Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Sympathy for the werewolf	By : mermaidnz Category: G through L > Hawaii Five-0 (2010) > Hawaii Five-0 (2010) Views: 3441 -:- 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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Danny stashes the CSU evidence in a safe place when he gets home on Tuesday, and goes back to his research. He reads about lycanthropy until his eyes start to swim, taking a break only when his Chinese take-out arrives.

He goes through more Russian websites about Afghanistan, and comes across a few accounts written in English by Afghan exiles. One makes the intriguing claim that some rebel fighters had deliberately become werewolves during the 1980s, in order to terrorize and demoralize the Soviet occupiers. If that's true, then maybe the insurgents currently battling NATO forces are using the same tactic.

He also finds some tantalizing references to a weird chronic condition being suffered by American troops who've fought in Afghanistan, but nothing concrete. The Pentagon's basement-dwellers must be keeping this thing pretty quiet.

Danny looks up Dr. Alexander again, and sees that she's had research papers published in major medical journals. He tries to skim-read a few of her articles, but it's all Greek to him. He guesses she wouldn't dare refer to something as secret as 'Formula 2912' even in the vaguest terms.

He doesn't fall asleep 'til well after midnight, his brain still thinking up medical euphemisms for werewolf transformation despite his body's exhaustion.

Five-0 gets an urgent call on Wednesday morning, a hostage situation at a Waikiki hotel. Resolving the standoff without casualties – and trying to stay calm after Steve exchanges himself for one of the hostages, again – keeps Danny's mind occupied all day. He's too tired that night to do anything but fall into bed.

Danny spends Thursday evening online as well, making some final checks and making a plan. And when he goes to pick Steve up on Friday morning, he says, "Hey, are we on for dinner tonight at your place? I want to run something by you."

"Uh, sure," Steve says. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Danny reassures him. "There's just a thing I need to discuss with you. It's nothing bad, honest."

"Right," Steve says, his tone suggesting he's not convinced. "Well, we can pick up some steaks on the way home, and grill out. Should be a nice warm evening."

"It's always warm here," Danny complains. "It's like Hawaii heard of the concept of four distinct seasons and went, 'Whatever, brah, that's way too much work'." But his dislike of the island is becoming more pro forma than real, and they both know it.

Steve's on edge all day, giving Danny these side glances that he probably thinks are subtle and absent-mindedly scratching at the skin around his bandages. Danny would bet that his injuries are fully healed already, and that the dressings are only there to hide that fact.

Outwardly, at least, Steve seems to have totally recovered from Taylor's attack. The worrying pallor is gone, thankfully, and he's back to his normal golden tan. There are pictures online of people with permanently discolored skin from swallowing too much silver; it's not a pretty sight. But Danny admits to himself that he'd still want Steve even if he was stained bluish-gray.

Thank God they haven't got an urgent case right now, because Danny's distracted too. He has this strange cognitive dissonance thing going on. He can look at Steve and think 'lunatic partner, best friend, hopeless crush', just like always, but then get this sudden rush of suspicion and doubt and anxiety.

Danny keeps second-guessing himself. Should he say anything tonight, or let it slide? Is it worth risking everything they've built up, professionally and personally? What if he's wrong?

What if he's right?

***

After dinner, Danny and Steve sit outside and watch the sun sink over the ocean. Their usual Friday night kick back has been weirdly awkward so far. Though they're only two feet apart, there's a whole world of silence between them. And abruptly, Danny decides to just go for it.

"So here's the thing, Steve." Once Steve's turned towards him, Danny says, "I'm pretty sure you're a werewolf."

Steve's got much better self-control now he's not sick and feverish, so Danny doesn't see him flinch this time. But his face suddenly goes blank and his body tenses up, like Danny's revealed himself to be an enemy agent hell-bent on interrogating Steve.

"What? I'm not a...that's ridiculous, Danny." Steve even manages to inject a little incredulous laughter into his voice.

It's an impressive front, but Danny's not buying it for a second. "Yeah, no – you know what? Let's assume that you denied it, and I outlined all the evidence I've put together since last Friday, and you finally admitted it. It'd save us both some time, and then we could move on to the interesting stuff."

Though Steve's trying so hard to appear calm, his rapid breathing and widened eyes give away his true state. Danny's never seen Steve look like this before, and it makes his heart ache to be the cause of such distress. But he's started this now; he has to see it through.

"You remember I'm a detective, right?" Danny goes on in a softer tone, when Steve doesn't speak. "A pretty good one, if I do say it myself. So give me some credit, here."

