The story is pretty much complete at this point. I'm still doing some final tweaks and edits. My aim is to post two chapters a week until it's done. I'll aim for Wed/Thur-ish and Sun/Mon-ish as my schedule allows.

Time for my standard medical disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. I'm a girl with google. I research to the best of my abilities, and I try to make the medical scenes as authentic and accurate as I can manage, but no doubt I don't always interpret the material correctly and sometimes I just take creative license.

I owe one huge thank you to my fabulous beta JoaniexJony who has given invaluable advice and insight throughout the writing of this fic. You always help me make the writing better, hon, and I so appreciate it.

I hope you enjoy my little addition to the growing number of Danny and Steve whump stories. (Yay! Keep writing guys-too much Danny whump and Steve whump is not a possibility!) They just might be the most fun characters to write for, ever. This story takes place in Season 1 after "Loa Aloha" but sometime before "Ne Me'e Laua na Paio" (and the appearance of Jenna Kaye).

Reviews and con crit are always appreciated—I love to hear what you think.

The Webs We Weave

Chapter One

Danny and Steve crouched behind a pair of large shipping crates. Bullets slammed into the wood with heavy thuds, sending splinters flying into the air. They were pinned down about sixty yards from a warehouse on an old sugar plantation on the eastern edge of the Ewa Forest Reservation. Acting on an anonymous tip and unsure what they'd find, they'd left the Camaro a mile down the road and hiked in to avoid detection. They'd just been approaching the building when the door had swung open; a large burly man had stepped out, stared at the two intruders in shock before promptly diving back inside. As Steve and Danny dove behind the only cover they could find, they heard the sound of breaking glass. Machine gun fire had soon followed.

Steve held his gun at the ready and tried to peer around the edge of the crate. He ducked back as a bullet whizzed by his ear. He glanced over at Danny. His partner was sitting on the ground, back against the crate, knees to his chest, gun fisted tightly between his hands, looking profoundly pissed.

"So if I was to articulate our process here," Steve drawled, bending towards his partner. "We have no need to wait for a warrant since the bad guys are obviously trying to kill us. In other words, we have sufficient probable cause."

"Funny, Steven," Danny glowered at his partner, wincing as another hail of bullets ricocheted against the crates. "If you'd gone to the academy instead of SEAL school, you'd know that how well a detective articulates the facts of a case can make the difference between the bad guy rotting in jail or flipping us the bird on his way out of the courtroom."

Danny took a deep breath and dove around the corner of the crates, firing back at the gunmen who had them pinned down. The problem was his and Steve's nine mils had nothing on the machine guns Jimmy Teer and his crew were using against them, it was like throwing stones against a tank. As the machine gun fire escalated again, Danny pulled back, resting his head against the crate. He continued as if he'd never stopped talking. "Governor Jameson may have given you full immunity and means, but the court system didn't. If we don't follow police procedure a judge will put all the lowlifes we arrest right back out on the street."

"That doesn't make sense, Danny." Steve scrunched his face in puzzlement. "It's obvious they're guilty."

"You have been chasing shoe bombers out of the country too long, my friend," Danny shook his head, punctuating his words with sharp slices of his hand. "It's called the American justice system. No waterboarding. No locking people up in Guantanamo without evidence, a warrant or a defense attorney."

"Fine, whatever," Steve said impatiently, his sarcasm evident. "You can't argue with success." His eyes flat, he leaned around the crate and fired again at the warehouse. He ducked back, breathing hard. He popped the empty clip out of his gun and shoved in a new one. "That's my last mag. You?"

Danny nodded the same. "I'm almost out."

"We're not gonna make it until backup gets here," Steve said, his eyes roaming their immediate vicinity.

"I assume you're working on some crazy SEAL plan?" Danny asked resignedly. "And please keep in mind this is my weekend with Grace, so I would appreciate it if whatever you come up with doesn't get me shot full of holes."

Steve's eyes latched onto several pieces of abandoned machinery at the edge of the plantation. "There," he said. He looked at his partner and grinned.

