Weight of the World Upon You, 1/1
Sep. 21st, 2011 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Weight of the World Upon You
Author: james
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 3,000
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Warnings: This story contains vivid descriptions of being trapped and unable to breathe.
Notes: written for ratherastory!
Summary: Danny can't breathe and there's nothing he can do.
Danny couldn't catch his breath, knew that he was getting air into his lungs because he could feel it, gasping and straining as much as he could manage. He hadn't passed out from lack of oxygen, and he could still think about things like oxygen and his brain, so he knew he had to be breathing.
But dear God, it didn't feel like it. He tried to push his arms upwards against the concrete weight on his chest, but his entire body was pinned -- except for his head and one foot, sticking out where all he could do was move his toes back and forth, like the bad guys would walk past and he could trip them, free himself.
Only there were no bad guys, only a faulty building collapsing at just the wrong time, and for all Danny knew he hadn't been here alone, since he'd come to he hadn't heard anyone shouting for help or calling out that they were here to rescue him.
He couldn't breathe. He wanted to yell for help again but he couldn't. When he'd first opened his eyes after the wall collapsed on him, there had been nothing but darkness and pain. As the dust settled he'd slowly been able to see somewhat as the sunlight streamed in through cracks across the room. But he couldn't move and the weight on his chest was growing heavier by the second.
It was pushing down on his chest and Danny knew he would stop breathing, soon, and he mentally grabbed himself and gave himself a shake because panicking was only going to make him use up oxygen faster. He could feel the babbling in the back of his mind, cautiously poked at the images flickering around back there of Steve somewhere buried under the rubble, or standing with his back to the building and his arms in the air and guns pointed at him. Lying someplace with blood seeping out of his skull and Danny would have happily yelled at him to duck before he got his noggin shot at -- again -- only Danny didn't know exactly what was going on or if there was even somebody to blame for this other than shoddy workmanship.
The empty building was slated for demolition, but a final walk-through of the place to clear it out of usable fixtures had revealed two bloody shoes. Forensics had linked the blood to an open case on 5-0's desk, so Danny and Steve had come out to walk the place, look for anything that could remotely be considered a clue and collect what they could before the building was destroyed.
It had to be destroyed because it was unsafe, and Danny wanted to laugh, wanted to cry or scream or just sit down somewhere nice and have a conversation about the Jets and their chances this year, because a beer and a rant about how over-regulating play was ruining the game was so much better than this. Danny tugged at his arm again, not sure if he'd felt his hand move, not sure if moving his hand half an inch was going to help in the long run but thinking about his hand meant he wasn't thinking about his lungs and how much they hurt and how much he couldn't fucking breathe.
He looked around again, peering into the shadows and trying to listen for any sounds of rescue. He hadn't heard Steve since the roaring of crumbling brick -- they'd split up, of course, because McGarrett knew not one single thing about police procedure. After this Danny was going to fucking well sit him down with every police manual known to mankind and force him to read every single page. There would be exams, essay and practical and Danny would grade them himself and there would be absolutely no cheating -- unlike Steve's habit recently developed of bribing his partner to do the reports by offering up home-grilled dinners and early morning sex as payment.
That would be nicer than this, Danny wanted to say, but his throat was beginning to hurt and he could barely feel his legs anymore. He tried to shove at the concrete on top of him and couldn't. He jerked his left shoulder upwards, banging it against the wall and getting nowhere, but doing it again and then again because there was nothing else he could do.
He could feel his stomach fluttering, the only movement he could make that drew air into his body. Only it wasn't enough, would never be enough, and he opened his mouth to scream and there wasn't enough air to force out through his vocal chords to make any noise at all.
Fingers gripped his hair and the dim light was blocked, then suddenly Steve's voice was in his ear, sharp and fast. Danny couldn't make out what he was saying, and he tried to shove his shoulder against the wall again because he needed it gone, needed it to move and he couldn't fucking breathe. Something closed on his mouth and he jerked back, banging his head on the floor, but it was still there, closing over his face and dear God, Steve was going to smother him, put him out of his misery quickly instead of--
He gasped and something slipped down his throat, something sharp and clean and -- oxygen. He could barely inhale, but air was trickling in and as Danny took another shallow breath he realised the mask over his face was feeding him air. He opened his mouth wide, pushed down his diaphragm as far as it could go to expand his lungs another precious few millimeters. The oxygen began to feed his starved lungs, rich and pure and Danny looked up at Steve, now, his panic starting to recede a bit as his lungs and brain realised what was happening.