Steve abruptly stands up, and Danny forces himself to remain still. He doesn't want to shrink back or show fear; doesn't want to give Steve any reason to freak out further. But Steve moves away from Danny, striding down to the water's edge and gazing out to sea.

Danny stays where he is, sipping his beer and trying to be patient. The ball's in Steve's court now.

Steve stands there with his back to Danny for long minutes, hands clenched at his sides. Danny wonders what's going through his head. Is he formulating a plausible denial, planning his escape...or plotting how to kill Danny and get away with it?

Christ, he hopes he hasn't misjudged Steve that badly. Dying at the hands of a criminal is one thing; Danny faces that danger nearly every day, despite all the precautions he tries to take. But being murdered by his partner would be far worse, especially because Steve used to kill for the federal government. He'd be so chillingly good at it that they'd never find Danny's body, which would make it even harder on Grace and his folks.

When Steve eventually comes back, he sinks into his chair and downs most of his beer in one long swallow. Then he says, "For a guy who thinks I'm some kind of nightmarish monster, you don't seem very scared."

"I don't think you're a monster," Danny says firmly. "If you were going to kill me, I'd be dead already. If you were going to bite me, you could've done that on any of the full moons there've been since we met." He shrugs. "Anyway, I found the medication in your room that suppresses the transformation."

Steve leans forward, looking at Danny accusingly. "You went through my stuff? Fuck, Danny, that's way out of line."

Danny raises his right hand. "I did not go looking, swear to God. Last Saturday, I changed your sheets while you were in the shower, and I came across the pill bottle under the mattress. But I was already suspicious before then – I knew that smoke coming off your wounds couldn't be from a standard silver allergy."

"So have you talked to anyone about this?" Steve demands.

"Of course not! Jesus, Steve, you're still my partner and I've still got your back."

Danny ticks off on his fingers everything he's done this past week. "I lied to Chin for you. I used a proxy anonymizer thing to cover my tracks when I did all the online research. I got Taylor's knife and the silver bullet off CSU, plus all their files about him, after I told Kumiko Watanabe a series of very creative lies. The evidence is hidden at my place, and you're welcome to take it if you want. I did snap a picture of the pill bottle, but the only copy is on my phone. Here, you can delete it yourself."

Steve takes Danny's phone and presses a few buttons, then hands it back. "Okay." He looks only marginally less pissed off, though.

"Maybe I should've left well enough alone, and not gone digging," Danny says. "But you know how I am – I just can't leave a puzzle unsolved."

Steve tilts his head to the side slightly, acknowledging the point. "Yeah, but what makes you a great cop can also make you a shitty friend."

Danny winces. During one of their many bitter arguments, Rachel had accused him of never being able to leave his badge at the door. He'd denied it, at the time, though in hindsight she was probably right.

"I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, Steve," he says. "I did it because I was insanely curious, but also because I was seriously concerned about you. Still, you have every right to be angry with me."

"Just...just shut up for a minute and let me think," Steve says, slumping back in his seat and staring up at the sky. Danny closes his eyes, and prays that he hasn't fucked up the best thing that's happened to him since Grace was born.

Steve's quiet for so long that the sound of his voice startles Danny. "What do you want from me, here?"

Danny chooses his words carefully. "I want answers – I can't deny that. But mostly, I want to make sure you understand something. Look at me, Steven."

He waits until Steve meets his gaze. Then Danny says, slowly and distinctly, "You're my partner and my closest friend, and that hasn't changed. I've trusted you with my life every day for months, and you have never let me down. I'll trust you tomorrow and next week and next year too."

Steve is watching him intently, barely breathing.

"I trust you with Gracie's life, too, because I know you'd rather die than hurt her. Hell, I'd trust you even if it was just you and my daughter, out in the middle of nowhere, on the night of the full moon."

Steve's mouth drops open at that, but Danny's not done. "I'd appreciate it if you trusted me too, because I'd really like to know what's happened to you. But if you can't tell me, then at least trust me not to betray you. I'm in your corner, here, and that's never going to change. You got that?"

"Yes, Danno," Steve says, his voice sounding choked and his eyes glistening. Danny's pretty damn emotional too, his pulse racing and his vision blurred. That wasn't a declaration of love, but it still feels like he offered Steve his heart on a plate.