"That's your plan?" Danny groaned. He slumped against the crates. "I'm telling you, I can get you help, Steven."

Steve cuffed Danny on the shoulder and then moved into a crouch. "You keep them busy while I go get it."

"This is a bad idea," Danny grumbled, scowling. "You don't even know if that thing'll start."

"Do you have a better one?" Steve asked pointedly.

"No," Danny sighed. "Go."

As Steve sprinted towards the edge of the plantation, Danny broke his cover and fired repeatedly towards the warehouse. The machine gun fire halted as the gunners darted out of the line of fire. Danny's nine mil clicked, ejecting the empty clip after the last bullet left the magazine. He quickly retreated behind the crates, hoping he'd given Steve enough time to reach his destination.

Steve closed in on the piece of equipment he was aiming for: a large yellow cat track loader. At nearly 62000 pounds and 263 horsepower, it was an immense piece of machinery, as good as a tank. Steve jumped into the cab. He heard the machine gun fire ratchet up again just as he managed to hotwire the engine into life. He raised the huge bucket at the front of the loader as a shield and manipulated the controls. The track rollers crunched the ground and the monster machine rumbled towards the warehouse, flattening everything in its path. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Danny swing onto the back of the loader, flattening himself against the metal carriage.

Bullets pinged off the bucket, but the loader lumbered inexorably forward, closing the distance between itself and the warehouse. Finally, it crashed through the warehouse walls, sending glass and timber flying. The two gunmen stopped firing and frantically attempted to scramble out of the way of the debris.

As the loader came to a stop, Danny sprang down from the back. Both of the gunmen lay sprawled on the ground, stunned. Danny dug his foot into the back of the closest man, keeping him down as he reached for the machine gun still clutched in his senseless hands. He raised it in front of him, finger on the trigger as the second man groaned, attempting to pull himself to his feet.

"Uh uh… Five -0," Danny smiled a warning and shook his head. "Stay down and kick the gun to me or I will shoot you."

The gunman froze, slumping back to a sitting position. He shoved his gun towards Danny.

"Who else is here?" Danny asked. "Where's Jimmy Teer?"

Steve jumped down from the cab, joining his partner. He knelt next to the man Danny had pinned to the ground and quickly pulled the man's arms tightly behind his back, securing them with a zip tie.

"My partner asked you a question," Steve leveled his gaze at their two prisoners. "Where's Teer?"

The second gunman sullenly shook his head. "Not sayin' nothin'."

"Shoot him, Danny," Steve instructed calmly. "He's not gonna talk and I only had the one zip tie."

"Shoot him? You want me to shoot him?" Danny stepped off of his prisoner and waved a hand in Steve's direction. "Are you crazy?"

"Nah," Steve shrugged. "I'm being practical."

"Practical?" Danny began laughing. He smiled at the gunman. "He's being practical he says." Danny shoved the gun towards his partner. "You shoot him."

"Okay," Steve nodded, taking the gun from Danny.

"He really will shoot you, so I'd suggest you make yourself useful," Danny advised.

"You know what?" Steve snapped his fingers. "I have a better idea. Since neither one seems inclined to talk to us, we shoot both of them with their own guns, that way it looks like they shot each other. No chance of either moop beating the system and getting back out on the street."

"Moop?" Danny looked at his partner in disgust. "Did you just say moop? I told you to stop watching bad mafia movies."

"Hey, Don Corleone had a code of conduct I can get behind." Steve retrieved the second machine gun, holding it loosely in his arms. "So what do you think? I'll shoot this one; you can shoot the other one."

"Did you not listen to a word I said about the American justice system?" Danny looked at Steve in disbelief.

"Not really," Steve admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "The way I see it, dead bodies don't need defense attorneys."

"You really are insane," Danny's eyes bulged. He turned towards the gunmen. "I tried to warn you."

"You're crazy – both of you," one of the gunmen finally squeaked. "Where are the real cops?"

"I am a real cop!" Danny turned, outraged, towards the gunman. He plucked his badge from his waistband and waved it in the man's face. "And I am not crazy. That's his bag, not mine. I'm the sane one!"