"That's right, Danny, just relax. Breathe, slow and easy. We've got plenty of oxygen here, just let yourself relax." Steve was crouched over him, hand still in Danny's hair, gripping him like he was afraid Danny was going to fall over a ledge.
Danny took another breath, short but rich and he could feel his heartbeat begin to slow down just a little. He wanted to ask a million different questions, but he didn't want the mask to go away, not even for the briefest second it would take to shove a few words out. He tried to concentrate on relaxing, on breathing, and on letting Steve take charge of getting Danny out of this mess.
He turned his head a bit, grateful when Steve kept the mask held tightly against his face, and saw the tubes of an air tank and snorkeling gear. He rolled his eyes. Of course McGarrett would have such things in his car -- Danny's car, not just piled in his own truck, but now his beach-going paraphernalia was creeping into Danny's own vehicle.
"Yes, I put my gear in your car," Steve said, almost sounding like he was exasperated, but not quite enough to hide the fear and tension. "Is it my fault we usually take your car?"
Danny gave him a look, because yes it was his fault, Commander I-Will-Drive-Whatever-I-Want-To. As if Danny ever had the choice of taking Steve's truck to work, or renting a little yellow VW bug to tool around Honolulu in for a change.
Steve looked sheepish. "I like driving it. Compact but powerful -- not really a subtle statement you're making, you know that, right?" Steve added.
I am going to kill you with my brain, Danny thought, clearly as he could. Then he heard sirens in the distance. Steve glanced towards them but didn't move, didn't take his hand away from the mask on Danny's face.
Truth be told, he didn't want Steve to leave, even if the rescuers had to come searching for them. Steve probably had a flare gun on him, or knowing him a flash-bang grenade he could use to signal the rescue team. Danny focused on taking another breath -- still not deep, but no longer feeling quite so desperate to get air as the pure oxygen seeped into his lungs.
He saw Steve reach into a pocket and pull something out, heard a sharp snap then -- okay, seriously, this was going too far. The bright sparkle of a roadside flare lit up the room and Steve tossed it gently not far away. Danny heard it land on the floor and saw the flickering red lights filling the dark room.
Are you fucking kidding me? he thought at Steve. Who the hell carried flares in their pocket?
Steve glanced down at him, his innocent expression much easier to read in the semi-light. "I had a few in the trunk. With the climbing gear." He paused, then, "What? They came in handy!" He pointed at the flare and the room, as if Danny had missed the fact that he was actually using them in an emergency for almost if not quite their intended purpose.
Danny rolled his eyes again, and made further notes for his next conversation with Steve. Proper use of your partner's vehicle, along with ways in which to not get yourself killed when we were supposed to have the day off, which meant nobody was supposed to get dressed until noon. Even if using the flare meant Steve didn't have to leave Danny's side to go lead the rescuers to him -- Danny didn't intend to let Steve off the hook lightly.
Steve rubbed his fingers through Danny's hair. "You're welcome."
Yeah, whatever, Danny thought, and he closed his eyes, letting the air feed his lungs. I'm still blaming you for this.
"Danny, stay awake," Steve said, shaking Danny's shoulder slightly. Danny thought about opening his eyes to glare at him, but his entire body hurt and he was exhausted, and the fresh air trickling into his lungs was making it hard to stay awake. "Danny? Come on, Danny?"
Give me five minutes, for God's sake, McGarrett, Danny thought. It was always like this, every morning: Steve trying to drag Danny out of bed before human people were meant to be awake. He wanted to bury himself in the covers, hide under a pillow for another half an hour, at least.