***

He wipes at his eyes and pretends not to see Steve doing the same. Some of the tension's gone out of Steve's posture, and Danny thinks he's broken through those defensive walls at last. He can almost see the wheels turn in Steve's head, reclassifying Danny from an enemy agent to a potential ally.

Danny starts peeling the label off his beer bottle in strips, to give his restless hands something to do. "So have we established my bona fides to a sufficient extent? You can search me if you like. I might be carrying a tranq gun that shoots silver-tipped darts, for all you know."

Steve doesn't smile, but his expression seems to clear a little. "I hate to think where you'd be hiding it, then, seeing as your holster's empty. Why'd you leave your gun inside the house tonight, anyway?"

"Show of good faith," Danny says simply.

"Well, I appreciate that, and everything else you've said," Steve replies. "And I do trust you, Danny, honestly. I just can't tell you. This subject is so highly classified, even I don't have the clearance to know about it."

"But you do know," Danny points out, "because you're personally affected."

Steve bites his lip and says nothing. He's obviously taking this whole 'top secret' thing very seriously.

"Well, okay," Danny says, "how about I explain what I've learned, and you give me 'yes' or 'no' answers."

"I really can't." Steve sounds genuinely regretful, and Danny gets the impression that he actually wants to talk about this, now. But his sense of duty is outweighing the desire to unburden himself.

Danny's come this far; he's not giving up without a fight. So he tries one last time. "Could you at least indicate the accuracy of my deductions via subtle facial movements?"

There's a long moment of silence, where Steve's expression suggests that he's arguing with himself. Then he says, "All right. Should we work out some kind of code, first, or will you figure it out as we go?"

"Smart ass," Danny says affectionately. "Fine, how about this: raising your eyebrows equals 'affirmative', and wrinkling your nose equals 'negative'."

Steve says, "Okay," and leans back in his chair. He's not wearing his 'I can cope with torture' face, but he hardly seems relaxed either.

Now he's talked Steve into this, Danny's not sure where to start.

He'd approached the research like a criminal investigation, following leads and crossing possibilities off the list. If this was a real case, he'd outline the evidence to his boss at this point and seek permission to arrest the prime suspect. Of course, in this situation the person he's been investigating is his boss, and Danny certainly doesn't want to arrest him – wrong verb entirely. He shakes his head slightly to clear it.

"So here's what I figure," he says. "Back in '06 you were on a mission in Afghanistan, out in the mountains probably. On a moonlit night, you got bitten by a wolf that couldn't be killed with standard weapons. Nick Taylor was there and he saw the whole thing. That's how he knew to come armed with silver, last Friday."

Steve's sitting stock-still, hardly breathing. This must be difficult for him to hear, after years of secrecy. But he doesn't stop Danny; he just raises his eyebrows a notch.

"I guess you got taken to a US military hospital somewhere. They probably kept you there for a while, patching up your injuries and running tests to find out if you'd been infected."

Another mute 'affirmative'. So far, so good.

"When the next full moon came, did the doctors make you transform?"

Steve flinches so hard that his whole body shudders. Oh God, Danny thinks, they did. How unbelievably awful.

"Wait, no, I'm sorry –" he says quickly, but it's too late to take the question back. Steve has covered his face with his hands, taking deep ragged breaths. Danny curses himself for pushing too hard, for prioritizing his curiosity over his partner's wellbeing. Steve was right: he is a shitty friend.

His own mind punishes Danny with vivid images of Steve as a wolf, locked up and howling in pain. But the live-action movie probably playing inside Steve's head right now has got to be even worse.

"Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry," Danny says softly, once Steve seems calmer. "I shouldn't have asked you that. We can stop right now, and never talk about this again."

Surprisingly, though, Steve raises his head and says, "Keep going." His eyes are wet but his expression is determined.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Steve says, lifting the hem of his shirt to dry his face. "You want to know, and I want you to know. It's tougher than I expected, having you say it out loud, but I'm not going to break. So keep going."

***

Danny pauses to take a swig of beer, and tries to think of something that will be easier for Steve to answer. "Uh, okay...are there any upsides to lycanthropy?"

Steve raises his eyebrows.

"I saw how fast you healed – what else you got? Increased speed and strength?"

Steve confirms this, before pointing to his nose, eyes, and ears in turn.

"Enhanced senses? Wow, man," Danny says, "that's very cool."

Steve smiles just a little, for the first time all evening, and he grins back. His partner has superpowers, and yet somehow Danny's not that surprised.

"All right, next question," Danny continues. "Was it the Pentagon's research scientists who developed the '2912' treatment?"

