Unsung Heroic Angel: The Day When Nobody Died, a hawaii five-0 fanfic

ShakespeareIsMyMuse

DISCLAIMER: I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do so solemnly swear that I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of its affiliates, which includes: any familiar story plots, creation of original characters belonging to the show, cast and crew. Rights, property and ownership belong rightfully and wholly to CBS and its Original Creator: Leonard Freeman (1920-1974), also to reboot creators: Peter M. Lenkov, Alex Kurtzman, and Roberto Orci.

I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do however claim ownership of any unrecognizable characters and the formation of plot(s) that follows. Any invention or similarity of any character or plot line that is seen here after represented really or fictitiously, alive or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional; unless otherwise noted*#*.

*Exhales* I hope that about covers everything. *Cracks Neck* Now, on with the story.

Enjoy.

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Summary: Steve McGarrett realizes how lucky he is to not only to be alive, but to have a friend and partner like Danny Williams.

Episode tag/missing scenes for the time between S6,E25: "O ke Ali'I Wale No Ka'u Makemake (My Desire Is Only For The Chief)" and S7,E1: "Makaukau 'oe e Pa'ani? (Ready to Play?)"

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Unsung Heroic Angel: The Day When Nobody Died

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Unsung; it is an adjective and is often defined as 'Not celebrated or praised'.

Hero; it is a noun and it is generally labeled as 'An individual, who in the opinion of others, has qualities –or performed acts –of distinguished courage or ability. Often regarded as a model or ideal for individuals and admired for brave deeds and noble qualities'.

Angel; it is also a noun. Typically described as a spiritual being; a messenger of God. Or a person of exemplary conduct or virtue'.

So, what is an 'Unsung Heroic Angel'?

Based upon the following definitions it is someone who—according to at least one individual—has personified a selfless act of pure courage in an extreme sense of peril; receives little to no recognition in return and will refute the majority of claims of such.

Or, in this particular case, Danny Williams.

***H50***

June 21st 2016

Five-0 Headquarters

It had been eleven days since he had— finally— been released from Tripler Army Hospital. However, it had only been two days since he had returned to work; restricted, mind you. He and his partner had been medically cleared for light duty; which meant no driving, and definitely no car chases, no chasing criminals, no bullets, guns or shoot outs, no physical confrontations, no jumping between rooftops, and absolutely no flying or 'sky diving' of any fashion from any type of aircraft for –at the very least— the next four to six months.

Thereby leaving the only other alternative in the form of paperwork, or more specifically backlogged case reports and filing— both hard copy and digital.

Steve McGarrett walked into his office – a small stack of files and— thumb drive in hand. Pushing the stack of files off to the side of his mahogany desk, he quickly caught his wireless speaker when it almost rolled off of his desk. He immediately lowered the volume that had been raised during the hurried fingered snatch; Nickelback was too much heavy rock metal to be blared at eleven AM. The track changed and Steve thought of the irony at the next song that shuffled through the playlist:

*1 "My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have?
If today was your last day
(If today was your last day)

Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try…"

Every second in life did count— in one way or another; but Steve McGarrett also did get a second try.

He blew out a breath. Temporary mood swings were also a part of his transplant; as for how temporary they were going to be remained to be seen. There were times when he just suddenly felt dejected, disconnected or even like he wanted to start crying and all the training in the world didn't seem effective in guarding against the internal will of his bodily system.It was extremely difficult to say the least.

He popped his blue Surface tablet into its detachable keyboard and plugged in the drive. Sitting down in his straight backed chair, the sailor then retrieved a pair of earbuds from one of his desk drawers and plugged them into the tablet's audio jack. Looking up through his office blinds, he saw his partner, Danny Williams sitting at his desk switching back and forth between typing on his silver Surface tablet and picking up a pen and making hand written notations inside one of the open files on his desk. Low tunes of Bon Jovi wafting through his closed office door and into the hallway from his iPod in the speaker dock on the shelf behind him.

Inserting his ear buds, Steve used his stylus pen to swipe at his touchscreen until he found the icon from the inserted thumb drive. Clicking on it, it opened and he saw – staring up at him— the audio file he had requested: 'HATC BB TransAud— 13 May 16— Cessna: NI35PB'*

It had been touch and go there for a while; both in the plane and with him at the hospital. He remembered, clear as a bell, being inside the small plane – piloting— with Danny at his right— as usual— and Danny announcing "we got a bogey at eight o'clock".

He remembered looking out his left side window and focusing— hard— on the unmarked helicopter that flew up onto the scene and steadily floated about thirty feet alongside them for the next ten seconds. He remembered the helicopter door sliding open and the passenger in the back seat swing around an interior mounted machine gun; aiming directly at the left side— his side— of the plane.

He remembered Danny's long drawn out shout of "down'' as they all crouched as low as possible in the small space— the seats blocking most of their room— the sound of rapid gunfire and the deafening 'ping', 'ting', 'shatter', 'thunk' sounds as the bullets both struck and pierced the tin aircraft and spider webbed the small glass windows.

He remembered the sudden pain, followed by an intense burn of the three bullets that tore through his flesh— albeit slower due to the metal of the craft cutting the velocity— the slight 'gasp' from his lips at the sudden onset of pain followed by a 'groan'. He remembered – with the sudden decent of the plane due to zero pressure on the controls— getting thrown forward into the plane's dash. He remembered trying to keep a clear head and a focused mind, but after that…well, that's where things got a little hazy.

The next thing he remembered after that was blinking his eyes against the— though extremely low— light of a darkened room. He heard himself 'groan' once more as he felt a sudden onset of pain— though it wasn't the same, burning, stinging pain he had remembered from before. This pain was more localized… inside his head, the left side of his torso, partway up into his ribs — it was pulsating, but still, duller — a throbbing ache.

Then there was the soreness on his right; it was just under the skin, deep, but not too deep. It didn't feel like a bruise, it felt more like when a gash gets stitched. How the skin is pulled taunt together, but it still feels like gravity wants to keep the two halves apart. And the light pulse-like throb as the skin works on beginning to reattach itself, to heal.

There was a steady beeping sound in the not too distant background and Steve thought it sounded vaguely familiar. As he forced his eyes to focus in the low light – his senses flooded back full and sharp and that's when it hit him— the beep, it had sped up slightly, it was a heart monitor. Which most likely meant that he was in a hospital and that meant that the plane had…wait, what happened to the plane?

The heart monitor sped up further— Steve felt himself twitch, heard himself groan— at his sudden movement. Suddenly, there was a gentle hand pressing down on his shoulder.

"Easy…" a voice said softly.

Steve stared up into the face of the man standing next to him. He furrowed his brow— as the man looked familiar, but he couldn't quite…oh, right, Isaac Cornett… Dr. Cornett worked at Tripler. Even though the movement caused him a great deal of pain, Steve snared the man's wrist in a sudden vice-like grip, "Dny," he mumbled, nearly unintelligibly.

"Hm?" the doctor lightly grunted, before realizing what the man wanted. Leaving his wrist inside the SEALs grip, the doctor backed up a step to reveal the other bed in the room, by the door.

