As he struggles up to full wakefulness he wonders, not for the first time, why he's never replaced his Dad's old couch. Most of the padding's long gone and there's a particularly vicious spring digging into his left hip.

Stifling a groan he stretches carefully, slowly shifting off his left hand side, waiting for the now familiar stabs of pain to ease. Yep, crashing out on the couch had been a really bad idea. But the physio session that morning had been particularly brutal. By the time he'd survived the cab ride home, he'd been wiped out and all he's been able to do since is sleep.

Sleep is all he seems to be able to do these days.

In his head he can hear Danny's voice arguing with him, telling him, quite rightly, that if he'd waited for one of the team to give him a ride home he wouldn't be feeling so bad right now. That asking for help isn't a weakness. That some things were going to have to change.

It's an argument they've been having for six weeks since the accident, like a record on a constant loop.

That and the fact that he shouldn't abuse his newly growing liver that Danny had looked after so carefully for thirty-nine years.

It's that last point that finally was the tipping point, that pushed them from their usual arguments into a full blown row three nights ago. He'd been tired and aching, his body refusing to do even the simplest things. No doubt Danny had been feeling the same. Chin, Lou and Kono had calmed things down but the last few days have been strained.

Taking a deep breath he pushes himself to his feet. He'd never abuse his body and he's insulted Danny thinks he would. Sure, he takes calculated risks in his job but in order to do that he needs his body to work at an optimum level. So when Danny had insulted him, and in that second it felt like that's what he did, he'd seen red.

Bright red, breath robbing, heart thumping, blinding anger.

The memory makes him wince.

Straightening up gradually, he feels his spine pop back into line. Asking for help isn't a weakness either. He knows that with all his heart - he would never have made it through the last six weeks without his ohana. Without Grace and Charlie making him smile when all he's wanted to do is hide in a dark corner without people prodding, or questioning or telling him how things have got to change.

He would never had made it without Danny.

Danny.

He knows too that Danny is constantly worrying. About his health, about Charlie's. About how things are going to change. He knows this is always how Danny is, how he was before the shooting, how he will always be. He wishes he could go back and change it though, not insist on going undercover, not put his best friend's life at risk. But wishing won't get him better.

The sound of car tyres on the driveway break him out of his thoughts. Swearing under his breath he looks at his watch, disappointment curling low in his gut. He's lost hours again, exhaustion robbing him of his plans. It's not the first time it's happened and he understands why it won't be the last, that it's part of the healing process. But that doesn't stop his hands curling into fists of frustration.

Outside he can hear his friends' voices, coming over for dinner like they'd promised the day before. It's a ritual now, this constant checking up on him. He loves them for it, for their warmth, for the way they fill his house after a long, long day. But a small part, a very small part, just wishes sometimes they'd all just fuck off back the way they came.

Switching off the TV, he plasters a smile on his face. They bundle through the door without knocking, grocery bags in their hands. There are questions about their day and good natured ribbing about lazy bosses who sit around on the couch all day watching TV. He lets it flow around him, letting it seep in, easing the aching pains away.

And in the background he can see Danny. Danny who is joining in the conversation with a smile but has never felt further away. His friend's smile slips as he catches his gaze, his lip turning down as he frowns.

Arguing isn't something he's got the energy for tonight. And more to the point it'll spoil the good mood he works so hard to maintain when they're over so he heads into the kitchen and starts sorting through the grocery bags. It's part of the routine they've got into - the first week he'd been out of the hospital he hadn't been able to do much more than watch. Now the last few days he's been cooking. Simple stuff. Nothing fancy. But he tells himself it's the least he can do.

Behind him though he can tell Danny is watching from the doorway. This is where they argued before. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him they're probably heading that way again. Tight lipped, his friend is following his every move like a hawk.

He knows what Danny can see, it's not like he hasn't looked in a mirror recently. Losing a few pounds and his normal muscle tone has made his cheeks look hollow, magnifying the dark shadows under his eyes. But Danny doesn't look much better even though he's been out of the hospital for much longer. It reminds him that this dinner his friends have supplied isn't just for his benefit so he turns back to concentrate instead on preparing the food.

Behind him, he hears Danny push himself away from the door frame with a loud huff. Bristling, he tenses his shoulders, preparing himself for a fight. It's not what he wants but the deep disappointment that's been hanging over him since he woke up is morphing into anger and Danny's the only person he can trust to take that anger and throw it back where it belongs.