Steve wrinkles his nose, and Danny remembers how the USSR's werewolf problem apparently abated in the late 80s.

"Holy shit," he says, "did they really get it off the Soviets somehow?"

Steve's 'affirmative' makes Danny even more curious, though he doubts Steve knows any more about the drug's history. Was there some Russian defector who brought the formulation with him, in the dying days of the Cold War, or did an undercover agent smuggle it out?

Surely the CIA didn't appreciate what they were getting, at the time – unless, of course, this werewolf phenomenon is way more widespread than Danny's realized. The file probably gathered dust for a decade, entirely forgotten, until American troops started getting bitten in Afghanistan.

Christ, Danny thinks, this whole story would make such an amazing movie. What with the spies and the werewolves, all it lacks is a female love interest. Maybe Joan Alexander's character could fall in love with one of her patients. Her photo on the Walter Reed website shows her to be middle-aged, but Danny's sure the producers would cast some hot starlet.

He gets back on track. "This drug, then: it's not a cure, but some kind of suppressive therapy? You take the pills every month, and you don't change." Eyebrow raise.

"Okay, so," Danny goes on, "I just can't figure out how lycanthropy works. Is it a purely physical disease, transmitted like a virus?"

Steve shrugs, and Danny tries again.

"Or is there some magical mystical shit going on here?"

Another shrug.

"You don't know? How can you not know?" Danny asks, shocked. God, if this had happened to him, he'd have looked high and low for answers.

Steve breaks his silence. "The DoD shares highly classified information with personnel on a strictly 'need to know' basis." He sounds like he's reciting from a goddamn textbook.

"You need to know," Danny says loudly. "It's your body; fuck, it's your life!"

"It's not that bad, Danny," Steve argues. "Yes, the transformation was nasty, but that was four years ago and it hasn't happened since. And sure, it's an incurable condition, but it probably won't kill me. I do dangerous things every day –"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Danny can't help interjecting. "I have to watch you risk your life, and then I get to do all the paperwork afterwards."

Steve rolls his eyes. "I thought we were focusing on my problems right now?"

"Oh, so you admit that you have a problem – that's a first." Danny knows he's pushing it, but he's frustrated by Steve's attitude.

"No, actually; I'm trying to tell you that it's not a problem. I take the pills every lunar cycle, I go to D.C. once a year for a full check-up, and otherwise I try to forget about it."

Danny's leaning forward, about to keep arguing, when Steve holds up a hand and says, "Hey, stop. Just listen for a minute, all right? Maybe this isn't something you can understand, but you owe it to me to try." So Danny sits back, and gestures for him to go on.

"You've got Grace, and you're real close to your family back in Jersey. Until recently, I had nothing in my life except the military. Mom was gone, Dad and I hardly talked, and I hadn't seen my sister for years. Hell, I pretty much only got to see my girlfriend when the Navy stationed us in the same place at the same time."

Biting his tongue at the mention of Cath, Danny nods.

Steve's voice is quieter now, but still intense. "Being a SEAL, then becoming a Commander and leading a team on missions, it was...all-consuming. I had to repress all the emotional stuff, and stay strong for my guys; I had to keep going. So I categorized this as a thing I needed to deal with, one week in four, and just put it out of my mind the rest of the time."

As he processes all that, Danny realizes something interesting. Steve talks about being a werewolf the way Rachel used to talk about getting her period: a monthly annoyance that was nevertheless a fundamental part of her physiology. Danny considers pointing out the similarity, but decides against it.

"Right, I think I see," Danny says. "And now that you're a civilian, or at least spending all your time among civilians, has anything changed?"

Steve studies Danny for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I'm still subject to the DoD's rules," he says, "whether I agree with them or not. So I'm not allowed to tell anyone – and you can't either. Promise me, Danny."

Danny looks Steve straight in the eye, and raises his right hand. "I swear, on my daughter's life: I won't tell anybody about you being a werewolf."

"I believe you, but I need more from you than that," Steve says, his tone urgent. "You have to watch how you act; you can't treat me any differently. The brass want this kept under wraps, and I'm afraid of what would happen if they even suspected you knew. We could both be in seriously deep shit here, Danny."

"You'd be surprised at how well I can fake normal," Danny says. "Take this week, for example. Did you realize that I knew?"

"No," Steve admits. "When I saw you'd changed my sheets Saturday night, I thought you might have seen the pills. But when you didn't say anything, or act weird, I figured you'd bought the silver allergy story and that my luck had held. To be honest, I didn't believe that you could keep quiet when something major was bugging you. It wasn't 'til this morning that I started to worry."