He heard Steve telling him to wake up, would have flipped him off except the blankets were heavy and he didn't have the energy to raise his hand. Steve'd get the idea if he ignored him, went back to sleep; he'd let Steve feed him breakfast and coffee later, at a more reasonable hour of the morning. He turned his head away from Steve's insistent whispering and let himself drift back to sleep.
~~~
"I can do this by myself, now, you know," Danny pointed out in what was a very reasonable tone of voice. Steve just ignored him, pulling Danny's shirt off his shoulders -- all button-up, no wearing of t-shirts to spare Danny's broken ribs, and hadn't Danny taken the chance to laugh at Steve for that one, claiming it was a good thing his wardrobe consisted entirely of appropriate work attire.
Steve had retaliated by wearing Aloha shirts for a week, then all of Danny's work shirts had mysteriously disappeared and Danny had found himself faced with wearing one of his own, or going without. Since he hadn't been allowed back to the office yet at that point he'd opted for nothing but shorts, and lain around on the lanai letting Steve bring him drinks and magazines and footrubs. When he'd gone back to work his shirts mysteriously re-appeared, but Danny had compromised by not making Steve try to tie his ties.
"Seriously, the doctor said I could move my arms above my head, now there's no pain. I can--" He stopped, watching as Steve just turned the water on in the shower, testing the temperature with his hand before returning his attention to Danny. Danny put his hands on his hips, ignoring the faint pull of an ache in his chest, because he knew from experience that sort of pain was going to linger for a awhile, yet. But the sharp pains from his ribs were finally gone and he could take a deep breath and roll over in bed without wanting to scream.
Steve just looked back at him, blandly, as if daring Danny to argue with him.
Which, hello, had Steve ever met him? "I can wash my own hair now. Doctor's permission and everything."
"And what if you slip and fall?"
Danny tilted his head. "Okay, let's think this one through. When am I more likely to slip and fall and break something? When I'm alone in the shower, washing my own body the way I've been doing for over three decades, now, or when you're in there with me, doing things which are not completely about getting soap in places it's supposed to go?"
Steve just folded his arms across his chest like the original unmovable object, and stared down at him.
"Are you going to be a mature adult about this and let me take a shower by myself?" Danny asked, sighing, because he knew what the answer was going to be.
"Are you going to stand there, naked, and keep arguing with me while the hot water runs out?"
"Maybe," Danny countered. Then he pointed. "This argument would work better for you if you weren't also naked."
"I'm about to get in the shower," Steve said, shrugging one shoulder.
"No, you are not, this is my point. My point which is about me being healed and fine and no longer unable to wash my own hair. So I would like--" He stopped, because Steve had picked up, somewhere along the line, the rather disconcerting habit of interrupting their discussions by sticking his tongue in Danny's mouth.
Danny didn't mind, not even remotely, because he never actually forgot the arguments Steve interrupted. He was fine with saving them for later, it was just that once in a while Steve would forget they weren't at home when he tried to win an argument by changing the subject with his tongue.
Naked in the bathroom was one thing. In the 5-0 offices with Kono laughing her ass off at them in the outer office was another thing entirely. Danny waited until Steve was finishing kissing him this time, then poked Steve in the chest, hard, with one finger. "What if I let you watch so you can make sure I don't fall over?"
Steve's expression didn't change -- then, with a flicker of an eyelid and the downward curl of the corner of his mouth, Danny saw what he was hiding.
"Just one more?" Steve asked, and his voice sounded almost normal. Danny just stepped in closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's back. He felt Steve shudder, then Steve ducked his head down, hands stiffening against Danny's back like they had for weeks, wanting to hold Danny tight and being afraid to touch and cause him pain. Danny wrapped his own arms around Steve as tightly as he could, trying to let him know it was all right.
Steve didn't move his hands, left them barely touching Danny's skin. But he pressed his face against Danny's shoulder, turned his face towards Danny's neck and breathed in. He didn't say anything, but Danny knew exactly what he meant.
All the nights he'd woken up, yanked from nightmares to find Steve lying beside him, wide awake and scared to touch him too much, fingers lightly ghosting on his arm or cheek to let Danny know he was safe, awake. Talking him out of the shadows, and, one night when the nightmares didn't let go their grip even as Danny woke, Steve pressed his mouth against his and exhaled, breath hot and insistent, shoving air into Danny's lungs.
