So I've been working on an NCIS story for an embarrassingly long time and struggling quite a bit – clearly I needed to work on something else for a while. I found this half-written one-shot on my computer and though I've never posted anything for Hawaii Five-0 before, thought I would go ahead and finish it up. There's not much plot, but I know you hurt/comfort junkies are out there!

Standard disclaimer mumbo-jumbo: I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm no sort of medical or legal expert. It's all just for fun, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy the writing. -abby

Danny waited.

He sat by Steve's hospital bed silently, as he had for the last several hours. He could see that finally his partner was beginning to slowly fight his way back, so he knew it was only a matter of time.

Patience didn't come easily to the Jersey detective, not by any means. But hassling doctors and pacing had proven to be fruitless, so eventually Danny had resigned himself to the inevitable.

So he waited.

Steve's fingers twitched and he murmured softly, as though caught in a dream. It seemed as though he was in no hurry to rejoin the land of the living, and in all honesty Danny didn't blame him. The moment of panicky consciousness Steve had experienced in the ambulance was quite stressful for them both. Danny wasn't sure if he was ready for a repeat performance, and frowned at the thought. The frown became a wince as he studied the darkening purple bruise that ran down his friend's hairline and across the cheekbone. Steve would soon be nursing one hell of a headache.

When it became apparent that Steve wasn't yet ready to awaken Danny looked down, idly tapping his pen against the notebook in his lap. Suddenly a thought came to him and he flipped several pages back. He had just finished jotting down the few words when he noticed Steve's movements becoming more purposeful.

He leaned in a little closer, but still said nothing. And for god's sake he kept a safe distance and didn't dare touch the former SEAL. Not in the current situation. Danny knew that would end badly for them both – although probably worse for me, he admitted inwardly. Not that he would ever say that to Steve. Especially not right now.

Steve continued to stir and Danny knew his wait was mercifully coming to an end. Sure enough, within minutes dark blue eyes cracked open. He was glad to see that they appeared clear and cognizant, with no trace of the confusion and very un-McGarrett-like panic that had been present on the ambulance.

And Danny was right. This time Steve was fully aware upon awakening, and it only took a moment for him to confirm what he feared.

Steve's world was eerily silent, quieter even than any hospital had a right to be. It was late, he knew. He could tell that from the dim lighting and total darkness outside, but it still wasn't enough to explain the utter silence.

Great.

As Steve contemplated his new reality, he could feel someone - Danny? - studying him intently and slowly turned his throbbing head to face his visitor.

"Hey," Steve whispered. Though as he had suspected, to him the volume was of no consequence.

Danny's only reply was an obviously relieved smile.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" Steve knew the answer, of course, but had to ask. It suddenly occurred to him that although Danny could hear the question, it wouldn't work both ways. Not anymore.

It was weird, speaking without being able to hear it even in his own head. Steve frowned.

But Danny seemed unruffled. He was prepared, and held up the notepad as he shook his head. More like a nightmare, but no. Sorry, babe.

Steve sighed and gently massaged his aching temples. His whole body was sore, and he knew that when the bomb exploded he must have hit the ground hard. He briefly examined the bandages covering his left arm from wrist to elbow before returning his attention to the more pressing issue. "Is it bad?" Steve carefully modulated his speech, fully aware that he may unknowingly begin to raise his voice.

Danny turned to the next page and held it up for his partner to see. He knew full well that Steve wasn't referring to the second-degree burns covering most of his forearm. Not as bad as you'd think - doc says it's most likely temporary. 95% certain you'll be good as new in no time.

And there it was. Hope.

Steve searched his friend's face, looking for deception. For signs of baseless, well-intentioned exaggeration. Finding nothing in the pale blue eyes but an uncharacteristic serenity, Steve allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "How long, exactly?"

It's not an exact science, Steven, Danny's pre-written note admonished. The blond detective's lips quirked in amusement as Steve lifted an eyebrow. But probably a couple of weeks. You'll notice a gradual improvement.

The former SEAL blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Okay. A few weeks. That was manageable - it could have been a lot worse.

He looked back at his partner. It could have been a lot worse, you know. Danny pointed at the words meaningfully.

Through the fog of his concussion, Steve wondered if he was really that easy to read or if he'd been speaking out loud. He couldn't hear himself, after all, so maybe he had been. He looked at Danny, confused.

The shorter man's only response was to tap his own forehead with a knowing smile. Though it intensified the throbbing misery in his skull, Steve couldn't help but grin in response.

"Tell me you at least got the bastards, Danno," Steve said.

Danny turned the page. We got the bastards. Chin and Kono rode them in while you got your beauty sleep. With attempted murder on a member of the governor's special task force they'll be going away for quite a while.

Steve's head pounded thunderously, and after reading the few short sentences he had to close his eyes against the pain. "Good," he murmured. "When can I go home?"

Danny shook his head bemusedly. He waited until his partner opened his eyes then held up Steve's discharge papers, already bearing the doctor's reluctant signature. And his own, since the only way Danny could get the skeptical physician to agree with such an early discharge was to take full responsibility for the former SEAL.

Danny chuckled to himself. As if that wasn't already the case.

Steve smiled, and gingerly pushed up into a sitting position. He gasped slightly as waves of nausea pummeled his battered, exhausted body, and Danny reached out to help steady his friend before he fell off the bed. "Take it easy, babe," the Jersey native said without thinking. Steve had his eyes closed again and did not react.

Danny sighed, and patted the taller man on the knee to get his attention. When Steve got his stomach somewhat under control and looked up, Danny was holding the notepad yet again. You have to let me help. Your balance is shot because of the damage to your eardrums.

Steve had turned white as the sheet on which he sat, and Danny could tell from the rapid swallowing and deep breathing that he was trying very hard to not be sick. Finally there was a small nod of acquiescence and Danny squeezed his friend's good arm reassuringly. "Let me do the work," he enunciated carefully, and could see that Steve understood.

It took a few minutes but soon Steve was standing, if unsteadily. It wasn't in his nature to accept help, but he knew that without Danny's firm support he would be flat on his face.

"Thanks, Danno," Steve murmured. He couldn't be sure if he actually managed the words aloud, but it didn't seem to matter. His partner obviously knew exactly what he was thinking whether he said it or not. Kinda creepy, Steve's muddled brain observed, but he was comforted nonetheless.

Danny simply smiled. He risked letting go of his shaky partner long enough to pat him on the chest with one hand and grab the notebook with the other. Then he flipped to the last pre-written page and held it up for Steve to see.

Anytime, babe. I'll be here.