Danny smirks. "See? If you can't tell when I'm keeping a secret, then I doubt anyone else could. It'll be fine, Steve, really. Trust me."

Steve sits back in his chair, clearly not totally convinced but happier than he'd been. He stretches, looking up at the sky. The sun has set and the moon is rising, a silvery-pale sliver that seems to transfix Steve.

Following Steve's gaze, Danny asks, "Do you hate it now?" He thinks he'll never look at the moon the same way again.

"Not hate, exactly," Steve says slowly, "but I'm so much more aware of the lunar cycle than I used to be. My senses are stronger around the time of the full moon. And I can feel it getting closer, like an itch under my skin. The guys in the hospital with me used to joke about PMS – pre-moon syndrome."

"Did you have a support group or something?" Danny is fascinated at the thought.

"Yeah, kind of. The team of doctors and scientists overseeing us had a couple of shrinks on hand, too. They helped us to adjust, and prepare for the future."

"You know," Danny says, fake-casual, "I came up with a few other theories about you. For a while there, I thought you must be part of some medical experiment to create super soldiers."

Steve freezes for a moment, then shakes his head and laughs. "Uh-huh. And you decided that this was more plausible?"

Danny stands, and picks up their beer bottles. "Time for another round," he declares. "And hey, what can I say? When it comes to movies, I've always preferred supernatural stuff to science fiction."

But what he thinks as he's walking away from Steve is: fuck. The Pentagon really is doing this on purpose.

He already suspected it, but that reaction of Steve's makes Danny even more convinced. With the help of the suppressive therapy, the armed forces can now deploy a bunch of strong, fast fighters with advanced healing and heightened senses. And as long as 'Operation Enduring Freedom' continues in Afghanistan, the number of American werewolves will only grow.

Danny dumps the empty bottles in the trash, and leans against the kitchen counter as he thinks this through.

The Pentagon can get at least some of the super soldiers it wants just by letting nature take its course, every 29 days. If troops serving in Afghanistan are being sent out on moonlit nights, without being warned of the danger and without silver weapons to protect them, then a few will inevitably get bitten. Shit...how many servicemen have died from werewolf-induced injuries, without their loved ones ever knowing what happened?

Those lucky enough to survive an attack, like Steve, are apparently left alone to change the following month. If it was bad enough to make a tough as nails SEAL cry at the memory, it must have been pretty fucking bad. Standing in Steve's empty house, Danny's hands clench into fists at the thought of his partner suffering like that.

Maybe that initial transformation is necessary to confirm the diagnosis. But maybe it's designed to show those poor bastards what the future holds, if they don't get those pills on a regular basis. And while the Pentagon's promise of lifelong medical care for personnel should hypothetically apply to them too, the werewolves sure wouldn't want to risk their supply of '2912' by causing any kind of trouble.

Danny can think of other motives for the affected men to stay in uniform. Civilian life might seem too boring for someone with superpowers – or too risky. He remembers that Army Ranger who killed himself. Was the guy ashamed of what he'd become, or was he afraid of hurting his family?

And if you believe that the military is passively allowing troops to become infected, then it doesn't seem all that far-fetched to imagine that it could be done deliberately. Danny pictures a lab, someplace like Walter Reed, where doctors inject selected personnel with the werewolf virus. The test subjects would be provided with treatment immediately, of course, so they'd never have to experience the appalling downside of their new abilities.

He will probably never find out anything more about the Pentagon's use – or abuse – of lycanthropy. Steve might not know for sure what's going on; if he does, he won't tell. He still seems to have incredible loyalty to the organization that firstly exposed him to a vicious attack, and then condemned him to a life of secrecy.

***

Danny pushes all werewolf-related thoughts to the back of his mind, and prepares for the next step in his plan. First, he goes into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He can't give in to his tiredness yet – not with another difficult conversation still to come. On his way outside, Danny grabs two beers and turns on the backyard lights. More alcohol will definitely help with this, and it's important that he be able to make out Steve's reactions.

Steve's gazing at the moon meditatively, but snaps out of it when Danny approaches. Sitting down, Danny passes Steve a beer and drinks most of his in one go.

"Listen, Steve," he says, "you've told me your big secret. Or, well, I told you and you neither confirmed nor denied. So I figure it's only fair to give you one of my secrets in exchange."

Steve nods, and waits silently.