"Hey, hey, buddy, calm down. It's all right, I'm fine. You're okay. Everything's all right. See I told you, you weren't going to die," Danny said. His voice was a little thick— almost horse sounding— but it still had its normal run of the mill crabby, irritated, annoyed ring to it; which meant that Danny was pissed about something— probably the plane incident— but was holding it in.

"He's still a little groggy from the anesthesia— its a fentanyl benzodiazepine cocktail— and the morphine will make him a little loopy," Dr. Cornett explained.

"Yeah, well knowing him, he's going to try and fight against it— he's not a big fan of pain killers; he likes to live with the pain," Danny replied.

"It's ho …I…p, put up w…you," Steve mumbled.

Danny's face soured further; he sucked his teeth, "Okay," he whispered; semi-annoyed.

Dr. Cornett chuckled.

"Listen, buddy. Listen, do me a favor, don't try and fight it, just go to sleep. You gotta rest. Okay? Rest."

"No, no, I want him to wake up a little bit. If he doesn't shake the grogginess from the anesthesia, make his body alert, then combined with the morphine— even though everything is a compatible dose— there is a small chance that he could slip into a coma. …Commander?"

That got Danny's attention; he sat himself up further in his bed. "Steve? Hey, Steve, you heard what the Doc said, you gotta wake up."

"Commander, come on, open your eyes."

"Thought sai..d…res," Steve mumbled once more as his head lolled against the pillow.

"Well, now I'm telling you to wake up." Danny's voice was laced with irritation.

"Cn't you ev…er…make up your…mind?" Steve groused as his lids fluttered.

"Can't you ever listen to me?" he countered.

"I do…all the time," he answered back— his voice a little stronger.

Dr. Cornett made a spinning motion with his hand, "Keep going," he encouraged.

Nodding, "Yeah, when's that? When you're busy not listening to me?" Danny asked. "Which is all the time." He knew it didn't make any sense, but he wasn't trying to make sense. Cornett wanted Steve awake, so he was going to wake him up.

"What are tal…talking about, Dan'y. You never shut…up. You use up the most…oxygen of any person.. I've ever…met."

"Then perhaps you should stop recycling and stuff. Emissions, greenhouse gases, fossil fuels, they'll kill the ozone layer, strip away all of the oxygen, then I'll suffocate."

Turning a lazy head on his pillow, "I don't want that. I'd miss you calling me every name in the book when you get pissed off at me," Steve said. His voice was still low— but much stronger than before; and his words less halted. They came out more as whole one word sentences.

"You're a masochist," he scoffed.

"…yelling at me about pizza." Turning his eyes up towards Cornett, "He taught me how to eat pizza properly. Did you know that you fold it?"

Cornett nodded, "I heard about people on the East Coast of the country doing that. New York style, I believe it's called." In truth the doctor didn't care if the two were having a conversation about pink puggles in tutus, just as long as Steve became aware of his surroundings.

"And eating it with a knife and fork is considered an abomination."

The doctor smiled and Danny chuckled in his bed; after everything that had happened today— Steve almost bleeding to death— having a nonsense conversation about pizza of all things was just fine by him. Because for a time, earlier today, he thought that they would never get a chance to do even something as stupid as this ever again.

"Speaking of abominations, the fact that you like to desecrate something as beautifully perfect as piece of pizza with ham…and fruit," Danny finished with distain.

"It's delicious, Danny," Steve's voice sounded off with full strength this time.

"I swear you do it just to bust my balls," he quipped.

"That's a bonus," the SEAL said, letting go of Cornett's wrist. Danny could see that his partner's eyes were still tired looking, but alert; Steve's lids only drooping occasionally now.

"What am I? Your personal entertainment?"

"You do amuse me…you know, sometimes, when I'm bored."

"Which is when? Between starting gunfights and leaping rooftops?"

"You made it just fine, buddy, just like I told you you would."

"Ugh, you know what, forget it, I hate you. From the absolute bottom of my heart, Steve, I really, truly, hate you," Danny snapped.

Dr. Cornett froze and stared between the two men. He wasn't exactly sure what to say there, until Steve said…

"I love you, too, brother."

To which Danny responded by crossing his arms— gently— and continuing to stare straight ahead at the wall.

…then he chuckled and focused on the sailor. "Commander McGarrett, welcome back to the land of the living," he said smiling. "There were a couple of dicey moments where we almost lost you today."

Though Steve kept his face placid, inside his mind was swirling; from a lot more than just the drugs in his system. A nurse quietly appeared at his opposite side a syringe in hand.

"Oh, no, no," Steve said when he saw the plunger heading straight for his IV tube. "No more drugs, please. I would just like to come down from this high and then ride this out."

The nurse hesitated for half a minute, looking to the doctor for cues.

"No, Commander, that's not a pain killer. It's an immunosuppressant," Cornett explained, waving the nurse on.

"Immunosuppressant?" the SEAL repeated confused. "What do I need that for?"

"Commander, one of the bullets that struck you fragmented upon impact; your liver was lacerated beyond repair. The only way to save your life was to find you a new one that would match your type and tissue within a very sort window of time…"

"Uhh, Doc, Doc…" Danny cut in— trying to be as subtle as possible.

"Wait, what?" Steve asked looking back and forth between his partner and their doctor.

Cornett looked apologetically at Danny and wasn't sure whether or not to continue now. He had one man who wanted to know the end of his sentence and another man who – didn't quite look annoyed, but he—wasn't exactly thrilled with it.

"What?" Steve asked again— impatience edging his tone.

Not quite rolling his eyes, Danny moved his gaze to the ceiling; making a motion for the doctor to continue.

"…a living donor was our best bet," Cornett paused for a moment to allow the information to sink into his –still drug— addled patient. "To make a long story short, Commander you have some very good, very generous friends. And one very brave and very caring partner, who saved us all a lot of time by immediately making us privy to the fact that you two share the same blood type."

He watched realization crawl across the sailor's face. He knew it would take McGarrett a few minutes to fully understand what he was saying— but make no mistake about it, he did understand.

"We were able to stop the bleeding and repair the tissue and muscle damage, during the first surgery. And then we performed a second surgery to remove the inoperable organ; transplanting half of Detective Williams' liver in its place. Over the next six weeks, with rest, proper diet, exercise, and of course immunosuppressant's for you," he pointed to Steve, "both halves of the liver will regenerate to full size and you both will, should continue to function as if nothing happened."

The weight of the doctor's words settled over the room. Steve turned his head on his pillow and Danny knew he was staring at him— he could feel it. He let out a quiet, annoyed sigh as he met his partner's gaze.

"Don't give me that look. …No," Danny said simply— sharply. Steve opened his mouth to say…well, even he wasn't sure what. "No," the blonde repeated. "Uh, uh. Hey, no, your brain is still a little funny from the anesthesia, and the morphine is depressing your central nervous system; probably making you feel way more emotions at once that you are ready to deal with right now. So, take some time and let your system clear out enough for you to think clearly. As much as I would relish in it, I'm not that evil, Steve. You seem to forget, or don't want to admit— to be honest, I'm not really sure which— that I know you pretty damn well. Not only are you very hard on yourself, but you also have a hard time sharing your feelings. And I know for a fact, that you will never forgive yourself, if either one of us lets you lose your will power in fighting against the drugs that are threatening to loosen your iron tongue right now.