Danny turned his head now and gave Steve a kiss, remembering the feel of Steve's lips on his and the fingers in his hair, grounding him against the weight of the wall pressing him down.
"How about you hang onto me while I shower," he said quietly, and felt Steve nod against his shoulder. He kissed Steve's arm, gave him a gentle nudge and Steve stepped quickly away. Danny smiled at him, then shook his head. "I'll even teach you how to tie a proper tie, so I can wear decent clothes to work for a change."
"I know how to tie a tie," Steve countered, the strength only returning to his voice with the last few words. He opened his mouth, then stopped, and Danny waited to see if he could put his thoughts together. After a moment, Steve asked, "Or we could stay home?" He didn't quite look at Danny, but his hand was resting on Danny's elbow, thumb rubbing back and forth in short, jerky movements.
Danny knew what Steve wasn't saying -- he barely remembered the first few days after they'd pulled him free of the fallen wall. There were just vague and blurry images of a hospital bed and lots of good painkillers. Then it was pain and boredom and a hospital bed and too much daytime tv, then back to Steve's place and Steve hovering, making sure he never over-extended himself and making sure he slept, somehow, even when the darkness pressed down on him.
Now, though, with yesterday's doctor's visit signing him off as good to go, just take it easy for a few more weeks and don't go getting shot or thrown out of moving vehicles or go swimming with sharks, Danny had a clean bill of health. He was still on desk duty, mostly because his boss was paranoid about Danny stubbing a toe. Danny didn't point out that his boss was the one most likely to get Danny shot or thrown into a cage with sharks, because he'd expected this look on Steve's face.
Still afraid to touch him, and Danny knew Steve hadn't been sleeping much, had been working too hard and working out too hard when he wasn't waiting on Danny hand and foot. Danny pulled Steve's hand to his waist and pressed it against his hip. He knew better than to suggest anything aerobic, Steve would argue with him no matter how enticing he made it sound. So he just smiled, swayed his hip into Steve's hand and said, "Staying home sounds just fine to me."
the end
Author: james
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 3,000
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Warnings: This story contains vivid descriptions of being trapped and unable to breathe.
Notes: written for ratherastory!
Summary: Danny can't breathe and there's nothing he can do.
Danny couldn't catch his breath, knew that he was getting air into his lungs because he could feel it, gasping and straining as much as he could manage. He hadn't passed out from lack of oxygen, and he could still think about things like oxygen and his brain, so he knew he had to be breathing.
But dear God, it didn't feel like it. He tried to push his arms upwards against the concrete weight on his chest, but his entire body was pinned -- except for his head and one foot, sticking out where all he could do was move his toes back and forth, like the bad guys would walk past and he could trip them, free himself.
Only there were no bad guys, only a faulty building collapsing at just the wrong time, and for all Danny knew he hadn't been here alone, since he'd come to he hadn't heard anyone shouting for help or calling out that they were here to rescue him.
He couldn't breathe. He wanted to yell for help again but he couldn't. When he'd first opened his eyes after the wall collapsed on him, there had been nothing but darkness and pain. As the dust settled he'd slowly been able to see somewhat as the sunlight streamed in through cracks across the room. But he couldn't move and the weight on his chest was growing heavier by the second.
It was pushing down on his chest and Danny knew he would stop breathing, soon, and he mentally grabbed himself and gave himself a shake because panicking was only going to make him use up oxygen faster. He could feel the babbling in the back of his mind, cautiously poked at the images flickering around back there of Steve somewhere buried under the rubble, or standing with his back to the building and his arms in the air and guns pointed at him. Lying someplace with blood seeping out of his skull and Danny would have happily yelled at him to duck before he got his noggin shot at -- again -- only Danny didn't know exactly what was going on or if there was even somebody to blame for this other than shoddy workmanship.
The empty building was slated for demolition, but a final walk-through of the place to clear it out of usable fixtures had revealed two bloody shoes. Forensics had linked the blood to an open case on 5-0's desk, so Danny and Steve had come out to walk the place, look for anything that could remotely be considered a clue and collect what they could before the building was destroyed.
