I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes: a happy birthday story for JazzieG per her special request for something "special". I promised something for sure if I had a "non-occurrence" of a particular event for me (though I do have one or two more tests) which so far, is a good thing. So, here we go.

I hope it's enjoyable as a furthering of Patterns of Warmth and what I'm definitely calling a pre or new relationship now since this appears to be a new verse which is making the muse happily indulgent.

More thanks to Phoebe for the sanity checks on tact and flow - and general, all round angsty-ness. :-)

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O

Danny hadn't been himself for days, but he'd refused to admit it. Each day, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, lying to himself that he felt fine and vowing that he'd be able to simply work through the chills, nausea and pounding headache. That his chest didn't hurt every time he tried not to cough because the act of coughing left him breathless and nearly crippled from pain. He'd managed well enough with a variety of over the counter medications and even bluffed his way past his partner's wheedling questions.

But something had shifted that morning and Danny found himself braced against the kitchen table upon literally crawling back to his feet after tying the shoelaces on his son's sneakers. He only coughed maybe once or twice and yet, the pain was excruciating. It lanced across his side and near where the bullet had gone. Close to where the incision had been made first by Steve and then used by his doctor to repair his damaged lung. He could scarcely see straight as the heated throbbing continued and the feeling of nausea had dared give way to a very real bout of dry heaves. As his stomach clenched and his head pulsed, Danny didn't even try to move. He'd never make it to the bathroom in time. It was potentially safer to stay where he was and aim himself towards the kitchen garbage bin then risk a mad dash down the hallway. There was no dashing anywhere in his current state anyway. In all likelihood, he'd trip over his own two feet.

He should have called his doctor days ago, but he'd been sick and tired of being poked and prodded ... but now, feeling as awful as he did ... Danny was kicking himself soundly. He should have sucked it all up and made an appointment to see his doctor at the first signs of illness. Biting back another dry heave, he'd clearly waited too long.

"Charlie," he whispered. "G'my phone." His voice cracked and a sharp dryness rattled his chest. He coughed again and hissed in pain, needing to wrap his arms around his chest as a brace.

"Danno?" Charlie was by his right elbow, sounding worried, and Danny could only nod in reply, eyes still closed and unable to find his voice. "Are we going to school now?" Mentally he was still telling that same lie: that he was perfectly fine and that Charlie shouldn't worry. But there was no way to hide how he was really feeling at that point and Charlie, even at the tender age of five, was aware enough to know that something could be very wrong with his father.

"Yup. M'fine Charlie," Danny finally rasped out as he wiped a few stray tears from his eyes. Charlie was wearing his new jeans and a crisp, white shirt. Danny had just finished brushing through his son's hair. The new sneakers had been the finishing touch and Charlie was ready to go, nearly bouncing on his toes he was so excited. Danny could hardly move though.

"Really ... don' worry," he promised, his smile more of a grim, thin-lipped grimace. "I'm good." Danny tried to straighten up and then winced as a sharp pain rippled across his ribcage. He bent back over protectively, one arm wedged tight to his side. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. There was no way he could drive and after the winter holiday, Charlie needed to get to school.

He didn't have just a cold and he knew it; not even the flu. In fact, truth be told, Danny was failing at trying to ignore a mental whispering that the way he was feeling was very much related to the shooting at the hospital. That had happened weeks ago though and his lung should have healed. Should have. And it probably had, but lurking not so far in the back of his brain was a concern that he was still recovering and susceptible to injury or even a damned infection. Danny knuckled his sternum and then sank down into the closest chair, eyes closed. That inner voice was winning out because how long had he been feeling under the weather? Days now. And stupid OTC meds were probably not the way to have gone for so long. Just like the damned thing should have healed, he should have called the damned doctor days ago. His doctor was going to have his head.

And as for Steve? Danny snorted quietly under his breath. This was going to be a problem because Steve was going to shoot Danny - and with his own gun. But he'd shoot him twice if Danny didn't at least call him first ... and now. No matter the repercussions, Danny definitely needed to call his partner that very minute.

"Charlie, get my cell so I can call your Uncle Steve ... I'll see if he can help get you to school. Okay, buddy?" Danny said as he worked hard at taking a steady, careful breath. In, then out ... a simple count to three ... over again. He won the battle when each word came out fairly clearly, allowing him to smile reassuringly as Charlie loitered nearby.

"Go on. Dresser ... bedroom," Danny said as he motioned down the hallway.

"Okay!" Charlie finally got moving and Danny stayed where he was at the table, his face plastered deeply in his hands while listening to Charlie's feet thud solidly towards the bedroom. He smirked to himself, a small pleased smile at his son's energy level until he heard Charlie's voice and his son was most definitely not talking to him.