Look, because we can, we'll 'fight' about it later; but right now, get some rest. You heard the doc, it's good for you," the blonde finished. Then added, "…in fact, it's good for everyone on this island. It's not every day Captain America—Iron Man— Superman—GI Joe—Aquaman— McGruff gets benched. The rest of the kids on the team get a chance to play in the big game now. It's good for me; too, I get to finally get some sleep. Look at that, Steve, I've got to check into a hospital and make sure you're chained to the bed next to me just to get some sleep," he spat out sarcastically – in typical Danny fashion.

Steve sighed, chewing on his tongue and staring up at the ceiling gently shaking his head, while Dr. Cornett watched the pair with silent interest. He had never seen two men interact in such a way before.

Danny was no longer looking at his partner; he was now staring at the wall. "You want me to say it, don't you?"

But Steve didn't say anything in response. He heard the man, but at the same time he was keeping company inside his own head with his thoughts— his heavy, weighted, crushing thoughts.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" the detective asked of the silent room. And though neither man looked at one another, the sailor quirked an eyebrow and fond smile crept over his lips; remembering the last time those exact words feel from the man's lips.

"Alright, fine. I did what I did, because I wanted to do it; and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, no questions asked. …because you're my brother…and I love you, okay?"

Steve didn't reply, because he knew that Danny didn't want him to. This was how it was between the two of them -especially when they would share their feelings openly and honestly— but they didn't always get downright gushy about it. There was a time and a place for that, but ironically enough being brought back from the brink of death and lying side by side in a hospital room — one of them high on anesthesia and morphine—was not it.

This – this loving, often tense snark sense of comradery— this was them. Sure, it was weird, and misunderstood by most, but the point of it all was they understood it and that was all that mattered.

Oddly, Dr. Cornett seemed to get it— or at the very least understand the basis of it. "Gentlemen, as a doctor my job is to save lives. Though, while some days, despite trying my hardest, it is a task that I have failed; however, I am beyond elated to say that today was not one of those days. …I do have some more rounds to make, but I will be back later to check on the two of you."

Steve nodded; he was beginning to start to come to terms with recent learned events.

Hand on the door handle, "I will say this before I go. I noticed that both of you used the same word to describe each other. And I get the feeling it's been used before, maybe not every day but…" Cornett paused. "Look at it this way, you said you were brothers, now in a way, you really are."

The door clicked shut softly behind the medicine man and the two members of Five-0 were left in companionable silence. After all, how else do you follow up a statement like that?

***H50***

The lights were still low in the room when he opened his eyes once more. Glancing over at the bed next to him, Steve saw his partner slumbering peacefully. One of the reasons he never minded sharing a room with Danny— the man didn't snore. Danny swore Steve did though, but also promised that it was only when he was heavily, heavily intoxicated; which Steve took to mean that Danny didn't mind either.

Pulling gently at his neck until several popping noises were heard in rapid succession, Steve then gingerly stretched out his sore, tight limbs. Shaking his head, he realized that the effects from the anesthesia had completely worn off. He could also feel a considerable change in the pain from earlier. It was present, annoying, but not unbearable; which meant that Dr. Cornett had honored his wishes and ordered a lower morphine dose.

Noticing the TV on the wall, Steve blindly groped at the bedside table until he felt something firm and rectangular, but then realized was also kind of soft— a box of tissues. His second attempt had him almost knocking the plastic cups and the water pitcher off of the table; but then he found it. The remote had been hidden behind said pitcher.

Clicking the power button, Steve immediately lowered the volume until it was just barely audible. The screen cap in the corner read 2:42 AM. He began flipping channels until he came across one of the 24 hour news stations and stayed there. He pressed the volume up a few more notches as he stared at the screen; it was a re-airing of an earlier live broadcast. It wasn't that he has specifically intended to watch the news, but it was the images that had made him stop.

It was film of the plane he had been in. Crime scene tape cordoned off the area as CSU worked in rhythm at tagging, photographing and bagging all of the scattered pink bricks of meth; as HPD and the DEA remained close by.

He saw how the plane—with all of its bullet holes— was on its belly, one wheel of the landing gear bent upwards at an awkward angle; one of the cockpit doors and a piece of broken propeller tossed haphazardly in the sand. The news reporter standing 200 feet away.

"This is the scene now— calmer, quieter— of the small Cessna aircraft that made an emergency landing here on Waikiki beach earlier. Reports have been slow to come in, but what law enforcement has confirmed is that this was an undercover narcotics case gone horribly, horribly wrong. In recent weeks the Island of Oahu has been suffering from a plague of fentanyl laced crystalline methamphetamine that has claimed the lives of eleven — ranging in ages 16 to 49— in just the past fourteen days. Sources have confirmed that two undercover officers were transporting the known proprietor of the illegal and deadly narcotic — a man by the name of Dae Won, his full name is still being withheld —and a fresh batch of the drug back to Oahu as part of a sting when the aircraft was attacked by gunfire mid-flight. Sources have also confirmed that the suspected gunmen who attacked the aircraft via helicopter were indeed part of a rival drug cartel.

One of the officers, the pilot, was struck several times in the arm and torso; leaving the second officer— whom I am told, has very little to no piloting experience— with the task of landing the aircraft. We do have cellphone video of the scene in the moments just before and after the plane crash landed; first roughly gliding down over the water before bouncing onto the sand and skidding to a stop just about 200 or so feet away. I do feel the need to urge our viewers that the images are fairly gruesome and involve a great deal of blood…"

Steve watched the shaky cellphone video that had been filmed from at least 200 feet away. Police cars and fire trucks flooded the sand; ambulances stood by at the ready and the lifeguards were riding their ATVs up and down along the edge of the sand, screaming through their bullhorns— urging the public to clear the beach and stand back for their own safety. He watched as the plane hit the sand in a plume of beige dust – a fin of the propeller whipping through the air gouging out a chunk from the hood from an HPD squad car, before getting lodged in the bark of a cluster of palm trees.

He saw his team and a horde of HPD and HFD officers descend on the plane like a swarm of locusts; Lou tearing off the cockpit door, while Kono held the escaping Dae Won at gunpoint. He could clearly hear Danny's voice yelling from inside the cockpit as Pua handcuffed the drug dealer and dragged him off towards an ambulance. He watched as they pulled his limp, unconscious form and laid him out on a bright yellow backboard. Danny staggering from the doorway— clutching his ribcage— and limping over to where a half dozen EMTs were pressing gauze pads and checking vitals.

The scene was too much, he had to look away. Things like this had never bothered Steve before, but for some reason, now that it was him, he just couldn't.

