I've been totally blown away by the support and reviews this story got. You are all wonderful and I have appreciated every single bit of feedback. Thank you!

Thanks IC for the hyper-speed beta- turnaround in like 10 minutes! Go girl!

MARCH 2016... OK, I added a couple of new ones to this... I never can stop fiddling with my stories! Still in chronological order.

WARNING- the third outtake (a new one) features a description of sexual assault that I don't consider to be overly graphic but others may disagree- do not read if you may be bothered by that kind of thing.

FIFTEEN- DELETED SCENES

Pizza

Steve sat a short distance from the others, deliberately giving Danny space to interact with the other members of the team on his own. He watched.

Danny's circle of trust was growing slowly. He was still shy, still hesitant to speak with anyone but Steve, but he listened attentively to the banter that now criss-crossed the hospital room and occasionally made eye contact with Chin, or Kono, or Lou. Occasionally he even smiled. It was all good.

The team had brought in pizza from the place that had been the only restaurant on Oahu ever to earn Danny's begrudging approval back in the day. The stack of pies they'd produced would no doubt feed most of the staff on the ward let alone the newly-reunited Five-0 team. Without doubt, Steve loved his team.

He watched as Danny reached hesitantly for a slice.

Steve had to look at the ground, fast. It was stupid. Really, really stupid. It just shouldn't matter at all, it shouldn't matter that Danny had reached for the ham and pineapple. In the big scheme of things it just meant nothing.

But somehow it really did matter. It just served to highlight how different Danny was, how much of himself he'd forgotten, as if it needed to be highlighted at all.

Steve looked over to the window, trying to distract himself because pizza toppings were not a valid subject for him to have a public display of emotion about.

A tactical clearing of a throat had him glancing back round. It was Kono. She was grinning at Steve and pointing discretely at Danny. Steve followed her finger. And he couldn't help but smile, then laugh, as he saw Danny's expression of absolute disgust.

Lou handed Danny a napkin to spit into. "Buddy, you ain't never liked that shit and I'm right with you there. Some things just don't change."

...

The Beach

Steve cast his eyes up the stairs. Danny had been a while in the bathroom and he was getting worried. His partner had seemed out of sorts all morning. The previous evening, Grace had brought him round a pile of photos taken during a father/daughter day on the beach they had had a few years back. Grace had suggested maybe she, Charlie, Danny and Steve could hang out on Steve's beach at the weekend.

Danny had quietly agreed but, after his daughter had left, he had spent a lot of time staring at a picture of a slightly younger Grace sitting on his shoulders as he stood in the shallows of the turquoise sea. Both were smiling broadly. It was a great picture.

Steve pushed out a slow breath. Danny had only been released from Tripler a few days earlier and Steve was still feeling his way with how much space to give him now they had so much more… well, space. Danny didn't need watching over constantly, but when he needed support he was shy in asking for it.

"Fuck it."

There was no point standing there, worrying. Steve started up the stairs.

The door to the bathroom was ajar. Steve hesitated, almost knocked, but then changed his mind and peered through the door. Danny had taken off his shirt. He was standing, staring at his own torso, a finger hesitantly tracing some of his scars.

So that was it. That was the problem. He'd seen a photo of himself before. Muscular, tanned and healthy, scars few, far between and neatly healed.

Not now.

Steve watched as Danny turned his shoulders, trying to see his own back.

Suddenly realizing he was intruding, Steve took a step away from the door, but Danny caught sight of him in the mirror and turned around sharply before he could move out of sight.

Steve smiled at him cautiously. "You okay?" It seemed a safe enough thing to ask.

Danny stared at him, then shook his head slowly. "Can't see," he said, voice quiet.

Steve blinked a few times. The subject of Danny's scars made him uncomfortable because they hid nothing, told virtually everything. They were a constant reminder of everything that had happened. But they were part of his friend now, they were something he needed to face up to as much as Danny did. Steve took a deep breath. "Want a hand?"

Danny nodded.

"Want me to take a picture? Might be the easiest way," Steve suggested.

Danny nodded for a second time, then turned and presented his back to Steve.

Steve tried not to react because he knew Danny was watching in the mirror again and he already knew what was there anyway. He knew every scar by heart. In his darker moments he had imagined how each one had come to be, imagined Danny, terrified and desperate, crying out in pain as they tortured him without reason or mercy. Had he been waiting for Steve to rescue him? Or had he known no one was coming? Steve bit his lip, eyes lingering on the clear teeth marks forever branded in silver skin on his partner's shoulders. He hated those scars the most.

