an ordinary plastic pill bottle, with dozens of white tablets inside. Then he reads the label, and realizes that it's actually very weird.

For a start, the drug doesn't have a proper name: it's just called 'Formula 2912'. The label doesn't mention Steve by name, either – the prescription's made out to a 'Subject AF/06/88'. But the bottle's location suggests that Steve's the one taking the pills, whether he's supposed to be or not.

There are other standard elements missing from the label. The dispensing pharmacy isn't identified, and there's no information about the prescribing physician beyond the name 'Dr. Alexander'. And the dosage instructions are strange too: 'Take twice daily, with food, for seven days; repeat on cyclical basis'.

The date on the label is from earlier this year, not long after Steve returned to Hawaii. Danny doesn't remember him ever mentioning any chronic health problems – the guy seems to have an iron constitution, the last 24 hours aside. And you'd have to torture Steve before he'd admit to needing psychiatric medication.

So what are these pills for, and why has Steve been hiding them under his mattress?

Danny hears the water shut off, so he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the label. He puts the bottle back where he found it, and then hurries down the hallway. When Steve emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, Danny's in his old room wrestling a pillow into its slip.

Steve gives him a tired smile and says, "'Night, Danny," as he walks past the doorway.

"Sleep well," Danny replies, like he always tells Grace. He bites his lip to keep from adding the automatic follow-up: 'Danno loves you'. It might well be true, but he's far from ready to say it to Steve.

Danny's worn out, but he feels too wired to sleep. He sits on the edge of the bed, and stares at the photo he just took.

His first theory is that Steve might be an addict. Before yesterday, Danny would have laughed at the idea; his partner's the ultimate 'my body is my temple' type, swimming for miles each morning and shunning malasadas. Now Danny has to reconsider everything he thought he knew about Steve, and contemplate every possibility.

But perhaps the pills are a legitimate prescription, intended for Steve and being used by him as directed.

In that case, the drug and patient names on the label must be encoded for a reason. Is there an embarrassing or deadly disease that Steve's desperate to keep hidden? Or does he have some service-related sickness that the top brass don't want to acknowledge, like an Afghanistan version of Gulf War Syndrome?

Or...could Steve be taking part in a medical experiment? Danny's not a conspiracy theorist or a sci-fi nut, okay. But he can believe that the Pentagon might be exploring innovative ways to enhance the physical and mental condition of its personnel – especially the elite forces.

Who better to test some new 'super soldier' formula than a highly-decorated SEAL commander, recently transferred to the Reserves? Steve's still in excellent shape, despite not being on active duty. And instead of traveling to dangerous places, far from medical oversight, he's living in suburbia with one of the country's best military hospitals nearby. He'd be a great guinea pig, really, what with the stoicism and self-sacrifice.

Huh. Maybe Danny's been reading this whole situation wrong; maybe Steve's odd symptoms and secretive behavior can be explained away by that little bottle of innocuous pills. Danny just doesn't know what to believe, and his head hurts too much to think about it any longer.

He works out how to save the picture to a folder, for future reference, then puts his phone on the bedside table. Lying back on the narrow but comfortable bed, Danny looks around at Steve's childhood room. It seems that Jack McGarrett left it pretty much untouched after sending his son away to the mainland, and that Steve hasn't made any changes since taking over the house.

So there are memories of Steve's adolescence everywhere Danny turns. Unlike the room Danny had as a teenager, there are no movie or music posters on these walls. Instead, there are pictures of Steve's football team, his framed high school diploma, and a first prize pennant from the state science fair. Danny's willing to bet that the winning exhibit was chemistry-related: Steve probably always had an unhealthy interest in blowing shit up.

Danny thinks about browsing the bookshelves, not only to find something to read but also to gain more insights into his partner's past. But he's surprisingly tired now – even the unanswered questions swirling around in his mind aren't enough to keep his eyes open. He strips down to his shorts, switches off the bedside light, and falls asleep soon after.

***

Steve sleeps for much of Sunday, getting up only to use the bathroom and eat. Danny has a quiet morning, reading his Yankees book over a late breakfast. It's well-written and interesting, even if it makes him yearn to go to a decent ball game. Danny makes a mental note to email his brother, and thank him again for the gift.

He calls Chin around eleven, reporting that Steve's knife wound had become infected and that he's been laid low most of the weekend. Chin's concerned, but Danny reassures him that Steve should be better by tomorrow. He hopes he isn't wrong about that.

The broken windows in Steve's living room have to be replaced ASAP, so Danny asks Chin to recommend some local glaziers. They also talk about the other repairs that the McGarrett house will need. Somehow, Danny isn't surprised when Chin names Kamekona as the go-to guy for cheap lumber; the shave ice magnate seems to have a finger in every pie around here.

When Steve comes downstairs around noon, he's still pale but seems to have regained some of his strength. His hair is mussed up from so many hours in bed. Part of Danny's brain thinks it's utterly adorable, while another part wonders if Steve would look like that after several rounds of really fantastic sex.

Christ, Danny's so far gone for this guy. It'd be funny if it weren't kind of pathetic.

He makes grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and is pleased to see Steve eating heartily. Once they're done, Danny brings up the urgent need to call a glazier.

"We can't leave the house 'til the windows are secured. You're not up to doing any manual labor, and I don't think I could manage the job alone. It'll cost a fortune to get someone out here today, though," he warns.

"Okay, that's cool. Don't worry, Danny, I can afford it," Steve says, and goes back to bed.

Spoken like a guy who has neither a mortgage nor rent to pay, Danny thinks resentfully, but then he considers what Steve used to do for his paycheck. He hardly ever discusses his work with the SEALs. Still, it's safe to assume that he served his country in vital and incredibly dangerous ways, in places Danny couldn't locate on a map and would never want to visit. If Steve's got a healthy bank balance, he's more than earned it.

So Danny tries the glass contractors Chin suggested, and finds someone willing to work on a Sunday. The guy shows up an hour later with his son, and the two of them spend the afternoon making a racket and a mess. But they install the new windows perfectly and tidy up after themselves, and Danny's pretty happy despite the exorbitant figure on their invoice.

He calls Grace after the glaziers leave, just to hear the sound of her voice. She talks excitedly about going sailing on step-Stan's new yacht yesterday, and Danny grits his teeth.

He'd thought the divorce would get easier to bear...and yeah, it has a little. Danny still misses Rachel, sometimes, and regrets the mistakes he made with her. But he can accept that they weren't good for each other, and that staying together would have damaged their daughter.

It's just so fucking unfair that Stan gets to spoil Grace, gets to take her presence in his life and home for granted, while Danny has his time with her carefully rationed by a judge.

Steve has helped, though, maybe without even knowing it. Danny's non-custody weekends used to be pretty empty and bleak, but Steve's been dragging him out of his apartment and showing him more of the island. And Five-0's work fills Danny's days so completely that he's often too tired to feel sorry for himself at night.

Somehow Steve managed to sleep through all the noise of the window repairs. He comes downstairs at seven, freshly showered and looking healthier. They have soup for supper again, then Danny runs to the store and picks up his favorite cookie dough ice cream for dessert.

He badgers Steve into eating some: "you're still running a low-grade fever, okay, and this will help cool your system down." Steve shoots him a dubious look, but accepts the bowl without argument. They spend the rest of the evening watching football together, Danny yelling at the ref through a mouthful of ice cream and Steve laughing at him from the other end of the couch.

It's the most relaxing day Danny's had for a long, long while.
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Sympathy for the werewolf