"Mmm, very gruesome," the reporter said when the scene had vanished. "I am told by many— who do have experience flying— that this was a task that was performed exceptionally well by the second officer, despite the carnage on the beach behind me. According to them 'Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing'. No word on what specific charges Dae Won or the members of the rival cartel – which were also apprehended in a raid headed by Five-0 earlier— will be facing, or if the methamphetamine epidemic is yet under control; but I am told that the DEA is preparing to seize the shipment onboard the plane. We do, however, have confirmation on those two officers involved in today's events. The pilot was in severe critical condition earlier after both officers were brought to a local area hospital. But I am happy to report that as of tonight both officers are each in stable condition and resting comfortably. And doctors are confident that both will make a full recovery from their injuries. Mila Yu, Local Island News: Oahu, back to you in the studio."

Lowering the TV volume once more, he swallowed. Steve remembered not remembering much after waking up from surgery; but what hadn't occurred to him was that he didn't remember the plane landing.

What he did remember was –that after he had felt the bullets tear through his flesh— telling Danny to shoot Dae Won when he had pulled a gun. He remembered Danny's raised voice— and it being one of the few times it wasn't directed at him— he also remembered the sudden nose dive the plane was taking for the second time in two minutes and telling him that he had to land the plane; just before saying…that he was going to die… He figured he must have blacked out after that.

Those first few hours after waking from surgery had damn near rocked him to his core— though he may not have outwardly showed it—; learning that he had almost died and that Danny had saved his life—apparently more times than he was physically aware of— because he now had half of his partner's liver inside of him keeping his body functioning— had been a lot to take in.

Suddenly the SEAL felt guilty. Not only had he dragged his partner into this half-baked idea because A.) He has assumed it was going to be easy and B.) He always felt the need to prove to others how powerful he was, how in control; but in that one shattering moment he had put so much pressure on Danny with that one sentence, "You gotta land the plane".

You.

You.

It had been so much to ask; and so incredibly unfair to the one person who never so much as left the sailor twisting in the wind.

***H50***

Steve blinked away the nearly six week old memory. Danny had warned him— when he was coming out of his drug induced high— to take some time and think about the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn't until the fog in his brain had cleared that Steve realized that Danny was— as usual— looking out for him. He knew Steve's natural aversion to putting so much on public display— and in a hospital of all places, where there were so many eyes and ears milling about? It wasn't like one of their stakeouts –or even that dank basement in Columbia –where it was just the two of them and anything shared in confidence would undoubtedly be taken to the grave.

Tapping his stylus to the file name, Steve waited for it to open. He didn't know why, but he needed to hear what happened in that cockpit after he blacked out; even though he was fairly certain he already knew. He waited for the scratchy noise of the recorder to clear as the audio began to play— accompanied by typed text flashing across the screen in rhythmic succession.

[Passenger 1]: "Come on Raintree tell me the truth, when you used to fly those commercial buses, how many times you fall asleep on the job, huh?"

[Pilot 1]: "You give a man a hot meal, a comfy chair and auto pilot; I defy anyone not to take a nap."

[Passenger 1]: "Man, I knew it."

[Pilot 1]: "Yeah, I like flying, buddy. I like this, less sleeping, more piloting. I don't miss the heavies."

[Pilot 2]: "Except maybe the flight attendants."

[Pilot 1]: "Yeah, I miss them."

[Passenger 1]: "Hey, you ever fly SwissAir? Blonde, tall, always friendly; you know what I'm saying?"

[Pilot 1]: "Oh, yeah."

[Beeping]

[Pilot 2]: "Hey, we got a bogey at eight o'clock."

…

[Pilot 1]: "Yeah, I got him."

…

[Passenger 1]: "DEA?"

…

[Pilot 1]: "I don't know; no markings."

[Passenger 1]: "Take her down, just in case we have to dump."

[Pilot 1]: "Yep."

…

[Pilot 2]:"[Unintelligible] Down!"

[Unintelligible]

[Alarm]

[Pilot 2]: "Buddy?"

[Unintelligible]

[Pilot 2]:"Buddy? Ahh geez. Oh, no. Buddy?"

…

[Alarm Ends]

…

[Pilot 2]:"Mayday! Mayday! I'm in a Cessna aircraft en route to Oahu and I have a serious, serious problem. Repeat, mayday, mayday. Our pilot has been shot. Request immediate assistance."

[Control]: "This is Honolulu International Control, we read you, go ahead."

[Pilot 2]:"Th…this is Detective Danny Williams, with the Five-0 Task Force. I need help landing this plane."

[Passenger 1]: "You're a cop?"

[Pilot 2]: "Hey, [Unintelligible], hey put down the gun."

[Passenger 1]: "Put yours down."

[Pilot 2]: "Put down the gun I'm not gonna ask you again."

[Passenger 1]: "Not gonna happen."

[Pilot 1]: "[Unintelligible] …Shoot him, Danny."

[Pilot 2]: "I got you, I got it."

[Control]: "Mayday request, switch to channel one seven for immediate assistance."

[Passenger 1]: "Don't you answer that."

[Pilot 2]: "If I don't answer that, we're going to die, both of us. Either we shoot each other or this plane goes down. You understand that? Does that make sense to you?"

[Control]: "Mayday request, do you copy? … Switch to channel one seven for immediate assistance."

[Pilot 2]: "Stay awake, Steve…Steve."

[Pilot 1]: "[Unintelligible] You gotta land the pl..ane ..Da[Unintelligible]."

[Pilot 2]: "Alright, you know what [clatter]…alright. You wanna shoot me? Shoot me. Go ahead, but who's gonna fl, fly this plane?"

[Passenger 1]: "Well apparently you can't fly either."

[Pilot 2]: "Yeah, that's true, but the people on the other end can. Alright, you wanna shoot me? Come sit in my lap, be my guest. Do it. Alright. Huh? Look I promise you I land this plane safely; you and I will pick up right where we left off, okay? ALRIGHT?! HUH?!"

[Passenger 1]: "Fine!"

[Pilot 2]: "Alright, good…Steve?"

[Pilot 2]:"Switching to channel seventeen."

…

[Pilot 2]: "You're all right, Steve."

[Pilot 1]: "I'm gonna die, Danny."

[Pilot 2]: "No, you're not! Just hang in there; you're going to be all right."

[Pilot 2]:"Again, this is Detective Danny Williams; I'm in a Cessna Aircraft. I'm headed your way. Our pilot, my colleague, has been shot. He's got multiple gunshot wounds, I need EMTs standing by right when we get this thing on the ground; which I have no clue, zero clue, how to do. Over."

[Control]: "Copy that, Detective. Your approach is good; we just need to slow you down a little."

[Pilot 2]:"Okay, alright, slow us down, h, how do I do that?"

[Pilot 2]: "Steve?"

[Control]: "Between you and the pilot are three pull-levers. The furthest to your left is your throttle. Push it down to twenty five percent."

[Pilot 2]:"Okay, done."

[Control]: "Good, good, now keep both hands on the control. …Check your level, dead center to the pilot. Make sure you don't dip below the horizon line. And keep your compass between north and the number three."

[Pilot 2]:"Okay, north and number three got that."