"Hi Uncle Steve! I got school today!" Then the exuberance ended on a loud secretive whisper. "But ... but, Danno's not feeling good ... he's sick."

"Shit," Danny groused. He forced himself to sit up in the chair, frowning now as Charlie came back to the kitchen, Danny's cell phone melded to his ear. Uncle Steve was on speed dial and Charlie had no qualms about pressing the few digits. Danny should have known his son would help himself to helping his father. If Charlie's transition from Stan Edwards to himself had been somewhat awkward at times, Charlie's ready acceptance of his Uncle Steve had been downright seamless. Maybe it had been because of Grace. His sister would have had an influence on him to be certain, nevertheless, Danny knew it was probably just plain fate. Charlie simply idolized his Uncle Steve on sight and any excuse to see the man - or call the man - was grabbed with both hands. But now was hardly the time and the mouths of babes held no filters.

"Danno's sick ..." Charlie confessed and Danny groaned under his breath. "He doesn't feel good."

"Charlie ... I didn't say to call him. I only asked you to get me the phone," Danny said. "Just ... hand it over, bud."

"In the kitchen ..." Charlie answered a question, walking slowly back, his face now solemn as he listened not to Danny, but to Steve. "He coughed bad ... and he barfed ... a lot!"

"Barfed? I did not! Seriously, Charlie! Now, come on. Give me the phone," Danny demanded, swallowing hard to hold back a sharp, biting cough which would validate at least some of his son's information. Far too much had already been shared and Danny rolled his eyes skywards when he heard the muffled questioning tone in the background, if not the words. Steve was automatically on a high alert with just a few simple sentences from a five year old.

"I'm fine," Danny said quickly as Charlie handed him the phone, talking before he barely had the device to his ear. "Steve? Take it easy, I'm fine."

"Fine? No ... What's wrong, Danno? Charlie said that you were sick ...," Steve rebutted just as fast. "You threw up? Why? What happened? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. He's five," Danny snarked back lightly. "He's exaggerating ... it's not so bad. And I didn't exactly throw up ..." He narrowed his eyes in warning at his son but rather than accepting the rebuff, Charlie dared to grin at him. He rotated the toe of his sneaker on the floor and that grin became a unrepentant smile. Stunned, Danny realized that Charlie had known precisely what he was doing and that he was going to have to have a talk with the boy when he was feeling better about privacy and what or when to say something.

"So, he's five; so what? He's a smart kid and you were coughing," Steve half-asked and more demanded that Danny tell him the truth harder now, stressing the last word, unwilling to back down. He paused then, his voice dropping even lower and Danny almost caved at the softer quality.

"How badly were you coughing, huh? How's your chest? Are you still nauseous? Can you breathe?"

Bad. It hurts ... hurts even worse when I breathe. I'm miserable. Danny thought to himself just before opening his mouth to lie on impulse, biting back a defensive retort that if he couldn't breathe, then he wouldn't be talking at all then would he? What did it matter though because Danny knew that Steve would be reading right through him no matter what he said. In fact, as they were talking, Danny could easily hear the hearty engine revving on Steve's pickup truck. No matter what he said now, and even regardless of him needing a little help in getting Charlie to school, Steve was already on his way over for entirely different reasons. This hadn't been at all what Danny had intended to happen and he vainly tried to get his original purpose back on track.

"It's fine ... it's nothing," he lied. "I'm a little under the weather and ... and, I was wondering if you could drive Charlie to school; it's a half day. Some teacher conference thing in the afternoon and I'm sure I can pick him up later, but he needs to get there on time. It's the first day of school after the holiday break and ... this thing with me, it's just a blip."

There was almost a too long period of silence, as if Steve might be thinking, and he probably was as Danny registered the deep, pensive inhale on the other end. Another problem was being spawned and Danny cringed. Steve thinking was never a good thing and he found himself sighing loudly because this entire discussion had been handled the wrong way from start to finish.

"Steve? Just, can you help me get Charlie to school?" Danny asked to fill the uncomfortable void of silence.

"I'll be there in a few ... I'll get Charlie to school. Then ... then, we're having a talk about what's really going on with this ... blip of yours." Steve's voice was stern and for a brief moment, Danny considered if he could learn to pocket its dangerous quality.

Danny opened his mouth to say something and then sighed again before laying his head on his arms in defeat, the phone slipping from his fingers to fall on the table face up. No, the tone was definitely a SEAL thing and he didn't need to bother trying to say a single word either. There was nothing he could say to defend himself. And besides, Steve had already ended the connection.

~ to be continued ~