Hi guys! I was so blown away by the amazing response We Will Tame the Vicious Seas got that I just had to have another go! Here's another short one-shot because why not. The title is from "No Bravery" by James Blunt. P.S. Present-tense is not my default, so if I slipped up anywhere, my humblest apologies!

Thanks to my amazing inspiration, Jessie 3

Enjoy :)

And I See No Bravery

By the time he's run the gamut of the night through with Chin and Kono, HPD, SWAT, IA, CSU, and, when word somehow made it to her before Steve could, Catherine – by that time the one thing Steve wants most is a hot shower and his soft bed. The sun has long since set, the red and blue flashing lights and a dozen or so flashlights the only illumination, and the air has taken on a decided chill. Agents with more acronyms on their jackets than Steve can keep track of are crawling all over the place. The house is small, but the woods behind it are not. There are perimeters to establish, check points to set up, and, as Steve's mind flickers back to the dead girl in the living room, notifications to make.

Chin had taken one long at Steve and Danny and immediately stepped up and began the coordination with Grover and Duke to get the necessary next steps in place. Steve's never been more grateful for Chin's natural grace under pressure. Especially because Steve feels past his limits, exhausted in so many ways.

But there is one priority that tops his list above shower and bed. And that would be the forlorn detective sitting framed by ambulance doors as a gentle woman wraps the last of a roll of gauze around his arm. There are no protests, no obligatory 'I'm fine', nothing. And that more than anything set off alarm bells in Steve's head. He is the perfect patient, pliant and silent, staring off into the distance. And Danny is never the perfect patient.

As Steve passes through the milling bodies – it's late enough to tell that Tanner wasn't going to be found by foot, but not late enough for anyone to admit defeat and head home – he keeps his eyes on Danny. His mind, though, it drifts to the dead girl in the living room, fifteen years old with an automatic weapon inches from her unmoving fingers and a bullet lodged in her carotid. A bullet that came from Danny's gun, which has long been confiscated by IA, not that anyone will find anything disputable about the shot.

Steve doubts Danny will view it the same way.

The heavy set to his shoulders and the thousand yard gaze testifies to the burden he now finds himself saddled with.

"Hey." Danny doesn't move at first, not in reaction to Steve's voice or to the hand that settles on his knee, inches from where Danny's numb fingers hold the strip of fabric that had once been his left shirt sleeve. "You gonna be okay?"

"It was just a graze, Commander, a few stitches is all." He glares at the woman because, yeah, he knew that already, thank you. That wasn't what he meant and that wasn't who he needed to answer.

She shoots him an equally unimpressed look before jumping into the back of the ambulance behind Danny to stow away the equipment. Steve settles himself beside Danny and joins his long gaze out towards the doorway of the little cabin.

"Danno?"

"Steve," he finally answers with a sigh.

"Hey." He turns to place a hand on Danny's shoulder, eventually forcing that blank gaze his way. He leaves his hand there to keep the other man tethered to reality and to him. "This," he nods towards the house, even though they both know it's what's inside the building that matters, "This isn't your fault. We couldn't have known Tanner had some random kid living with him."

It hadn't been a complete surprise when, as they exited the car to knock on Tanner's alternative address, that they'd come under gun fire. They'd both reacted quickly, dropping behind their doors and returning fire. Even the solid volley of an automatic weapon hadn't come as a surprise. They hadn't been, however, expecting there to be another occupant in the house. By all records Tanner lived alone, no family, no relatives, no roommates or girlfriends according to those who ran in his circle.

It'd taken Steve longer than he cares to admit to put it together; to figure out the shooter wasn't Tanner and to realize Tanner was long gone out the back. It was just a distraction to keep them busy, but that didn't mean the bullets ricocheting off Danny's new black Chevy any less real. They'd both returned fire, shooting mostly blind and still unaware that it wasn't Tanner going at them. It was just pure luck, or rather, lack of it, that it was Danny's shot that hit their target and pure coincidence that she moved just right to get it in the neck instead of the shoulder.

"She's a kid, Steve. Barely a few years older than Grace," Danny replies, apropos of nothing Steve has said.

"Danny..." He lets his grip on Danny's shoulder tighten. "You couldn't have known."

"Still." Steve isn't a fan of the way Danny refuses to meet his eyes, refuses to focus on much of anything. Danny lets his body slide off the edge of the ambulance and stretches his shoulders in a way that makes his back crack. "Think Kono will give me a ride home?" he asks absently as he wanders off in her direction.

The distance between them feels so much more than a few feet. Danny is an island, unreachable and isolated, and Steve finds himself adrift, no idea where his is or how to get back.