Steve shook himself, pulled out his cell and took a photo, then handed the thing to Danny.

He watched as Danny studied it, face a blank mask.

Danny looked up at him finally and shook his head, his face suddenly taut with emotion. "Don't want to scare my kids," he croaked. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Steve stepped forward, pulled the cell out of Danny's hand and wrapped his arms around him. Danny was shaking, head to foot. And Steve didn't know what to say, because Danny was right. If the scars could freak Steve out when he let himself think about them, God only knew how the kids might react. Of course everyone had protected them from knowing the details of what had been done to their father. That was a necessity. But the notion of verbally agreeing with Danny that the sight of his body would actually scare his children was heart-breaking.

Steve huffed out a long breath. "It's okay. You can wear a shirt. I'll wear one too so you're not the only one. Okay?"

Danny nodded against his shoulder and whispered his thanks.

Steve kept ahold of his partner and pretended not to notice how wet the fabric of his shirt was getting.

...

Nightmare (WARNING- a graphic one)

"No… please… no." The plea was ground out quietly, without hope, because these men knew no mercy. He already knew they wouldn't stop. He couldn't even move. He was tied tight but, even if he hadn't been, whatever they'd drugged him with made his limbs limp and sluggish, made even attempting to fight impossible. He wished it would just knock him out completely, wished he didn't have to be there in mind, wished he didn't have to feel every last thing.

The initial shock of being raped was still fresh in his mind. The sudden intrusion, the inescapable pain, the humiliation, the denial even in the face of it all. The sounds; the pleasured grunts, the cat calls as they spurred each other on. The smell of blood, of sweat, of semen.

The shock was still there this time around, but he was torn and swollen now so it hurt even more than it had the first time. He screwed up his eyes, tried to retreat into his mind as he lay there, bound to the table face-down as they used him like he meant nothing. He tried to blank it all out, tried to concentrate on remembering the bastard who had sent him here, the bastard who Steve was going to destroy when he learned what he had done. James Buchanan. Fifteenth president. Fifteenth. Fifteenth. He wouldn't let himself think about anything else. He couldn't think about Gracie, or Charlie, or Steve, or anyone he cared about. He couldn't sully his memories of the people he loved with this, with the things that were happening to him, so he tucked them away, far below the surface, safe. Fifteenth. Fifteenth.

A sharp slap to his face brought him back to reality. One of them was kneeling in front of him, grinning at him. He held a knife up to Danny's face and Danny tried to twist away, but then there was a hand in his hair, twisting it painfully and there was no escape. The tip of the knife was pushed into his skin, just above his cheekbone.

The man grunting behind him was nearly done but Danny knew already that wouldn't be the end. It wouldn't be over. Another one of them would take his place. Danny sobbed. He couldn't help it. He hoped to fuck Steve was on his way, that the team had worked out what had happened to him. He hoped to fuck it would be over soon. Although he also hoped to fuck they wouldn't see him like this when they arrived. Fifteenth. Fifteenth. He started to count up to that magic number, over and over and over again, just like he had done day after day in the pitch black container.

The knife pressed harder. The hard thrusts now pushed his face repeatedly into the tip of that knife, refocusing him on the horrors of the here-and-now yet again. The smile in front of him ever broadened in response. Without warning, the knife slashed downwards. It was blunt and tore a ragged line of white hot agony down his cheek. He cried out. He could feel hot blood sheeting down his face. Fingers dug into his hips, teeth into his shoulders and it all hurt, it hurt so fucking much. A single tear escaped as his helpless desperation peaked.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder. Words were being spoken in his ear. He tried not to listen, he didn't want to hear any more of their poison, their perversion…. But the voice persisted. Words began to filter through his barriers.

"You're okay. You're okay. It's just a dream. You're safe. It's over. Come on, come back to me buddy."

Danny, breathing hard and shaking from head to foot, cracked his eyes open in disbelief. He moved his arms reflexively and he wasn't tied face down, he wasn't tied at all. He looked up.

Steve was right there, eyes wide with concern, gripping his shoulder and stroking his scarred cheek.

Fuck. Fuck. The terror and the horror and the remembered pain rose up to strangle him and he couldn't breathe past the lump in his throat. He choked out a couple of ragged breaths, then he broke.