[Pilot 2]: "Buddy?...Ah, oh no, Steve…ah, uh, alright, you, I need you to do something for me, alright?"

[Passenger 1]: "Focus on getting the plane down…"

[Pilot 2]: "Do what I say…!"

[Passenger 1]: "DON'T TALK TO ME!"

[Pilot 2]: "Do what I tell you to do, or I'm going to drop this thing in the water, you understand?"

[Passenger 1]: "…What do you want?"

[Pilot 2]: "[Unintelligible] I want you to put your hand on his neck and tell me if you feel a pulse."

…

[Passenger 1]: "I, I, I don't know!"

[Pilot 2]: "What do you mean you don't know?! Keep your hand on his neck, either you feel a pulse or you don't!"

…

[Alarm]

[Pilot 2]:"Uhh, Control, I got an alarm and I don't know what it is."

[Control]: "Check your gauges, what do you see?"

[Pilot 2]:"I see a lot of gauges."

[Control]: "What's your airspeed?"

[Pilot 2]:" Ai, airspeed is one fifty five."

[Control]: "What about altitude?"

[Pilot 2]:"Altitude is five hundred, but falling."

[Control]: "Fuel?"

[Pilot 2]:"Fuel…uh, no good, the needle's right at zero."

[Control]: "Alright, you're running out of fuel. We'll get you down as soon as possible."

…

[Pilot 2]:Yeah, that's fine, fine with me."

[Control]: "The Coast guard has been notified. Stand by for emergency ditch procedure."

[Passenger 1]: "Wh, what does he mean by ditch?"

[Pilot 2]: "I don't know."

[Pilot 2]:"What do you mean by 'ditch'?"

[Control]: "Detective based upon your current altitude, airspeed and available fuel, you're never going to make the runway."

…

[Passenger 1]: "What are we gonna do? They said we have to ditch."

[Pilot 2]: "Yeah, well, we're not ditching."

[Sputtering}

[Unintelligible]

[Pilot 2]:"Control we just…lost both of our engines."

[Control]: "Alright, Detective, beneath the dash is a large red handle. Pull it to feather your prop. …And don't try to fight gravity."

[Pilot 2]: "Uh huh, large red handle, do not fight gravity."

[Pilot 2]:"Copy, got that."

[Control]: "Okay Detective, next to your rearview controls are the landing gear settings. There's a switch labeled 'up water'. Flip it. Lower your flaps one more pick to the landing position."

[Pilot 2]: "Okay."

[Pilot 2]:"Okay, done."

[Control]: "Now you're gonna have… to put her down in the water. Adjust your course to one seven five degrees and let yourself glide."

…

[Pilot 2]: "Uhh, uhhh…"

[Pilot 2]:"Alright, uh, Control that's not going to work, okay? My, my partner, he's, he's unconscious. If I put this thing down in the water, I'm not going to be able to get him out of the plane and he's gonna drown.

[Control]: "You don't have a choice, Detective."

[Pilot 2]:"Yeah, yeah, yeah I got a choice. I'm gonna put this thing down on the beach, okay?"

[Control]: "Detective, we strongly advise against that. I understand the concern for your friend, but consider yourself. Your best chance at survival is a water landing."

[Pilot 2]:"Listen, I'm not going to put it down in the water. I'm going to put this thing down on the beach. Okay? Clear the beach, I'm coming in."

[Pilot 2]: "Alright…here we go."

[Passenger 1]: "You're going to kill all of us."

[Pilot 2]: "Shut up."

[Pilot 2]: "Alright [unintelligible]…hey, Steve listen to me. I know you've never been any good at listening to me, but right now, you've got no choice you stubborn son of a bitch. DO NOT DIE! Hey listen to me: DO NOT DIE! I'm not landing this thing for you to die on me. Do you understand? Huh? Good. Good. Alright, here we go."

[Alarm]

[Pilot 2]: "Hold on, hold on, hold on!"

[Pilot 2]: "Come on…"

…

….

[Pilot 2]: "Come on, he's still alive!"

…

[Pilot 2]: "COME ON!"

[Unidentified 1]: "We gotta get him out of there, we gotta get him out."

[Unidentified 2]: "I gotcha, ready? Okay, come on…grab his legs, come on…"

[Unidentified 1]: "EMT's [Unintelligible] here now!"

[Unintelligible]

[End Transmission]

Steve stared blankly at the screen for a few more seconds after the transmission ended. Even though Dae Won had requested that Steve— that is Evan Raintree—manually turn off the cockpit sound recorder, which he had done; 'Evan' had dazzled the pusher with some bogus story about an opium den and a dozen Geisha girls that he and Danny— that is mechanic, Dave Carson— had once had a very memorable four day weekend with; while 'Dave' silently turned it back on as planned.

He had been correct— he may have blacked out—but he had somehow known exactly what had happened. Danny had put that plane down on Waikiki beach — not by accident, but— deliberately.

Hell, Danny deserved a whole new set of props. He landed a plane, with zero experience, on its belly… without killing anyone either inside or outside of the plane, and without the whole damn thing bursting into flames. Sure, he remembered the cellphone video, where HFD had to empty a few extinguishers, but, damn, it was beyond impressive.

The speaker was now playing a new song, and when he finally noticed, the SEAL again found himself once more nearly impaled by irony:

*2 "…Singing Amen, I, I'm alive (I'm alive)
Singing Amen, I, I'm alive

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we'd see the day when nobody died
…

And as we lie beneath the stars
We realize how small we are
If they could love like you and me
Imagine what the world could be…*"

Steve McGarrett knew he didn't have to imagine, because he already knew…

He had practically silently, psychologically bullied Dae Won into allowing Danny to join them on that little excursion; which very nearly turned deadly. But Danny, like always, handled it with all of the dexterity, skill, grace and composure of a demi-god despite the fact that he was probably scared beyond shitless; and then to top it all off the man— goes above and beyond, even further, if that's possible and— voluntarily gives away half of a vital organ.

He knew couldn't ask for a better partner or a better friend. That short, loud mouthed, pain in the ass from New Jersey was the best of the best. There was no getting better than that.

The rapid five knock on his office door brought him into the present moment.

"Hey, you okay?" Danny wondered.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine, why?" he replied.

"You, uh, you looked kind of spacey. I wasn't sure if there was something wrong; you had pain or something?"

"No, no, pain. I'm good. …and, yes, I'm taking my meds, Danny," he added at the next question he saw poised on the blonde's lips.

Truth be told, Danny hated when Steve did that. Answered the question before he asked it, but Steve pointed out that Danny did it, too, and he found it just as annoying.

"Alright. Do you want to maybe grab an early lunch? We could eat at the pier or the beach? My fingers are cramping up from the pen and the keyboard, and I really need to stretch my back."

Glancing at the clock, Steve noticed it was twenty to twelve. "Yeah, that sounds good. Who else is in the office?"

"Just us, and maybe Jerry's locked away in his dark little hovel downstairs. What? I'm no longer good company?"

The brunette laughed. "You're all right," he quipped.

Danny rolled his eyes.