They catch Tanner the next day when a gas station attendant calls in with his whereabouts. Steve hadn't seen Danny until noon, the latter having spent all morning being cleared with IA about the shooting. He is cleared though, and for that much Steve is grateful.

He's subdued as they corner and subdue the Hawaiian native. Steve and Chin take the lead with interrogation, but the evidence they have of his involvement in a fellow gunrunner's death is more than enough to charge him even without a confession. They get one anyway because that's how good they are.

He tells them about the girl – Ailani. His "girlfriend" he calls the girl seventeen years his junior. Steve doubts it was a particularly healthy or consensual relationship. But whatever it was, it was enough for that girl to pick up a weapon and put up a suicidal fight against the police while Tanner slipped away.

Steve isn't surprised to find Danny waiting outside the room, nor is he surprised when he gets only a nod before the shorter man turns and disappears down the hallway.

It still hurts. It hurts more to know that Danny is drowning before his eyes. Chin gives him a pat on the shoulder as he passes by.

And then it's just Steve alone in the barren grey hallway, alone with his thoughts, washing up on the shores of his own island.

Steve's not prone to nightmares. Frankly you can't be, not when you might have to sleep in enemy territory or in unstable conditions. SEALs don't show weakness and they compartmentalize their daytime horrors like the best of them.

But in his mind's eye, it's Danny, not Ailani Sekioka, who takes a shot to the neck. The small piece of metal that ripped through his bicep came just a foot higher and instead ripped through his neck. Blood sprayed across the car, a violent sight against the leather interior, and Danny dropped hard to the ground, shaking and choking, hands sliding desperately in the slippery stuff as he tries to put pressure on the wound. By the time Steve rounded the car, it was already too late.

He blinks as his ceiling comes into focus. It didn't happen. He knows that. It didn't happen.

Danny is alive and…well, he's alive. Steve can work on his mental state later.

Danny is alive and Ailani isn't and that's just how the cards of fate fell. There's nothing to do but go on, as we are wont to do. Insignificant creatures scurrying forever towards an unknown end, hoping for the barest amounts of joy here and there.

The phone is in his hand before he realizes it. He knows Danny's alone. It was his weekend with Grace, but he asked Rachel to keep her, waving away her concerns with a "it's a work thing". Danny answers on only the second ring and that tells Steve more than he needs to know. He's not the only one awake at this ungodly hour.

"Steve." The inflection is flat and unsurprised.

"Danny. Hi." Now that he's here, heart returning to a regular beat and audio proof of Danny's continuing existence, he's not sure what he wants. What he needs. What Danny needs. "Hi," he repeats.

"Did you have a purpose for calling, Steven, because this is really not the typical chatting time?"

"Danny…I…how…" Words are hard.

"Steve. Seriously, I'm fine. I'm not going to crumble to pieces or put a bullet in my brain if you leave me alone for more than a few hours. Go back to bed."

The mere allusion to suicide accelerates Steve's heart rate more than he cares to admit, but he tries to focus on the reality of the situation rather than all the dark what-if paths it can spiral into.

"You're not fine, Danny. You know it and I know it and I need you to be real with me here. I'm worried about you, man. I know how you take things like this, but it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to change the situation." He wishes he wasn't here, in his bedroom, while Danny was there, in his house, all alone. Why did he even let the other detective go home alone these past few nights? Why didn't he insist Danny stay with him? He'd dropped the ball, he could see now. He had thought space was what the other man needed, it was certainly what he'd asked for, but clearly he'd read the signs wrong on this one.

"You mean other than not shooting a fifteen year old girl to death?" The self-deprecation is almost painful to listen to, so far from the witty self-mockery he normally hears from his partner. This is sharp and plain, a raw wound exposed to the air.

"Come on, man, it wasn't that cut and dry. You gotta give yourself more slack, Danny. She put you in a bad situation and you handled it the best you could. We've all done things we regret, but this one isn't on you. You hear me? This isn't on you. You can't drag it around with you for the rest of your life because it'll drag you to the bottom of the ocean if you let it."

Steve can recall with perfect clarity the look on Danny's face as they'd realized the reality of the situation. Steve had been just a step ahead as the rounded the doorway, had just a moment more to see the body on the floor was not a hardened gunrunner, but a girl. He had looked up just as Danny entered, well aware of the congratulations on making the shot that had left his lips seconds before.

His face was a mask of pure horror, so unable to process the ugly visage on the floor. The ways his eyes had widened, it was minute, but Steve saw it all the same. And in that moment, he knew. Oh, did he know.

"Steve-" Sitting upright now, Steve clenches the sheets in his free hand, overflowing with the desire to make Danny see. To make him understand.

"No. No more excuses, no more self-pity. Let yourself off the hook this one time, Danno, okay? Because you're a good cop and a good man and I know that you would give anything for this to have gone differently. But we got what we got."

