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[personal profile] siehn
Reveals just went live over at [ profile] h50_exchange so I can finally post this here. x3

I wrote this for [ profile] alba17

“How can you be this much of a moron, Steven?” Danny hisses, crouching behind the stacks of wooden packing crates, and hoping like hell the men loading them onto the truck aren’t actually paying attention. So it probably isn’t the best time to start ranting at the sheer idiocy of his partner’s latest stunt, what with them being in the middle of an impending, probably epic, fire-fight; it isn’t like that’s ever stopped him before.

“Back-up! Do we really need to have another talk about it?” He chances a glare over at the SEAL just in time to see him roll his eyes. It’s endearing, most of the time, the faces he makes; this time, however, Danny is probably minutes away from getting shot at, and he’s really not in the mood. This makes the third time this week, and he honestly did not sign on to take Steve’s death wish out for periodic walks!

“C’mon, Danno. They’re drug-traffickers!” Steve says, like that somehow makes this entire situation better. Or reasonable. Only in Steve’s stupid, crazy brain does that make sense, clearly. “We can’t just let them go,” he adds, his face twisting into ‘why are you yelling at me when we could be shooting things,’ and Danny really, really needs to re-evaluate his life choices.

“Yes, Steven. They’re drug traffickers. Very dangerous criminals who have already killed three people!” He does manage to keep his voice down, but he knows Steve understands that he is, in fact, being yelled at. “Chin and Kono are literally on the other side of the island, Steve, and you have yet to call in HPD,” he points out, ducking low when one of the men peers around suspiciously. Honestly, this is getting ridiculous.


He holds up the hand not wrapped around his gun, glaring Steve into silence. “I do not want to get shot again, Steven. If I do, you are going to pay for it, okay? You are going to pay, and explain to my daughter how, exactly, her father ended up with a bullet hole in him.” It’s a low blow, but Danny’s never claimed to fight fair, and he isn’t about to start now. There’s at least a small feeling of satisfaction when Steve’s eyes widen, and he sighs heavily because if there’s one thing Danny knows, it’s that Steve loves Grace almost as much he does, and he’s wrapped so tight around her little finger he’d literally do anything for her. It is, probably, terrible of him to use this against his partner; Danny, however, has absolutely no regrets about it once he sees Steve pull out his phone, and text Chin.

“There, see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smirks at the face Steve makes in return, looking half-way like someone kicked his puppy, and took his favorite toys away.

“We could take them, Danny,” he says, and Danny’s left watching with wide eyes as the top-most crate is blown apart right above their heads.

“Shit!” He hears Steve swear somewhere to his right, hears the sounds of the gunmen searching for them, but everything’s slow, and tilted, and he can’t think straight. The world is too bright, and his head hurts, and he’s obviously been hit by something. Part of the crate, probably, and he tries to shake it off, to stand because Steve’s going to need his help; Steve might be a crazy ninja-SEAL, but even he can’t take out seven gunmen by himself. Especially if he’s as disoriented as Danny is.

“Steve!” He knows he shouldn’t, knows it’ll draw attention to him, but he can’t help it. There’s smoke, but no fire, and he can’t see dammit. “Fuck; I’m gonna kill him,” he mutters, closes his eyes, and tries to right the world again. Gunshots are sounding off to his right; Steve had been in that direction, makes sense, the idiot’s probably trying to keep them away from Danny. So much for the back-up, and it’s a disparaging thought, but there’s always been Steve’s insistence that Danny is the back-up, and here’s just one more instance to prove it. They’re going to have a long discussion later, about Steve’s issues, and his habits, and taking too many years off of Danny’s life with stupid stunts. For now, Danny has to make sure they get out of this alive so he’s free to strangle Steven later.

“Danny! Danny, you good?” He hears, closes his eyes, and just sighs.

He hasn’t lost his gun, thankfully, and though the smoke is getting thick, he can, at least, still breathe. Small miracles. Steve is still trading shots with the fine upstanding gentlemen they’d come to arrest, and Danny is really ready for this entire, fucked-up week to be over. He crawls across the floor, stays low, and out of the smoke-and-line-of-fire range until he can actually make out Steve sitting with his back to the wall, and firing around a corner. Of course he’s fucking bleeding; it wouldn’t be a day in their life if one of them didn’t get shot. Danny sighs, stops to fire at the perp currently trying to kill his partner, and grins viciously when the guy drops because it’s been that kind of day. Week.

“Chin, and Kono get to have the fun next time, okay? Seriously, Steven, I am taking a break. No one is allowed to get me shot at for at least a fucking month, maybe two, you are lucky you’re injured, and I’m concussed because I am so tempted to shoot you right now,” he growls when he finally manages to drop beside Steve, both of them breathing heavily, and waiting.

“Was that the last one?” Steve asks, and Danny groans into his hand, resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. It’d probably only make it hurt worse.

“Was that-- How the fuck should I know? You’re the one over here playing bullet-tag, shouldn’t you be keeping track of them?” He’s irate, and hurting, and Steve is bleeding still, right in front of him, and no one is shooting at them. “They’re all dead, or they bailed,” he says, sighs, and refuses to actually care because this is why they don’t go in without back-up, and Steve should learn to listen to him about these things.

“Danny--” Steve tries after a long, long moment of just sitting there, waiting, and Danny honestly can’t take him right now.

“Shut up,” he orders, scooting forward to inspect Steve’s arm. It’s still bleeding, and that really seems to be offending Danny more than it normally does. He blames the concussion. “When I say I don’t want to get shot, Steven,” he begins pointedly, staring up at him, “it really doesn’t mean I’m giving you permission to do it instead.” God, how is this his life. How did he get stuck with the psychopath for a partner? Not that he’d have it any other way, really.

“It’s not that bad, Danno. Through, and through,” Steve tells him, soft, and Danny really doesn’t want to be placated right now.

“I said shut up,” he informs him, poking Steven lightly in the chest with a finger. “People who get themselves shot don’t get to talk.” He hates seeing Steve hurt, seeing him bleeding; it doesn’t sit right, and he still has nightmares about losing him.

Steve just sighs, put-upon, and shifts enough that he can lean against Danny without jostling his arm too much. “Sorry, Danny,” he says, because he has learned, at least, to apologize when someone gets shot. “They got off a lucky shot.”

Danny closes his eyes, and doesn’t see Steve in the back of an army truck, bruised and beaten. “Do it again, and I’ll shoot you myself, Steven,” he says, the words muffled by Steve’s shoulder, and Danny doesn’t care that HPD will be there soon. He isn’t moving until he has to, to get Steve into the back of an ambulance, and if he argues at all, Danny is going to hurt him. For now, he’s comfortable where he is, pressed against Steve’s side enough to be sure he’s alive.
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