"The moop has a point," Steve suppressed a grin as he held up one hand in a placating gesture. "Okay partner, decision time. HPD should be here any minute. If we're going to shoot them we need to do it now."

"No!" The gunman on the ground twisted around, looking desperately at Danny. "Teer is long gone. And he's pissed. He had to leave his stash, thanks to you."

"Well don't just sit there, show us where this stash is," Steve motioned with his gun.

"You…you still going to shoot us?" the gunman looked at Steve suspiciously.

"Haven't decided yet," Steve grinned mirthlessly. "Move."

"You too," Danny nudged the guy on the ground with his foot. "What's your name?"

"No, no, no," Steve interrupted. "Didn't your father tell you to never name what you're going to kill?"

"I grew up in Jersey, Steve. Jersey, you know civilization?" Danny gestured in indignation. "Not a farm or a military survivalist camp. Unlike you we did not kill our own food. Mom got our meat from Lorricci's Butcher Shop, like normal civilized people."

"My name's Eddie Kaina," Eddie blurted, struggling to pull himself up from his supine position on the floor with both hands secured behind his back. "He's Glen Younan."

Glen and Eddie exchanged nervous glances as they walked deeper into the warehouse, finally stopping in front of a locked shipping container. Sirens sounded faintly in the distance as Glen opened the container. Steve turned on his flashlight to look inside just as the sirens crescendoed then fell into silence.

Spotting a crowbar sitting on top of one of the shipping crates stored inside the container, Steve whistled as he used it to pop the lid. "Jesus, would you look at that." He motioned Danny forward. "There must be dozens of them."

"Surface to air missiles?" Danny arched an eyebrow at his partner. "That's a lot of firepower."

"Enough to support a small war," Steve noted as he continued to poke through the container. "Look at all this: C4, grenades…"

"Commander McGarrett?" A voice sounded through the warehouse.

"We're over here," Steve called. He turned to Danny.

"No," Danny held up one hand. "Steven. Do not say it."

Steve grinned. "Book 'em… Danno."

"I hate you," Danny sighed, pulling a set of cuffs from the back of his pants and securing Glen's hands behind his back.

"Nah, you don't," Steve grinned knowingly. "Especially after I came through for you today."

"Excuse me?" Danny looked at Steve in surprise, motioning his prisoners towards the HPD officers swarming the scene. "Do you want to run that by me again? We almost got killed."

"But my plan didn't get you shot full of holes," Steve reminded him. His eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Okay, I suppose that's true, Steven. And for that…I am grateful," Danny nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Hey, have a good weekend with Grace," Steve said.

"Thanks," Danny said. "You have a good weekend too…doing whatever it is that you do for fun." Danny walked behind his prisoners, muttering to himself, "Sharpening your knives…testing out your brand new night vision goggles…wringing a chicken's neck…"

Steve chuckled as his grumbling partner disappeared from sight, and then got down to business cataloguing and preparing the missiles for transport to a secure facility. Teer was still out there, and more than likely this wasn't his only stash of weapons. The team had their work cut out for them to bring him down.

H5O H5O H5O H5O H5O

Detective Danny Williams watched as his daughter cautiously curled her fingers around the baseball.

"Throw it here, babe," he punched his glove with his fist. "Right here," he called, stretching his arm forward and dropping into a crouch.

Grace Williams' face pinched in concentration, her fingers taut on the small white ball. She wound her arm back and threw. The ball lobbed high and soft, drifting slowly towards her father's outstretched glove. He lunged forward, catching it before it could hit the grass.

"That's good, Gracie," he encouraged her. "Okay, I'm gonna throw it back now, get ready."

He tossed the ball gently towards his daughter. "Stick your glove out, stick your glove out! There ya go. Keep your eye on the ball, Gracie. Catch it…catch it - catch it!"

The child scrunched up her face, closed her eyes and stuck her glove out in front of her. The ball landed with a thud on the grass at her feet. Grace squinted down at the ball, tentatively glanced up at her father and then reached down and picked it up.