Steve gathered him up and held him close as he wept. One big hand on the back of Danny's head pressed his hot, wet face firmly to Steve's broad chest as his friend's familiar voice whispered numbers in his ear.

…..

They sat together after, both leaning against the headboard of Danny's bed. Danny's breath still hitched reflexively. Steve stroked his scarred thumb, still trying to sooth, to support.

Steve gave him a sideways glance. "Bad one." It was a statement, not a question.

Danny nodded, mute.

"Want to tell me about it?"

A shake of the head this time.

Steve nodded curtly, because that was always Danny's response when this happened… and it happened virtually every night and often more than once. Danny simply didn't want to talk about his nightmares, about whatever memories he might still have of those dark, dark months, about any of it. Steve had never pushed him, not once. But Danny had to talk about it sooner or later. He had to.

Steve knew for a fact his partner had only spoken in the most general terms to his therapist, because Steve still went to the sessions with him at Danny's own request. Danny's standing excuse… he didn't remember the details of what had happened to him. But Steve knew for a fact that was only partially true. Danny was hiding behind his amnesia. So many things had changed, but Steve could still tell a mile off when his friend was lying.

Steve bit his lip. Decision made, he hazarded another glance before speaking. "Well… tell me anyway." His voice was quiet but firm and brokered no argument.

Danny turned and stared at him wordlessly. It was hard to read his expression.

Steve cleared his throat, took a deep breath. "I just… I think it's doing you no good keeping it inside the way you are. And… okay, I need to know. I want to understand. I need… I just need to know, okay? I know… I already know it's bad. You don't have to protect me if that's what you're doing…. Let me in, buddy. Please." He snorted in disgust at his own inadequate explanation.

Danny blinked a couple of times then looked away. He was silent for long minutes after that, and Steve gave him that time, didn't push again.

Then Danny slumped down, head bowed. Quietly and hesitantly, he began to describe his nightmare in vivid, horrific detail.

As he listened, Steve realized he was trembling as much as Danny was. He'd known, of course, what Danny had been through, but hearing it described like this made it so painfully real. Steve's own cheeks became damp. It was blatantly clear why Danny hadn't wanted to describe the specifics of his ordeal to anyone. He was trying to protect Steve, to protect himself, to just try to forget it had ever happened. But it had happened. It was a reality Danny needed to face and Steve needed to understand to help him do just that.

Steve drew a shaky breath as Danny's words ground to a halt, as he reached the end of his little horror story. He squeezed Danny's hand tight and whispered, "Thank you for trusting me with that. I'm so sorry we didn't find you, Danno. I'm so, so sorry."

Danny was silent, but he leaned his head against Steve's shoulder and rested it there. Steve closed his eyes, somehow warmed by the simple gesture even as the familiar feelings of sickening guilt flooded through his system. There was nothing else he could say, nothing that could erase what had happened to Danny or lessen its impact.

Stalwart companionship and support were all he had to offer and he gave them unreservedly.

He prayed it would be enough.

...

The dark place.

Danny had gone to bed early. He had muttered some excuse the moment they had come in the front door and scurried up to Steve's spare room which, somewhere along the way, had become Danny's room. Steve's home had become Danny's home.

Steve listened at the door now. He could hear Danny counting quietly and itched to go in to help him with his demons. But the door was closed. That meant Danny wanted to be alone and Danny's right to choose was sacrosanct. Steve laid his palm against the wooden barrier between them and closed his eyes. This was his fault.

Steve knew what was wrong and he was to blame. He had failed to recognize the trigger before it was too late. Worse, he had failed to usher Danny straight out of the restaurant when he had realized his partner was quietly struggling. He had mistakenly thought the less fuss the better. He'd casually finished his juice, claimed tiredness, thrown a few notes on the table and bid a cheery farewell to the rest of the team before pulling Danny to his feet, slinging an arm over his shoulders and leading him out.

He should have just dropped everything and gotten them the hell out of there the instant he had seen the fear appear in Danny's eyes.

When they had gotten out into the parking lot Steve had stopped and turned to ask Danny how he was doing. Danny had neither replied nor met his eyes. His heart had sunk when he realized how deeply Danny had been shaken by the rowdy group of men who'd been seated beside them. They had meant no harm but they had been loud, drunk and playfully argumentative. It was good-natured but it sounded superficially aggressive and it had clearly transported Danny somewhere entirely less pleasant in his mind.