It had to be destroyed because it was unsafe, and Danny wanted to laugh, wanted to cry or scream or just sit down somewhere nice and have a conversation about the Jets and their chances this year, because a beer and a rant about how over-regulating play was ruining the game was so much better than this. Danny tugged at his arm again, not sure if he'd felt his hand move, not sure if moving his hand half an inch was going to help in the long run but thinking about his hand meant he wasn't thinking about his lungs and how much they hurt and how much he couldn't fucking breathe.
He looked around again, peering into the shadows and trying to listen for any sounds of rescue. He hadn't heard Steve since the roaring of crumbling brick -- they'd split up, of course, because McGarrett knew not one single thing about police procedure. After this Danny was going to fucking well sit him down with every police manual known to mankind and force him to read every single page. There would be exams, essay and practical and Danny would grade them himself and there would be absolutely no cheating -- unlike Steve's habit recently developed of bribing his partner to do the reports by offering up home-grilled dinners and early morning sex as payment.
That would be nicer than this, Danny wanted to say, but his throat was beginning to hurt and he could barely feel his legs anymore. He tried to shove at the concrete on top of him and couldn't. He jerked his left shoulder upwards, banging it against the wall and getting nowhere, but doing it again and then again because there was nothing else he could do.
He could feel his stomach fluttering, the only movement he could make that drew air into his body. Only it wasn't enough, would never be enough, and he opened his mouth to scream and there wasn't enough air to force out through his vocal chords to make any noise at all.
Fingers gripped his hair and the dim light was blocked, then suddenly Steve's voice was in his ear, sharp and fast. Danny couldn't make out what he was saying, and he tried to shove his shoulder against the wall again because he needed it gone, needed it to move and he couldn't fucking breathe. Something closed on his mouth and he jerked back, banging his head on the floor, but it was still there, closing over his face and dear God, Steve was going to smother him, put him out of his misery quickly instead of--
He gasped and something slipped down his throat, something sharp and clean and -- oxygen. He could barely inhale, but air was trickling in and as Danny took another shallow breath he realised the mask over his face was feeding him air. He opened his mouth wide, pushed down his diaphragm as far as it could go to expand his lungs another precious few millimeters. The oxygen began to feed his starved lungs, rich and pure and Danny looked up at Steve, now, his panic starting to recede a bit as his lungs and brain realised what was happening.
"That's right, Danny, just relax. Breathe, slow and easy. We've got plenty of oxygen here, just let yourself relax." Steve was crouched over him, hand still in Danny's hair, gripping him like he was afraid Danny was going to fall over a ledge.
Danny took another breath, short but rich and he could feel his heartbeat begin to slow down just a little. He wanted to ask a million different questions, but he didn't want the mask to go away, not even for the briefest second it would take to shove a few words out. He tried to concentrate on relaxing, on breathing, and on letting Steve take charge of getting Danny out of this mess.
He turned his head a bit, grateful when Steve kept the mask held tightly against his face, and saw the tubes of an air tank and snorkeling gear. He rolled his eyes. Of course McGarrett would have such things in his car -- Danny's car, not just piled in his own truck, but now his beach-going paraphernalia was creeping into Danny's own vehicle.
"Yes, I put my gear in your car," Steve said, almost sounding like he was exasperated, but not quite enough to hide the fear and tension. "Is it my fault we usually take your car?"
Danny gave him a look, because yes it was his fault, Commander I-Will-Drive-Whatever-I-Want-To. As if Danny ever had the choice of taking Steve's truck to work, or renting a little yellow VW bug to tool around Honolulu in for a change.
Steve looked sheepish. "I like driving it. Compact but powerful -- not really a subtle statement you're making, you know that, right?" Steve added.
I am going to kill you with my brain, Danny thought, clearly as he could. Then he heard sirens in the distance. Steve glanced towards them but didn't move, didn't take his hand away from the mask on Danny's face.
Truth be told, he didn't want Steve to leave, even if the rescuers had to come searching for them. Steve probably had a flare gun on him, or knowing him a flash-bang grenade he could use to signal the rescue team. Danny focused on taking another breath -- still not deep, but no longer feeling quite so desperate to get air as the pure oxygen seeped into his lungs.
