Author's note: Thank you to everyone who commented on this fic. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I received so many requests to add more that I decided to write a second chapter.

It was also great to read all the different opinions. Danny's a controversial character. Has he changed over the years? Yes, mostly because the writing has changed. Does he complain a lot? Yes, but he's still awesome and in Harry Langford's words, those rants come "from a place of love". I feel Steve has changed as well this season. He's more on the sidelines, almost like a 'regular' detective rather than our beloved SuperSEAL, and I thought I should address that too. So here's more. Hope you enjoy it.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already."

"I mean it, Danny. I really am."

Danny believed him. His tough-as-nails, larger-than-life partner was standing in his doorway, head bowed, baring his soul to him and begging for forgiveness. It wasn't something people witnessed every day, and even to him it was a rare occurrence.

Only it wasn't enough.

Not for the sleepless nights he'd spent over the years, or the trips in god-forsaken countries with no return guaranteed. Not for the bullet-ridden planes he didn't know how to fly, and the dirty bombs that threatened to wipe his family off the earth.

He just couldn't let go.

Drawing in a deep breath he opened the door wide and stepped back, allowing Steve in.

The ex-SEAL looked around for a moment as if trying to decide what to do with himself, and eventually chose to just stay where he was: in the middle of the living room, next to Charlie's 24-inch long, brand-new fire truck. If Danny wasn't so damn worked up right now he would've laughed at the sight of the six-foot tall Commander, hands on his hips, looking every bit as focused and determined as if he was about to lead men into battle, standing next to that enormous toy he hadn't probably even noticed.

"We were never at risk, you know?" Steve started. He wasn't sure what to say to fix things, but was determined not to leave until he did. "There was no real danger."

"And that makes everything better?"

"It should."

Danny threw his hands out in frustration. "You just don't get it, do you?"

The fervent remark gauged a reaction, and an equally frustrated sigh. "Honestly, Danny, what was I supposed to do? It was a credible threat. On the island that I have sworn to protect. I couldn't ignore it."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

"Honest? You want me to be honest? You wanna know how I feel? I feel like we're stuck in a loop, having the same conversation over and over again, and nothing ever changes. And I'm not sure I want to be along for the ride."

Steve's eyes widened. "What are you saying, Danny?"

"I'm saying I care about you, something you should be privy to after all these years, but I can't just sit and watch while you go and get yourself killed. It's like I have this front-row seat to the movie of your life and I'm here, constantly worrying while you don't even give it a second glance."

"You know I can't promise you to sit on the sidelines."

"I know."

"And you know I've tried, man. Since our last discussion, I've been trying. So hard sometimes I barely recognize myself. I sit around and I— I delegate, and it's like I'm no longer who I used to be. I've become one of those damn pencil pushers I've always hated. And then sometimes something good comes along and I just… I just can't help it."

Danny understood.

Steve was a man of action. He needed the excitement, the thrill of a chase. He needed to feel alive. And to be fair, he had dialed back some of the crazy since the whole stress counselor fiasco.

"I guess that makes it my problem," he shrugged.

"That's not what I meant."

"Look, I don't know what to do, alright? I worry, that's who I am. And my life is not exactly all sunshine and rainbows right now so excuse me for not wanting to add more drama to it!" He walked over to the couch and sank down into it, feeling as drained as if he'd run a full marathon. "I have a daughter who barely talks to me, an ex-wife who lies repeatedly, a job that lands me in the hospital more times than I can count, and a restaurant that's giving me an ulcer before it even opens. And then there's you, my one constant in all of this mess. Maybe… maybe I've come to rely on you too much but I'm scared, man. I'm scared of not having you around. There, I said it."

Steve almost swayed on his feet, stunned. He knew Danny cared about him, of course he knew. But never in a million years could he have imagined to hear such words coming out of his partner's mouth. Words that no one had ever told him before. Not his parents, not Catherine, not anyone in all of his nomad, solitary life.

"I-I don't…" he stammered. I don't deserve it. I'm not worth it.

He hung his head, needing an extra minute to let those words sink and process their meaning. When he felt safe enough to trust his voice again, he dared to look into his best friend's eyes. "So where does that leave us?"

Danny stared back.

He didn't have an answer to that.

Steve would never stop chasing bad guys. And probably wouldn't live to see retirement. Where did that leave him? Doing the exact same thing he did every day. Worrying. Reigning Steve in when he went too far. And hoping that his thirst for action and quest to help others wouldn't drive both to an early grave.

"Come here," he said, pointing to the couch. "That truck needs its fire station. I promised Charlie it would be all set in the morning."

THE END