"I'm kidding;" he promised, "I just didn't want to be rude, that's all."

"So, we'll bring him with us. I could use a story about aliens or some type of government conspiracy. Anything to take my mind off of those files. If I look at another one right now, I think I'm gonna go cross eyed. I don't think that's covered by our medical."

"Your eyes must be killing you if you're willing to shut up long enough and listen to Jerry."

"As a matter of fact, they are; they really, really are."

"Well you know, your mouth is still working fine, you could always tell Jerry your alien stories…"

The blonde smiled mischievously, "Those are some pretty dirty stories, Steven."

"I know," the sailor returned the smile.

"Do you think he's, uh, 'old' enough?"

"Every man could use a little adventure in his life."

The detective seemed to mull something over in his mind. "We gotta get him a girlfriend for those particular adventures, though."

"He did give Dr. Shaw that rose on Valentine's Day; she seemed to think he was sweet."

"Isn't she seeing that pediatrician?"

"I thought he was a school nurse?"

"Was that it? I don't remember. Hey, uh…"

The sailor looked up.

"Jerry's got some quirks that a lot of people would most likely find…odd."

"Yea, he's definitely got some of those."

"You think he's actually ever, uh…been with a woman?"

"Hmm. Why don't you ask him?"

"I can't ask him."

"Why not?"

"Do you actually ask someone that? At our age?"

"Well not in front of people, but quietly; why not? It's a fair question, and like you said, Jerry's got some…quirks. If that should be one of them, why shouldn't we help him out?"

"Okay. Well we, uh, we have a baseline to work with. He also showed interest in Catherine that time. So he likes average height brunettes with a sweet, demure personality— which now that I think about it, is not Cath—…"

"And she's my ex," Steve added.

"…and she's your ex," Danny agreed, "…a soft smile, a gentle touch, intelligent and doesn't like men who are full of themselves."

"So not Rachel?"

"I am not hooking Jerry up with my ex-wife for multiple reasons. One she's my ex. Two, she's never going to go for a guy like Jerry. Three, even if we tried, she'd eat him alive. She's a little too much for him to handle. He needs someone like Sabrina."

"Maybe Sabrina has a nice friend?"

"We could always ask. …So what were you really doing in here?" Danny asked, walking the length of the mahogany desk. He took note of the closed files stacked in the corner. The tablet computer open in the center of his desk. The set of ear buds attached to the jack, despite the fact that Bon Jovi and Nickelback were colliding in the open air from their respective speakers.

"Work," he answered lamely; opening a file for show.

"Really?" the blonde's tone was skeptical at best. His eye caught the flash drive plugged into its port; he had a feeling what was on it. Leaning his hip on the desk, the detective spun the tablet around to face him and pulled the headphones from the jack. He waited for Steve to stop him, but it was an action that never came. Instead the man leaned back in his chair; his eyes finding the floor. Pressing the function ten key Danny heard a pair of familiar— through scratchy and compressed— voices; the text typing its way across the screen with each spoken word:

[Passenger 1]: "Come on Raintree tell me the truth, when you used to fly those commercial buses, how many times you fall asleep on the job, huh?"

[Pilot 1]: "You give a man a hot meal, a comfy chair a…."

Pressing the key again, "I don't get it, why are you listening to this?"

Steve's answer was a slow head shake and a halfhearted shrug; no eye contact.

The pair sat in silence with the exception of the bizarre comingled sounds of hard rock meeting quasi heavy metal rock playing in the background.

"At first I thought it was an accident," Steve said suddenly— quietly; still not making eye contact with the man across from him.

Danny was confused, "What?"

"…I saw a news reel one night, back when we were in the hospital." Steve voice was unusually quiet— it lacked its normally robust edge. "…you, you were asleep. I saw the plane in the sand. …The more I kept thinking about it…I figured I couldn't…it wouldn't leave me alone, until I knew…

The detective furrowed his brow and waited. Sometimes getting information from Steve was like pulling teeth. Come to think of it, a lot of things involving Steve McGarrett were like pulling teeth.

"Other than the fact that you've sat next to me a few dozen times…you hate flying…."

The blonde let out a near silent," Oh."

Truth be told, he had wondered how long it was going to take Steve to do this—come to grips with his own mortality. Only now, realizing that he might have been sorting through it all since the moment he woke up in the hospital. It certainly would explain that emotional roller coaster Steve seemed to be riding; the high points where he knew he was still alive and the low ones when he realized…he was still alive.

"Airplane emergencies are more common than most people think. It's just that they don't all end up as a trending news story. …If your plane fails— for whatever reason…if you still have something of it in your control; you attempt to put your bird down where you can best determine it will cause the least amount of damage…and casualties. An air strip is usually best, but you can always opt for an open field, a treed forest; if you can find it— a deserted stretch of highway… …For the majority of most emergency landings 'ditching' is generally considered the safest; putting your bird down in a large pool of water…. A lake, a river…the ocean."

Danny was confused once more— was Steve mad at him? He couldn't possibly be; it was ridiculous. After everything that had happened?

He decided to gauge the direction of the conversation a little bit more, before returning to the 'ingrate' argument. After all, Steve had been all over the map in recent weeks— metaphorically speaking—; which apparently was common following an organ transplant, and a death defying experience. The whole thing was literally life altering.

Tucking his prepped annoyance just within reach – in case it was necessary, "You were dying," he said calmly, solemnly.

"And you could have killed yourself!" Steve snapped— though it wasn't full of that much bite, something underlined it. Concern? Fear? "Not to mention hundreds of people on the ground. You don't know how to fly a plane, Danny; let alone land one."

"You were dying," the blonde repeated, slowly, more deliberate this time; annoyance edging in. "And I made it clear to HATC what I was going to do. I told them to clear the beach; which is exactly what happened. I understand that you're pretty fuzzy on those details considering you were half dead and paler than ghost, due to the nearly pint and half worth of blood loss; but if I would have put that thing down in the water, I don't think I could have gotten you out of the plane. I know you love the water Steve, and as a SEAL— one whom I've seen in action, by the way— you are great in it, but not when you're unconscious."

Propping his elbows up on his desk, Steve rested his forehead on his clasped hands.

"Besides, you know I hate the ocean. It's not like when we're surfing, Steve, when you're practically glued right next to me. Didn't you say that to me a few months ago? That I wanted you next to me when I surfed, so I wouldn't drown if anything went wrong?"

The SEAL said nothing and he didn't look up, but he did feel a small smile pull at his lips.

"Plus, even if I was able to get you out of the plane you were bleeding like fucking Niagara Falls; every damn shark this side of the Pacific was going to be coming over for lunch. But I supposed that would have been because of my 'bad attitude', though, right?"

"No," the brunette answered.

Danny stopped his pacing and turned around…

"Sharks only eat SEALs, remember?"