"Good try, Monkey. You almost had it!" Danny smiled encouragingly; his ungloved hand moved in wide swings as he continued, "Now, when you throw it back I want you to remember what I taught you. Three quarter position, okay? Not underhanded, not overhanded. Follow through, get some force into it. Otherwise you're gonna throw like a girl, understand?"

Grace cocked her head at her father, her dark eyes wide with confusion. "I am a girl, Daddy!"

"Yes," Danny nodded, "that is true." His hands arced downwards in an almost pleading gesture. "You are a girl, sweetheart. However, that does not mean you have to throw like one. You understand?"

Grace shrugged and nodded. She fingered the ball in her hand, adjusted her stance and drew her arm back.

"Daniel," Rachel came up the walkway leading to her ex-husband's apartment and shook her head reprovingly. "What have we said about that?" She walked up behind Grace and squeezed her shoulders.

"Mommy!" Grace beamed, dropping the ball to the ground to throw her arms around her mother.

"Hello sweetheart," Rachel smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of her daughter's head. She cocked her head and glanced over at Danny, her eyes twinkling. "Did you talk to your sisters like that?"

"Of course," Danny said, pressing his fingers to his chest and leaning forward slightly. "It was my job as their brother to make sure they didn't embarrass themselves at our neighborhood games. And might I add that I am a good teacher. No," he opened his arms wide, "make that a great teacher," Danny broke into a grin. "Connie took MVP her senior year in girls' softball." He turned his attention back to his daughter. "Do you want to give it one more try, Monkey?"

She nodded vigorously. Rachel stepped back. Grace's face scrunched in concentration; she drew her arm back and threw. The ball flew solidly towards Danny's midsection.

"There ya go, babe," Danny shouted in approval, flashing an "I told you so" smirk his ex's way as he snapped the ball out of the air with his glove.

He grinned as Rachel clapped wildly from the sidelines. Their daughter basked in all the attention. He glanced up at Rachel and their eyes met. Everything he needed to know about Rachel was in her eyes. Her face might look a mask of calm, but her eyes told the truth. At times they'd gone so dark from anger he thought they might swallow him whole. But since that night, that night when Mattie ran away and he'd found himself on Rachel's doorstep, her eyes had told a different story. They sparkled with warmth and they whispered of longing and need.

Rachel broke contact first, glancing down as Grace threw her arms around her waist.

"Are you ready to go sweetheart?" Rachel asked, tugging gently on one of her daughter's pigtails.

Danny tossed the glove and ball aside, dropping to one knee and opening his arms. "Come here Monkey."

Grace wriggled out of Rachel's embrace and dashed into her father's arms. Danny wrapped his arms around her.

"Love you Monkey."

"Love you Danno," Grace smiled, finally pulling away.

"Thanks for the extra time with her today," Danny stood up and gazed over at Rachel.

His ex wife nodded, hiding her eyes from Danny as she helped her daughter set her backpack on her shoulders.

"Goodbye Daniel," Rachel gave her ex husband a wave and then looped an arm loosely around Grace's shoulders, steering the child towards the car.

Danny held up one hand. "Goodbye," he called, letting his hand drop to his side as the two most important women in his life disappeared from view. With a sigh, he reached down to retrieve the glove and ball and headed towards his apartment.

He opened the door and stood for a moment in the doorway. It was quiet and gloomy. Clouds had sprung up overhead, turning the sky a dark grey. He sighed. The place always seemed empty after Gracie went back to Rachel's.

Lost in thought, Danny didn't hear the scuff of the boot behind him until it was too late. He half turned and something hard smashed into his right temple, causing pain to ricochet through his skull. He felt himself falling and then everything went black.

H5O H5O H5O H5O H5O H5O H5O

Steve leaned back against the seat cushion, tipped the beer bottle to his lips and gazed across the water. He could just barely see the island from here. It was peaceful, almost as if he was the only living being in the world. Steve enjoyed company, but he'd never had a problem being alone. He'd never understood those who didn't enjoy their own space- who had to yammer incessantly like their lives depended upon it. Steve smiled. Even Danny, who could talk like no one he'd ever met before, knew when to stop and enjoy the moment.