He saw Steve reach into a pocket and pull something out, heard a sharp snap then -- okay, seriously, this was going too far. The bright sparkle of a roadside flare lit up the room and Steve tossed it gently not far away. Danny heard it land on the floor and saw the flickering red lights filling the dark room.
Are you fucking kidding me? he thought at Steve. Who the hell carried flares in their pocket?
Steve glanced down at him, his innocent expression much easier to read in the semi-light. "I had a few in the trunk. With the climbing gear." He paused, then, "What? They came in handy!" He pointed at the flare and the room, as if Danny had missed the fact that he was actually using them in an emergency for almost if not quite their intended purpose.
Danny rolled his eyes again, and made further notes for his next conversation with Steve. Proper use of your partner's vehicle, along with ways in which to not get yourself killed when we were supposed to have the day off, which meant nobody was supposed to get dressed until noon. Even if using the flare meant Steve didn't have to leave Danny's side to go lead the rescuers to him -- Danny didn't intend to let Steve off the hook lightly.
Steve rubbed his fingers through Danny's hair. "You're welcome."
Yeah, whatever, Danny thought, and he closed his eyes, letting the air feed his lungs. I'm still blaming you for this.
"Danny, stay awake," Steve said, shaking Danny's shoulder slightly. Danny thought about opening his eyes to glare at him, but his entire body hurt and he was exhausted, and the fresh air trickling into his lungs was making it hard to stay awake. "Danny? Come on, Danny?"
Give me five minutes, for God's sake, McGarrett, Danny thought. It was always like this, every morning: Steve trying to drag Danny out of bed before human people were meant to be awake. He wanted to bury himself in the covers, hide under a pillow for another half an hour, at least.
He heard Steve telling him to wake up, would have flipped him off except the blankets were heavy and he didn't have the energy to raise his hand. Steve'd get the idea if he ignored him, went back to sleep; he'd let Steve feed him breakfast and coffee later, at a more reasonable hour of the morning. He turned his head away from Steve's insistent whispering and let himself drift back to sleep.
~~~
"I can do this by myself, now, you know," Danny pointed out in what was a very reasonable tone of voice. Steve just ignored him, pulling Danny's shirt off his shoulders -- all button-up, no wearing of t-shirts to spare Danny's broken ribs, and hadn't Danny taken the chance to laugh at Steve for that one, claiming it was a good thing his wardrobe consisted entirely of appropriate work attire.
Steve had retaliated by wearing Aloha shirts for a week, then all of Danny's work shirts had mysteriously disappeared and Danny had found himself faced with wearing one of his own, or going without. Since he hadn't been allowed back to the office yet at that point he'd opted for nothing but shorts, and lain around on the lanai letting Steve bring him drinks and magazines and footrubs. When he'd gone back to work his shirts mysteriously re-appeared, but Danny had compromised by not making Steve try to tie his ties.
"Seriously, the doctor said I could move my arms above my head, now there's no pain. I can--" He stopped, watching as Steve just turned the water on in the shower, testing the temperature with his hand before returning his attention to Danny. Danny put his hands on his hips, ignoring the faint pull of an ache in his chest, because he knew from experience that sort of pain was going to linger for a awhile, yet. But the sharp pains from his ribs were finally gone and he could take a deep breath and roll over in bed without wanting to scream.
Steve just looked back at him, blandly, as if daring Danny to argue with him.
Which, hello, had Steve ever met him? "I can wash my own hair now. Doctor's permission and everything."
"And what if you slip and fall?"
Danny tilted his head. "Okay, let's think this one through. When am I more likely to slip and fall and break something? When I'm alone in the shower, washing my own body the way I've been doing for over three decades, now, or when you're in there with me, doing things which are not completely about getting soap in places it's supposed to go?"
Steve just folded his arms across his chest like the original unmovable object, and stared down at him.
"Are you going to be a mature adult about this and let me take a shower by myself?" Danny asked, sighing, because he knew what the answer was going to be.
