A/N: Fills the insomnia prompt on my hc_bingo card. Unbeta'd. Concrit and feedback are love.
Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine.

The feeling of sleepiness when you are not in bed, and can't get there, is the meanest feeling in the world. - Edgar Watson Howe

It's not that he's not used to sleeping alone that wakes Danny up. He's actually more comfortable when he does sleep alone because he's a sprawler and it's not like he's had all that much time for regular bed partners between the job and his daughter, anyway. No. What wakes Danny is the distinct lack of a certain someone hovering over him.

Eight days Steve McGarrett has practically been glued to his side and, even though Danny's been unconscious for most of it, it's a feeling he's become familiar enough with to know when it's missing. Ignoring how that particular thought makes his stomach twist funnily, Danny climbs gingerly from the bed, careful not to pull too much at his side, and pads barefoot to the bedroom window.

Steve had given Danny the master bedroom in his Dad's house to recoup in; thus, he had the perfect view to see Steve sitting alone on the beach, highlighted only by a lone tiki torch flickering in the light breeze.

"You're supposed to be in bed." Steve doesn't even look up when he says it, just continues staring out at the moonlit waves when Danny reaches over his shoulder, coffee cup in hand. Taking the cup, Steve sniffs the steam rising from it cautiously. "What's this?"

"Hot rum milk." Danny sets his own cup (minus the rum since he's on meds) down so he can ease into the chair beside Steve's. "To help you sleep. My grandmother swore by it. Of course, her rum-to-milk ratio was off the charts. I got no idea if it works when you make it by the recipe."

"I'm your guinea pig?" Steve takes a sip, making a happy little noise when he swallows. "Hmm… that's really good."

"So, does this happen a lot?" Danny's ADD thought patterns don't even phase Steve any more and it doesn't take him more than a second to twig onto what Danny is asking him.

"I'm beginning to think I need therapy."

"Right," Danny says with a snort, digging his toes into the cool, damp sand. "You need therapy for a lot of reasons, babe. Insomnia ain't one of them."

"Danny—" It's all right there, on the tip of Steve's tongue, but he can't say it (why the fuck can't he just say it?) and he's forced to look away.

"Don't apologize, man. This, this shit," Danny interrupts, gesturing vaguely at his side, where a bunch of stitches and staples are holding his guts in. "It ain't your fault. Trust me, I'd tell you if it was."

"Yeah, you would."

Danny grins at him and it takes a weight off Steve's shoulders, letting him breathe again.

End