The boat rocked gently in the open ocean and the sun was warm on his face. He'd abandoned his fishing pole ages ago, after the cooler on the floor next to him had been filled. He'd have to have the team over for dinner so his catch wouldn't go to waste. Yeah, it was a good plan and he grinned, warming to the idea. He'd fire up the grill—Chin, Kono, and Danny could bring Grace. A family affair. When he left the island so many years ago, he'd lost the only family he'd had, never guessing that when he finally returned home, he'd find another one.

The wind picked up, rustling his hair and sending the small boat rolling through a slight swell. He sighed, reveling in the crisp salty air. Every once in a while, even he needed a day off. And he knew he needed to clear his head. Tomorrow would be time enough to track down Jimmy Teer. Tomorrow he would deal with Wo Fat and try to get his head around why the objects from his father's Champ box continued to mysteriously show up on his doorstep. Tomorrow was another day, but today he would let sea and sky remind him that there were some things in this world that didn't change with time.

A gust of wind whipped across the boat. Steve glanced towards the east; the ocean was growing noticeably choppier and the small boat rocked on the swells. Storm clouds butted against the horizon and Steve knew it was time to head home. With a sigh, he stood up, taking one last glance at the distant shoreline.

Had Steve been standing anywhere other than the stern of the boat, he would not have survived the explosion. The boat bucked with concussive force, flinging Steve a good ten feet into the air before slamming him down into the water. Dazedly Steve struggled against gravity, attempting to stop himself from hurtling any further underwater. His lungs strained. Everything happened so fast, he'd had no time to draw a breath before he hit the water. White spots danced in his vision. He struggled frantically, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest, and for a long horrible second he had no idea which way was up.

In the end, it was training that saved him. Muscle memory kicked in, his body righted itself, and he shot desperately for the surface. As his head broke free of the water, he gasped, sucking in breath after breath. Immediately he choked on acrid smoke and fumes. He lifted up his hands in a futile attempt to protect his face and head from the fiery debris that rained down around him. A piece of fiberglass shrapnel glanced off his arm. The wind whipped waves tossed him like a rag doll, smashing his back mercilessly into a large piece of wreckage. Steve groaned, his body numb, and he struggled to stay afloat, to keep his head above the surface of the water. With a terrible keening sound, the remains of the smoking, burning boat lurched and tipped, and then, scarily fast, with one final gurgling moan, it sank beneath the sea.

Steve tiredly tread water. The island, once a pretty view, was now a vague diaphanous outline in the distance. He figured he was approximately eighty miles from shore and the ocean swells were now around three feet deep. Even if he hadn't been in shock, his body aching from the battering it took from the debris, it was too far from shore to swim. No other vessels dotted the skyline, all seeming to have fled the storm and returned to port or gone further out to sea. He was adrift. Alone. Only Danny knew where he'd been planning to take the boat out, and realistically his partner would only miss him when he didn't show up for work the next morning.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him. It ripped at his mind. His heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't draw in enough air. Steel bands tightened around his lungs and he felt lightheaded. He had to get to shore. It was his only chance at survival. If he didn't start swimming now, he would be swept out to sea.

"Calm down! Give in to panic and you die!"

Steve didn't know where the voice came from; if it was memory or his own vocalization, but it stopped him in his tracks. The steel bands loosened and sweet oxygen flowed into his lungs. Danny would send help. They would come for him. He just had to hang on.

Something knocked into his forearm. He stared in disbelief at the life preserver from the boat. Already it was bobbing away from him. Steve lunged for it, ignoring the aches and pains. He clamped his fingers on the preserver and pulled it towards him, slipping it over his head. He draped his arms around the donut, let his head fall back, and he let himself float, allowed himself to drift with the currents of the sea. He had to conserve energy. The island was lost to him. His rescue would come by crossing paths with a passing vessel, or the Coast Guard would track his location by following the movements of the ocean's currents.

Steve knew his life had one purpose now: survive until help came. However long that might be.

tbc…