"Are you going to stand there, naked, and keep arguing with me while the hot water runs out?"
"Maybe," Danny countered. Then he pointed. "This argument would work better for you if you weren't also naked."
"I'm about to get in the shower," Steve said, shrugging one shoulder.
"No, you are not, this is my point. My point which is about me being healed and fine and no longer unable to wash my own hair. So I would like--" He stopped, because Steve had picked up, somewhere along the line, the rather disconcerting habit of interrupting their discussions by sticking his tongue in Danny's mouth.
Danny didn't mind, not even remotely, because he never actually forgot the arguments Steve interrupted. He was fine with saving them for later, it was just that once in a while Steve would forget they weren't at home when he tried to win an argument by changing the subject with his tongue.
Naked in the bathroom was one thing. In the 5-0 offices with Kono laughing her ass off at them in the outer office was another thing entirely. Danny waited until Steve was finishing kissing him this time, then poked Steve in the chest, hard, with one finger. "What if I let you watch so you can make sure I don't fall over?"
Steve's expression didn't change -- then, with a flicker of an eyelid and the downward curl of the corner of his mouth, Danny saw what he was hiding.
"Just one more?" Steve asked, and his voice sounded almost normal. Danny just stepped in closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's back. He felt Steve shudder, then Steve ducked his head down, hands stiffening against Danny's back like they had for weeks, wanting to hold Danny tight and being afraid to touch and cause him pain. Danny wrapped his own arms around Steve as tightly as he could, trying to let him know it was all right.
Steve didn't move his hands, left them barely touching Danny's skin. But he pressed his face against Danny's shoulder, turned his face towards Danny's neck and breathed in. He didn't say anything, but Danny knew exactly what he meant.
All the nights he'd woken up, yanked from nightmares to find Steve lying beside him, wide awake and scared to touch him too much, fingers lightly ghosting on his arm or cheek to let Danny know he was safe, awake. Talking him out of the shadows, and, one night when the nightmares didn't let go their grip even as Danny woke, Steve pressed his mouth against his and exhaled, breath hot and insistent, shoving air into Danny's lungs.
Danny turned his head now and gave Steve a kiss, remembering the feel of Steve's lips on his and the fingers in his hair, grounding him against the weight of the wall pressing him down.
"How about you hang onto me while I shower," he said quietly, and felt Steve nod against his shoulder. He kissed Steve's arm, gave him a gentle nudge and Steve stepped quickly away. Danny smiled at him, then shook his head. "I'll even teach you how to tie a proper tie, so I can wear decent clothes to work for a change."
"I know how to tie a tie," Steve countered, the strength only returning to his voice with the last few words. He opened his mouth, then stopped, and Danny waited to see if he could put his thoughts together. After a moment, Steve asked, "Or we could stay home?" He didn't quite look at Danny, but his hand was resting on Danny's elbow, thumb rubbing back and forth in short, jerky movements.
Danny knew what Steve wasn't saying -- he barely remembered the first few days after they'd pulled him free of the fallen wall. There were just vague and blurry images of a hospital bed and lots of good painkillers. Then it was pain and boredom and a hospital bed and too much daytime tv, then back to Steve's place and Steve hovering, making sure he never over-extended himself and making sure he slept, somehow, even when the darkness pressed down on him.
Now, though, with yesterday's doctor's visit signing him off as good to go, just take it easy for a few more weeks and don't go getting shot or thrown out of moving vehicles or go swimming with sharks, Danny had a clean bill of health. He was still on desk duty, mostly because his boss was paranoid about Danny stubbing a toe. Danny didn't point out that his boss was the one most likely to get Danny shot or thrown into a cage with sharks, because he'd expected this look on Steve's face.
Still afraid to touch him, and Danny knew Steve hadn't been sleeping much, had been working too hard and working out too hard when he wasn't waiting on Danny hand and foot. Danny pulled Steve's hand to his waist and pressed it against his hip. He knew better than to suggest anything aerobic, Steve would argue with him no matter how enticing he made it sound. So he just smiled, swayed his hip into Steve's hand and said, "Staying home sounds just fine to me."
the end