It's harder, Steve thinks, because they never knew the girl. It's never pleasant to end the life of someone so young, so full of potential, but it's certainly easier to take down a fierce spirit screaming obscenities at you than to just stare at an empty body and not know. To not know if she regretted it, if she wanted a different end. If she was insecure or unsure. If she was kind. She was just a face with a name and no personality to match. She is both more and less human to Steve and he can only imagine the possibilities Danny's guilt-ridden mind are coming up with to fill in the blanks.

"Steve…" the small voice pleads from the other end of the line once more, but Steve plows on.

"And what about Grace, huh? Are you going to go around, this zombie forever? She needs her dad, her Danno. Don't let this come between you and her. You need her more now than ever, okay? You hear me, Danny? Take one look at the girl and see all the good you put into this world. Just—"

"Steve." He stops this time and hears what he didn't before.

Hitching breaths, tiny sobs.

"I killed her, Steve. I did that."

Steve closes his eyes, unable to bear the sound of such anguish with stoicism. It's a deep cut to hear his partner, his best friend, sounding so broken, so confused. Help me, his voice says, just as it immediately replies I can't be helped.

He knows that weariness. He's seen it so many times, in soldiers, in police. This job is too much for any man to bear, he thinks sometimes. He's seen in it slumped shoulders and eternally sleep-deprived eyes, in broken marriages and estranged children, in the never ending bottle so many fell victim to. There comes a point when it's just too much. And some opt out, go find a cozy retirement or work at a surf shop. But most…they stayed. They let the job erode away at them because the job was the only thing they had left.

This will not be that point for Danny, Steve assures himself. Because he's not sure he can watch the lively man go down such a path.

"Buddy…"he breathes quickly through his nose so Danny won't realize how close he is to losing it too. "You didn't. I need you to see that. That girl was young, but she was old enough to make her own choices and she made some bad ones. That's not on you."

"I didn't…"he chokes for a moment, before forcing the words out, "I didn't know! Why did she do that, Steve? Why did she do that?!" As the shout echoes on both ends, Steve becomes aware of the acoustics in the background. It's a small space, with a garish CD playing quietly in the background. Steve can picture the pink boom box in the corner, softly letting out whatever noise Grace listened to last. Danny had to be in her room, probably on her bed, seeking the only solace he had left.

Why do you always do that, Danno? Huh? Why you gotta push us all away when you need us most?

"I don't know, Danny, I don't know. I wish I did." The tiny hitching breaths continue on the other end. It's time to move forward, Steve decides, because the past is too uncertain. It isn't hard to think fo a plan, because the things Danny loves most in life are few and simple. "But, listen, Danny, in the morning, I want you to call Grace. Call her, okay? And tell her how much you love her and listen to how much she loves you. And then let's get some malasadas and have a beer-"

"Beer for breakfast?"

"Yeah, beer for breakfast. Don't tell your parents," he whispers conspiratorially, earning him a pathetic attempt at a chuckle. Steve will take it for now. "We'll have beer and maladas for breakfast and watch the beach and do nothing if you want. Or we can talk. Or we can walk, or whatever you need, okay, buddy? I'm here for you."

The silence seems to go on forever. Steve begins to worry that Danny will say no, turn his olive branch down. Then what? How hard should he push? But he'd seen already what too much space could do…

"Okay." It's a far cry from hopeful. Frankly it borders on resigned, but it's agreement nonetheless. Somewhere, some tiny part of Danny doesn't want to be alone. Despite what the guilt tells him, he wants to feel better, wants someone to make it all okay.

Just hang in there, buddy. We'll get you there, I promise.

"Thanks, Danny." He means it and he hopes Danny knows it. Thank you for reaching back.

Steve offers a few more platitudes, mostly for something to say, as he hears Danny's snuffling wind down. He sounds out of breath, as though he's just run a marathon. In a way, Steve supposes, he has. Danny finally begs off with another "I'm fine" and "I'm just going to sleep" and for the first time since he laid eyes on Ailani Sekioka, Steve believes him.

Steve still gets up at sunrise the next morning, despite his weary body protesting the lack of sleep. He's done more on less. By the time the sun is fully seated in the sky, Steve hears footsteps – loafers by the sound of it, an entirely inappropriate shoe choice for a beach day, yet so entirely Danny it makes his heart ache – crunching through the sand behind him.

A bag of masalas drops onto the little table next to Steve's lounge chair.

"I don't know why I had to buy my own consolation breakfast," Danny grouses as he settles himself into the other chair and Steve knows. He knows they'll be okay.

And Danny was still on an island, but at least he wasn't alone on the island.

Fin

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