He waits, breathing deeply, but the first blow never comes. Instead there's the sound of shuffling, then cupboard doors opening and closing as Danny puts away the groceries they don't need for dinner. The warm familiarity of it takes his breath away. The relief that not everything has to change is overwhelming.

Danny's sharp intake of breath destroys the moment.

With a sigh of his own he turns, already knowing what he'll see. Danny's got the cupboard nearest the door open, the cupboard he emptied out the first day he'd got back from the hospital.

On the bottom shelf he's got all his medications lined up. On each one he's attached a label, describing the contents and what they do. He's never abused his body and although he knows he's got to take them he's going to be damn sure he knows what he's putting inside himself.

On the next shelf he's neatly stacked all the pamphlets and books that he's collected about his condition. To be honest Danny had given him most of them, leaving them lying around when he'd refused to take them himself. He sees the moment that Danny recognises them, his hand drifting up to sift through the first few items on the pile, his eyebrows rising as he sees all the extra handwritten notes he's added.

It's the final item that makes him cringe though, the horribly visible reminder of how far he's still got to go. On the inside of the door is a weekly calendar. Alongside the many doctor and therapist appointments there's a list of daily tasks that he's supposed to achieve, each one ticked off in bright red pen.

He'd argued with his therapist and physio when they'd insisted on putting the list together before discharging him. He's a Navy SEAL for god's sake (or at least he is at the moment - there's an entry on his calendar in a month's time for an appointment at Pearl-Hickham that he's refusing to think about). He's an expert at adapting to any situation. Walking a few extra minutes every day and rewarding himself with a tick had seemed deeply insulting.

Beside the neatly written targets he's scribbled in some extra targets of his own. Taking out the trash, cooking dinner, taking a cab to an appointment or doing the laundry aren't exactly exciting but they're normal. In the midst of people invading his privacy, even invading his body, he needs something that's his.

Silently he wills his friend to understand this. He's not been hiding from what's been happening. He's been adapting the only way he knows how. He can see this doesn't look good though, this cupboard where he's effectively locked away his medical condition, to be taken out and examined only when he feels like it.

Danny doesn't say anything though, his attention still focused on the calendar. Sucking on his bottom lip, he runs his finger down the list, obviously deep in thought. All the tasks are ticked so far, apart from the one for today.

'Get groceries from the store'.

Two weeks ago it had seemed like such a stupidly easy task to add. Six weeks ago, before the accident, he'd have run to the store and back in ten minutes. Today he'd fallen asleep just thinking about how he was going to get there.

Humiliation is what he's feeling as Danny's gaze moves from the list, to the groceries and then finally back to him. Total and utter humiliation.

Silently he watches as Danny quietly closes the cupboard, briefly resting his forehead against the door before slowly turning round. "You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

"Danny..." That's all he's got he realises, unable to get the rest of the words past the lump in his throat. If Danny doesn't get this he has no idea what he's supposed to do next. His friend is the one who always saves him.

Danny raises his hand, signalling for silence. "Hey Lou, you got a second?" he shouts out through the door, dropping his hand as Lou appears, filling the doorway. "Can you take this big lug to the store for me?" he continues, with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. "I'm still grounded and the chef here thinks we need some fancy noodles or something."

Lou slow blinks at both of them in turn, his brain obviously struggling to process the random request. His own brain isn't doing much better and he panics when they both turn their stares towards him. "Iron Chef reruns," he offers weakly, nodding back towards the living room and the TV. "Thought I'd try something new tonight."

Lou eyes them both suspiciously but obediently disappears, appearing several minutes later with car keys and the hated crutches that he still needs to go anywhere outside the house. As Lou heads out the door he tucks the crutches under his arms and slowly shuffles out. Common sense suggests he's too tired to make this trip and he'll probably faceplant into his dinner from exhaustion but it's going to be worth it - he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

He feels even better when Danny shakes his head, mock serious. His eyes though are brimming with laughter. "Iron Chef reruns?" he asks incredulously, "You goof."

Goof is a good description for him he thinks, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a big grin on his face. He can't find it in himself to care though as he watches Danny open the cupboard again to retrieve the red pen and tick his target for the day.

For the first time in days he can see a light at the end of the tunnel. He's got Danny back beside him: the man who traveled thousands of miles so he could set up home near his daughter, who thought he'd lost one child only to get him back years later, the man who took on the challenge of being his partner and all the bullshit that included.

Danny, who is also an expert in the art of adapting.

For the first time since the shooting he really believes what the rest of his ohana has been telling him.

He really isn't going to have to do this on his own.