…realizing that this was going to be a little different from their normal 'fights'. Steve appeared to be borderline dejected. Danny's thoughts went to the side effects of the transplant, and the mood swings that would be attached to it; and the halfway to heaven part, because that too was part of this. But then his thoughts also shifted nearly seven years into the past. Steve only came home, and stayed, because John had been killed and that— though Steve had refused to admit it, and still would to this day— had very nearly crippled him. The there was also the side effects of his— unadmitted and unaccepted— PTSD; a lot of traumatic events in life will give it to you, but soldiers seeing their friends die in gruesome, horrific ways will always make the top of the list. Then he thought back to their stake out with Mr. Pickles and how Steve had shared his story of stage fright at the school talent show. He was sixteen at the time, which meant that it had happened not too long after his mother faked her own death. All of those past moments and all of the other little, mini ones that either Danny hadn't witnessed or was privy to were all playing into this one moment now.

The words, Danny remembered, were from that day their deep sea fishing turned into a living nightmare. "I told you, I was scared. The water…used to make me very nervous," Danny readmitted.

"Used to?"

Avoiding his partner's gaze, the blonde scratched above his eyebrow, "Uh, yeah. I uh…I don't love it, at least not the way you do. But I like it a bit more than I used to. It's beautiful to look at, especially in the right light. And sometimes, it's even nice to be in; you know, glide on top of."

And for just a few seconds Steve seem to slip back into his normal self. "Did Danny Williams just admit he actually likes surfing?"

"I said it's nice, what more do you want me to say?" the blonde's normal irritated tone crept after his words.

The sailor shrugged his eyebrows and his expression seemed to threaten to slip back into its brood.

Noticing, "It's also nicer, when I'm not alone," Danny egged, but oddly enough it didn't seem to help much. He couldn't figure out how he appeared to be winning, the old Steve would have pulled out the teases at that opening. "Isn't that what you always tell me? I want you out in the surf with me, so you can protect me?"

The brunette leaned back in his chair— slouching, very un-Steve like—, the look on his face said it all.

Sitting down, Danny fought through the commingled confusion and realization. "Please don't tell me that this part of what this is all about? That the big, bad Navy SEAL had to be rescued?"

"No!" Steve snapped, "...Yes…I don't know," he finished quietly.

Empathy over took the shorter man's features; his voice soft, "Alright, why don't you try and put it into words?"

Scrubbing his face first with his hands, Steve then pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and blew out a breath. "I don't know who I am. …I mean I thought I did. I thought I was this well trained, well rounded, top notch Naval Intelligence Officer with the topmost training that could be offered. I'm not."

Shifting his weight in his chair, Danny leaned forward on his knees; hands clasped loosely — hanging down between his knees. "I'm sorry buddy, I don't want to make this harder for you, but I'm not really understanding what you're saying."

"I'm saying that I don't even know how I got here. I don't deserve this," he waved a hand absentmindedly around the office, "or anything. …When I first got there I was a pain in the ass in the academy…training; I got into all sorts of trouble."

"You were a kid, Steve. You were sixteen. Sixteen year olds go to the movies, and the mall and the beach with their friends. They go to prom and maybe get drunk once or twice. They take dumb dares and end up running around the neighborhood barefoot, when there's a foot of snow on the ground, wearing nothing but their boxers. …Stupid story," the blonde said at the quizzical look he received. "My point is you didn't grow up in Israel or Cuba. American teenagers customarily get the options to decide what they want to do with their lives and when; nothing is mandatory, the only thing that is, is education up to the tenth grade. I understand why John did what he did; I understand that desperate need for that assured feeling that your children are safe. Believe me, I do; but at the same time, forcing a kid into adulthood, before they're ready—especially without a safety net— I think that's dangerous, too. However, I do believe that your father knew that, as well. And I think he thought you could always work out your issues of internal peace and happiness a lot easier if you were alive."

Quiet – between the pair—settled over the room; the clashing music styles being the only source of sound. Steve rolled his head against the back of his chair— his slouch seeming to deepen. Danny studied his partner from the corner of his eye, doing his best not to stare; he didn't want Steve feeling anymore scrutinized— he was doing enough of that to himself already.

A sigh came from across the desk and the Detective could feel the weight behind it. He had a strong feeling of the war of thoughts ranging inside the SEAL's head— so many he hadn't shared, so many he didn't want to share, so many he couldn't share. Somehow he had a pretty good idea of where Steve was inside his own head. "…When I did get up in rank, I had two entirely separate units under my command and I got them all killed. They all died under my watch…my orders; first in Afghanistan and then in South Korea. How many children did I steal from their parents? From their siblings? I've widowed how many? How many kids are growing up with one parent instead of two? No parents at all? Kelley is raising that little girl alone because Freddie is rotting in the ground…and I put him there. I ruined Joe's career, all because he was trying to protect me…only because he was my father's best friend."

"Hey, it's not just because of your father. Joe did what he did, does what he does, because he cares about you."

Steve ignored the comment, "…and you…" The sailor's voice was raw with emotion— to the point where it was almost hoarse— and he was struggling just to breathe; tears clinging to the underlining's of his lids— his eyelashes damp.

"What about me?"

"I've never protected anybody, Danny; but people sure have died protecting me out there. And then I come back to this island and you do everything in your power to keep me on the straight and narrow; you kept my head intact by killing Duran. You cleared my name when I was framed for a double murder. You rounded up a team on two separate occasions to pull me out of a hole in the ground when some psycho that I pissed off tried to kill me— in North Korea and again in Afghanistan. You practically tore this island apart looking for me when Wo Fat…"

"Hey, hey, hey," Danny tried to soothe.

"Sometimes….no, not sometimes, most of the time…all of the time I treat you pretty awful; but the truth is, Danny, I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"And I'd be dead if it weren't for you," Danny insisted. Getting up he closed the office door, before returning to his seat.

Steve furrowed his brow.

"Are you forgetting Columbia?" he asked, dropping his voice, "When I put a gun to an unarmed man's head and pulled the trigger? What happened with those bodies? What you helped me do with those bodies? The fact that you helped me cover up murder?"

The look in the brunette's eyes was one of sorrow. "Not well enough, apparently."

The blonde shook his head in disbelief. "They already knew we had been there, Steve. They knew what had happened while we were in there. They saw us walk in, they saw us walk out; they knew how long we were in there. No one thought we were having tea and cookies, or playing poker. …The fact that you leveraged me out of a South American prison? And how I was able to keep my job— as an officer of the law— in the United States? The irony of which is not lost on me."

Steve licked his lips. He hadn't realized that him almost dying meant taking that secret with him to the grave. Danny still didn't know, because Steve had never told him. "That wasn't me," he said, looking up at his partner hesitantly, "…it was Doris. She's the one who found the cocaine and told Joe. Then we found the ledger with all of the names hidden inside a floor safe. He said it was her way of trying to make up for the past."

Danny blinked and chewed his tongue as he absorbed the information. Finally, "Because of you," he emphasized, before continuing, "I highly doubt that, if you and I had never met, Doris would have felt…" pausing to search for the word, "obligated… to help out. I would have probably died in La Culebra, within the first week, if not shortly thereafter. I'm grateful to her, Steve. Don't get me wrong I think your mother and your father have made some poor parenting choices over the years, but you and your sister aren't among them. You guys are my family, and you do for family; not because you have to, but because you want to."