Physically restraining himself from reaching for the door handle, Steve turned slowly and went downstairs instead. It was nearly dark. He had to have been standing outside Danny's door for a lot longer than he had realized. He reached for the remote, put the TV on and flicked to an infomercial channel. It used to help Danny blank out whatever was going on in his head once upon a time. Steve figured he might as well try it.

But the TV didn't help him any more than it had ever really helped Danny because there was no escaping the dark cycling of his own mind. He had failed Danny. Sent him back to the prison cell he had been kept in all those months, the cell he had told Steve all about, quietly and hesitantly. The place where all the bad things happened. He had let Danny down just as he'd let him down by failing to rescue him.

Steve's thoughts drew him inexorably downwards into a dark pit of self-loathing, suffocating and cold.

He put his head in his hands. It was stupid. It was the drink still doing this to him and he knew it. It was dragging down his mood, the withdrawal messing with the chemicals in his brain because Danny had ups and downs every single day and Steve could usually handle it. This should be no different. It was Steve's job to be there for him, be his rock, his point of stability, to give Danny something to grab onto when he needed it, and to stand by at a respectful distance when Danny wanted to handle it on his own.

Letting his own body chemistry get in the way of that responsibility was not acceptable.

His mind disagreed, providing him with a speculative image of Danny, thin and beaten, cowering in his cell as drunk men leered over him, knowing full well what would happen to him next. He was the entertainment, the play-thing. Their possession.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tighter still, a tiny whine of distress escaping his lips. If there had been drink in the house he might have been tempted.

Danny appeared so silently Steve didn't even realize he was there until he felt the sofa dip beside him, then felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

Steve sat up straight, fast, tried to conceal his personal spiral. He tried to plaster on his strong face so he could turn to Danny, see how his partner was really doing, work out what he needed. He couldn't. He had caused Danny to have a setback and he hated himself for it. He shook his head slowly, sagged in defeat. "Danny, I'm so sorry. I fucked up. I should have realized right away when those men started…"

Danny cut him dead. "Shut up. I'm good. I just needed some time to straighten my head out again is all. Same as you do. None of this is your fault, you hear me? You've done everything you possibly could to help me right from the moment that bastard Buchanan did what he did. Stop with the guilt thing. I mean it. Come here, huh?"

Steve stared at him. He didn't move, but he didn't fight it when Danny pulled him around to face him, when Danny knelt up on the sofa and wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders then held him close, tucking Steve's face into his chest.

"We're gonna be fine." Danny whispered.

...

The workout (AKA Sandcastles)

"Hey buddy!" Steve called as he walked back into the house after his swim, rubbing his hair with a towel. "You hungry? I could eat a horse."

There was no response. Steve stopped to listen and heard the unmistakable sound of weights clunking. Danny was working out in the office. Steve had bought a pile of gym equipment and stuck it in there to help Danny in his self-appointed mission to get back in shape. He was increasingly conscious of the body mass he had lost thanks to the way his wardrobe hung off him and his over-careful study of the old beach photos Grace had brought him a while back.

Still rubbing at his hair, Steve wandered through and stuck his head round the door. Danny was on the weight bench. Steve could hear him counting out his sets under his breath… sets of fifteen, of course, but what else would Danny do? He was pushing himself hard, glistening with sweat, face red, arms shaking with the effort.

"Danny? You nearly done?"

There was still no response.

Steve frowned, then grimaced. Danny had had a counselling session that morning. They sometimes knocked the stuffing out of him, leaving him needing to sleep, shell-shocked and exhausted. It looked like he was channelling his stress in a different direction this time.

Steve backed off, giving him space and time to work through whatever was going on in his mind. He threw on a shirt, poured himself some fruit juice, went and sat on the Lanai. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and let himself relax. It felt like things were slowly, slowly clicking back into place. He felt so much better in himself, confident that he'd finally beaten his demon, and Danny was doing so well. He was sleeping better and learning how to cope with his flashbacks. His self-confidence was slowly returning. He would never be the same- how could he be? But he was okay. They should celebrate their progress really. Surf n'turf, fresh fruit smoothie. That should do it. His mouth started to water at the thought of it.

His pleasant thoughts were rudely interrupted by a loud clatter emanating from the office. Steve leapt to his feet and ran. "Danny?!"

He ran through the office door and stopped dead. The weights Danny had been using were on the ground… as was Danny. He was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, head in his hands.

"Hey. You okay?" Steve asked gently, walking over and crouching in front of him.