Danny's thought about this for months, weighing up whether to tell Steve and how to do it. It's been so many years since he had this conversation that he's out of practice.

But he's always favored the direct approach. So Danny takes a deep breath and says, "I'm bisexual."

Steve stares at him, eyes wide, lips parted. "Okay," he says eventually. "Huh. I did not expect that."

"What, you think I expected my partner to be a mythological creature?" Danny shoots back, and Steve makes a 'touché' gesture with his bottle.

"I take it you're not exactly out," Steve ventures, and Danny shakes his head.

"Cops aren't always the most open-minded people around. Plus, you know, my family's Catholic. It was tough, growing up." That's all he can say; his inexhaustible supply of words runs out when it comes to this.

"Yeah," Steve says, his expression sympathetic. He was a cop's son in the 80s and joined the military in the 90s, so it could be that he's witnessed enough homophobia to fill in the blanks. Or maybe Steve's queer too...maybe he knows exactly how it feels, having to suppress an integral part of your identity to comply with your community's rules.

Danny desperately wants to ask him, point blank, but he can't. He's pushed the boundaries of their friendship far enough already.

"I dated guys when I went away to college, but once I came back to Jersey and entered the police academy it was pretty much women only. Then I met Rachel, so –" he shrugs, and takes another swig of beer.

"And after the divorce?"

"Some one night stands," Danny admits. "Nothing serious, though. Hawaii's more tolerant than home, I guess, but it's still hard to be open about this. You're the first person I've told, here. Actually, you're the first person I've told since Rachel, and that was a decade ago."

"Thank you," Steve says, his voice low. "I'm honored."

"Like I said," Danny replies, "I trust you more than anyone."

Danny had hoped that Steve might reciprocate with a confession of his own. He's been fixated on the werewolf stuff, sure, but he hasn't forgotten that other unexpected discovery from last weekend: Steve, moaning Danny's name during what looked like a sex dream.

So he had an ulterior motive for coming out to Steve tonight. It wasn't just about demonstrating his faith in their friendship, or establishing a basis for mutually assured destruction. Danny wanted to signal that Steve could be open about his own sexuality, if he wanted.

But Steve doesn't say anything else. He just looks pensive – and exhausted. For a guy who's so averse to talking about his feelings, tonight must have been intensely uncomfortable. Under the circumstances, then, quiet acceptance is probably the most that Danny could reasonably expect.

"I should go," Danny finally says. "I've got Grace this weekend, so I'll be picking her up early in the morning."

"Okay," Steve says. They head into the house, where Danny collects his gun, and Steve walks him out to the car.

"I'll see you Monday, I guess." Steve's tone sounds kind of...bleak, like he has nothing to look forward to between now and then.

Danny wants to make an immediate start on proving to him that nothing's changed. So he asks, "Hey, if it's cool with you, could Grace and I come by tomorrow afternoon? She likes swimming here, and I like her swimming here too – there are no surfers or big waves or boys, for a start. Plus, you make better burgers than those rip-off joints at the tourist beaches."

"Yeah," Steve says, laughing a little. "That'd be great."

It's been an evening of taking risks, so Danny decides to take another. He reaches out and clasps Steve's upper arm, just inches from the bullet graze that started all this. Steve's muscles tense under the touch and he inhales sharply, making Danny fear he's gone too far. Steve doesn't draw back, though. Instead, he reaches out with his other hand and pulls Danny into a hug.

It's the first embrace they've shared since they met. Stunned, and self-conscious about possibly enjoying the proximity too much, Danny can't fully relax into it. But he commits to memory the feeling of Steve's body against his: soft cotton T-shirt under his cheek, steady heartbeat in his ear, and smooth tattoo under his fingertips. Steve's hands are pressed against Danny's back, so much heat soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt that they might as well be skin to skin.

All too soon, Steve claps him on the shoulder and lets him go. "Thanks, Danno," he says, walking towards the house.

"'Night," Danny calls after Steve, not feeling up to the challenge of stringing together multiple words. He gets into the car and sits there until his body calms down, then starts the engine.

He drives home feeling shell-shocked, but satisfied. Both the werewolf confrontation and the coming-out conversation could have been pretty catastrophic. Even Danny's tentative gesture of support, the hand on Steve's arm, might have gone wrong if Steve took it as an unwelcome come-on.

Somehow, though, he and Steve got through it all intact. Danny's confident that the hardest part is behind them, now, and that their friendship will be stronger than ever.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Sympathy for the werewolf