Steve blinked slowly as he thought back to the hospital, he and Danny arguing as per usual. He smiled softly, "You didn't have to give me your liver," he said out loud, "but the supermarket was all out and you wanted to…" it may have sounded like a question, but it wasn't.

"Yep."

"It's been more than two weeks."

Danny smiled— chuckled quietly, "I know, it's shocking." He took note of how Steve's mood was once again rebounding. "Give it time, once you're medically cleared you're going to go do something absolutely bat shit crazy…"

"…And risk having to listen to the never ending speech about the extreme act of selflessness you made on my behalf and how you've had it for thirty nine years and it means so much to you…? Never," Steve promised.

This time the blonde snorted out a laugh. "Uh huh, okay. I'll believe that when I see it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That means that I know you Steve. And there will come a time— it may not be today, tomorrow, or even six months from now; but that time will come where you will do something…," Danny let his words trail off for a second as he paused in thought. Steve stood waiting for the end of the sentence an annoyed scowl playing on his features. "…so stupid," the blonde continued, while Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, "so uniquely you, because the urge to resist has built up so strong that stupid and noble meet at the crossroads and fight to be number one, because that's just who you are."

"You know something, Danny."

"What's that?"

"It must be very hard to be you buddy."

"Actually yes it is, but it's mostly because I have to put up with you on a daily basis."

"Well if you had waited a couple more hours you wouldn't have had to; or if you would have put the damn plane down in the water like you were supposed to!" Steve snapped.

The detective sighed inwardly; Steve's emotional roller coaster was running through another loop-de-loop. "But I didn't want that," he said calmly.

"You have a funny way of showing it; everything I do is stupid?"

"I didn't say everything you did was stupid, but I have always told you when you were being stupid. What I'm supposed to stop because you came back from the brink of death? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that Steve McGarrett wanted to be treated like a china doll."

The sailor paused at the words. Did he want that? Did he want to be treated differently…with kid gloves? Protected like a child from all of the evils of the world?

The look on his face suggested he was weighing the answer.

"I can do that …if you want," Danny promised; his voice gentle. "I just didn't think you did; because Steve, you have done things that most of the human population couldn't even conceive of doing on their most adventurous of days. And I know why you do it."

Danny knew, great, because the sailor sure as hell didn't. Steve looked at his partner, like he was desperate for the answer.

"You do it for the same reasons I do. Because somebody has to. Somebody has to do these things, and if not us, then who? Because we know that there is nobody else we're going to trust; nobody else who is going to do a better job than us. There are things that are just too damn sensitive, too damn important to entrust to anyone else. It's something that just can't be risked."

A light chuckle and a fond smile crossed his lips as Steve recounted the good times in his mind.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he said after a few minutes— that fond smiel still on his lips.

"Shoot."

"When we were in the hospital— after you'd fall asleep; there were a couple of times I circled back around to the idea of…," he paused; almost as if he were of the words suddenly.

"Of?" the blonde prompted.

"Retirement," he quickly sighed out.

Danny blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah. Cash out my pension, sell the house if Mary didn't want to move back here. Buy a boat…"

"And what? Live on the water, fishing morning, noon and night for the next fifty, sixty years? If you don't get eaten by a shark?"

The brunette shrugged.

"You could never do it…."

"Sure I could."

"…For more than a week? Babe, are you forgetting that I know you?"

"Meaning?"

"You like to be where the action is. You say you don't know who you are, this is who you are."

"So I can never retire?"

"Aw, Steve, people like us don't retire. We go out one of two ways: We either catch a bullet or we die of old age…probably still on the job or, maybe involuntarily forced into retirement; most likely sitting out in your yard, in those creaky old wooden chairs that will have probably rotted into the sand by then. You'll be almost completely deaf, of course, from standing too close to one too many of those explosions you love so much and I'll have to be reminding you what the ocean sounds like…getting sand into every nook and cranny of my wrinkly, old, sunburnt skin."

"And your bald head," he dropped in.

"And my bal…" Danny started; nodding along, until he realized what Steve and said, then he threw him a dirty look.

Steve smiled, both at the look on his partner's face and at the thought of what the future might hold. "You really think we'll be friends that long?"

He sighed; long a deep. "Steve, we will be friends until we're old and grey…and one of us is bald…you, naturally," Danny promised, with a fluff of his coif.

"The planet would probably welcome the lack of your hair care products," Steve muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," the sailor smiled.

"Hmm," Danny clicked his tongue, before continuing with his earlier thought. "…and when dementia sets in, then we'll be new friends," he added— then smiled.

This time the brunette laughed. "If your mouth still works then, the same way it does now, I think I'll welcome the deafness," he teased.

"Here, let me get the door for you," Danny said pulling it open.

"Oh, thank you," Steve said at the act of kindness.

"My pleasure; oop, watch your skirt, ma'am," the blonde quipped as he made the mock gesture of lifting the invisible skirt.

The sailor stopped, turning his head to affix his partner with a deadly glare; however, the faint smile dancing on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes didn't give it quite the same scary effect.

Danny's broad grin made it difficult for him to hold in his laughter.

"Just for that, I'm driving."

"Oh! Who didn't see that one coming?" Danny asked sarcastically as he followed Steve down the stairwell. "Don't forget we have to go force Jerry out of that little hovel of his."

"I didn't forget."

"I'm only reminding you."

"It was my liver that was lacerated, Danny, not my brain."

"Thank God for that, I don't think it's medically possible to let you have half of mine."

"Well then we'd both have half a mind…"

The blonde paused, "That was…not bad, but you're still not funny, buddy."

Steve stopped altogether and wondered, "If it was possible, you'd really give me half of your brain?"

Danny thought for a second. "Hm, no," he shook his head. "I'd leave you a vegetable," he said, continuing on down the stairs. "But I wouldn't leave you to live out the rest of your days in some crappy hospital room."

"You'd put me someplace nice?"

"I guess I'd take you home to live with me. Park you by the ocean a couple a times a week to get some sun. Let Charlie use you for a jungle gym and allow Grace you use you as a beauty mannequin to try out new hairstyles and make-up and stuff."

Steve smirked. "Anything for family, right?"

"You got it, babe."

"Speaking of which, if he hasn't, we find a way to, uh, usher Jerry into 'manhood', right?"

This time, Danny smiled. "Anything for family."

Fín

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Asterisk Index:

*'HATC BB TransAu': Honolulu Air Traffic Control Black Box Transmission Audio

*1 Excerpts from "If Today Was Your Last Day" – Nickelback; Dark Horse

*2Excerpts from "If Everyone Cared"— Nickelback; All the Right Reasons

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-It is with a light and open heart, along with a great deal of anticipation that you, my reader, enjoy my work, just as with all my writing, it really means a great deal to me.

-Reviews and/or constructive criticism are not required here, but are always welcome.

-Flames are not required nor are they welcome; and while I cannot stop you from posting them, I will warn you, I usually don't take them to heart.

Love, Hugs, and Kisses,

Muse : )