I've been holding on to this one for a while. I decided today was a good day to post. (Don't worry...a certain other story will get another chapter this weekend.)

Happy Birthday, Tracey450!

Danny heard the door open, but he didn't get up. His fingers slid to the gun he'd tucked between the cushions. Listening, he waited.

"Danny?"

The room was dark except for the scattered glow of the television. A basketball game rambled on, volume low.

He didn't answer, just stayed in the same position, body propped awkwardly with a pillow. The couch was not made for comfortable sleeping, especially when you had a hole in your side.

"Man, it's cold in here." Steve crossed the room to the thermostat. "Did you turn the AC all the way up?"

Danny still didn't respond. Until Steve's hand went for the light switch.

"Please don't."

"It's alive." Steve drew out the words, joking. He cringed when his eyes fell on Danny bundled in an afghan, only his face visible. He looked like a demented nesting doll in the flickering light. "Hey you okay, partner?"

He stepped closer to get a better look which was almost impossible in the near darkness.

"You're blocking the game." Danny's words broken ever so slightly by a shiver or two.

"Danny, what?"

A hand shot up. "It's a close game."

"So I see."

Steve moved out of the way and turned to the television. Calculating at what moment he could manhandle his obviously ill partner into submission. The blasting AC, shivers and afghan cocoon did not bode well. He waited until the next commercial.

"Danny, hey, wait."

His first possible opening suddenly fast forwarded and before he could grab Danny, the game was on again.

"If I don't watch this now, someone will ruin it and tell me the score." He growled at Steve.

"That doesn't make any sense, Danny."

"Whatever you want can wait a few minutes." He turned up the volume on the game just as one of the teams made a big score. The cheering seemed out of place in the cold, dark room.

Steve gave in for the moment and perched himself at the end of the couch, knocking off three empty plastic bottles. Danny scooted ever so much to give him room, hissing at the effort. He didn't respond to his partner's obvious distress and added pain to his list of concerns.

The next commercial, the remote did not appear, but Danny was on the ball.

"Don't try anything. This break will be quick. Game's almost over. Three minutes left."

Steve sniffed. "Yea but three minutes can last twenty at this point in the game."

His best friend shushed him and closed his eyes as a subtle tremor rippled through his body.

"Danny-"

"It's fine. I'm fine." His voice broke again. "It can wait."

At the last syllable, the remote slipped off the couch. Steve's eyes darted from the floor to his partner. Danny's eyes were still closed, mouth now slack.

"Hey, Danny?" Steve reached for him. "Hey you okay?"

As soon as Steve's fingers touched the protective weave of the afghan, Danny groaned. "Game back on?"

Steve didn't even look. He could hear it. "No man, still commercial."

"Okay, tell me when."

"Alright, I can do that."

/././

"Game's over. I don't wanna hear it. I'm checking you out."

Steve was serious. Danny not so much.

"Finally admitting how much you love me, huh babe?" A pained laugh.

Steve couldn't return the sentiment fully, but he did try to cover his concern. "Yea sure, Danno. I'm falling for you."

"Knew it." Danny let the afghan fall to his shoulders.

"I'm gonna turn on a light." Steve was already up off the couch. His words merely a warning.

Danny hunched down into his cocoon again, avoiding the light. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, his face pale. His hair stuck up like some wicked little troll doll, but for once Steve didn't smile at the thought.

"See, I'm fine." Danny half grinned. "You can go home now."

"Not going anywhere, buddy."

Danny shrugged. "Okay, then I'm making some coffee."

"Hey, hey." Steve stopped Danny from getting off the couch. "Lie back for me, okay?"

He resisted, and even as weak as he was, he pushed Steve back and stumbled to his feet. The afghan fell to the floor.

Steve gasped. "Danny."

His friend wore only a pair of plaid boxers and rainbow striped socks. The bandage on his belly was pulling off at one corner and obviously soiled. A trail of bloody pus oozed down his side, staining the waistband of his underwear.

Self conscious, Danny bent over to grab his cover – and didn't get back up. He narrowly missed hitting his head as he fell between the couch and the coffee table.

"Shit." Steve didn't get there in time.

He knelt beside his partner, chest tight, adrenaline pumping. Pushing the coffee table out of the way, Steve ran his hands over his partner, checking his pulse, noticing how warm he felt. His eyes found their way to where the bandage had pulled away, revealing a weeping, angry wound.

Danny opened his eyes, but they didn't seem to be tracking anything. He blindly tried to get up, clawing at everything. This time, Steve managed to hold him.

"Stay down, okay?" He was already dialing 911. No amount of ranting would keep him from getting help now. Steve had no choice. Danny was in serious trouble.

tbc... (maybe tonight if you're nice to me...yes, I'm grovelling.)