Then Danny was sobbing, hard.

"Shit! Hey, easy, Danno. I've got you. You're okay," said Steve, pulling him into a hug. "What's going on in that head, buddy? Talk to me."

Danny shook his head and Steve didn't push. He stroked his partner's trembling back, whispering numbers to him as he released his pent up frustrations and his grief.

The minutes ticked by, and then Danny was suddenly trying to talk, pushing the words out between sobs, frantic and fast. His forehead was still pressed hard against Steve's shoulder, face hidden, his hands now clinging tight onto the front of Steve's shirt. "That damn therapist always wants me to talk about what happened, but I've had enough! The more I talk about it, the more I remember and I don't want to remember more of that shit! I want to remember… m-my kids being born, and… and meeting you. And my brother! I don't have one single memory of my brother and I can never even change that, can I? And I keep tryin' and tryin' and driving myself crazy looking at freaking photos and… nothing! It's just not there!"

Steve closed his eyes, heart aching for his friend. He kept on rubbing Danny's back. "I'm sorry, buddy. I really am. The memories might come yet, you just need to be patient."

Danny shook his head. "It's just not fair! God, I sound like a kid."

"No, you're right, it's not fair. You don't deserve any of this. But I can't help thinking you're trying too hard, buddy. Maybe if you just try to relax about it a bit. Maybe if you concentrate on making new good memories…" Steve cringed. That sounded cheesy to his own ears and he fully expected Danny to tell him to shut the hell up.

He didn't. He was quiet now, his labored breathing easing. He was listening.

Steve decided to risk going on. "Like yesterday. Making sandcastles with Charlie. That was good, right? And he doesn't care one bit that you don't remember him, he just loves you for spending time with him and having fun with him, right?"

"Yeah." Danny agreed, voice soft with affection for the boy.

"And going to the game last weekend with the team? That didn't suck?"

"I guess it didn't suck."

"So it's a start, right? Listen, I know things are hard for you, but having you back, Danny… Jesus it messed me up when we lost you. I don't want it to go to your head or anything but… getting you back has given me my life back. I'll spend the rest of my freaking life making sandcastles on the beach with you and Charlie if it makes things right for you."

There was no answer, but Steve felt Danny begin to relax a little in his arms. He was getting somewhere. "Course you need to work on it a bit. My sandcastles make your sandcastles look like… well, really sub-standard sandcastles. Inadequately defended at best."

A wet snort. Probably a laugh, though it was hard to tell. Humor. Humor was always good.

Steve ran a hand over Danny's bowed head. "But I can help you out with that; sandcastle construction. And other things too, like… like clothes! Like I keep telling you, you always used to have terrible taste in clothes. Your wardrobe was awful. I'll keep you right this time around."

Danny snorted again, the sound muffled by Steve's shirt. "Nice try," he mumbled, "for the last time, I'm not gonna wear cargo pants, Steven!"

Steve ducked his head and grinned against Danny's shoulder. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

...

The graduation

They were sitting together- all of Danny's friends and family, all watching the uniformed figures marching around the parade square, foot-perfect.

Steve searched the sea of smart figures for one special person, heart in his mouth, pulse racing. He had no idea why he was so damn nervous. Then Gracie was squealing, grabbing his arm and pointing. "There he is, Uncle Steve!"

And there he was indeed. Impeccably smart, upright, marching in perfect time with his fellow recruits (most of whom looked about the same age as Gracie). Danny Williams, newly qualified police officer.

Steve watched. Images of Danny over the last fourteen months and three weeks came to him, playing out like some kind of cheesy montage of the horrors, the frustrations and the triumphs. Danny, thin and catatonic, weak and terrified. Danny shaking with fear night after night as nightmares plagued him. Danny fighting tooth and nail to stand up on his own. His first steps, how he'd been sweating, shaking from head to foot. But fiercely determined as ever, he'd done it. He'd overcome every obstacle, learned to cope with everything that had happened. And now... now he was strong and fit, a cop again after all this time, his destiny repeating itself.

Steve bit his lip, realized it was trembling. He looked up at his partner again, and his eyes welled with pride. Fuck. People were looking at him.

Gracie took hold of his hand and squeezed. "It's okay, Uncle Steve. I'm proud of him too."

THE END!

Hope you enjoyed those. Thank you all so much for reading, let me know what you thought. Feedback is fuel for FF writers- crazy but true! :)