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delicataleThere we go! First of all, massive thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stjarna1984, tailoredshirt, theellibu, perspi and somehowunbroken for their help and support. You made this not suck.
I feel like I've been writing this forever. So, okay, here goes nothing.
A story where Steve has a spinal cord injury and has to learn how to live his life again, without his legs. Contains some self-harm, to be on the cautious side. Also, contains awkward sex.
Steve loses the use of his legs deep in the Bolivian rainforest. He’s alone, having left his brothers-in-arms to go in other directions, all of them dressed in camo vests and camo paint, with knives at the ready instead of firearms. It’s raining hard, lightning scarring the night skies overhead regularly, shedding some light on the muddy path Steve’s taking after one of the men his team has tracked all the way here.
He sees cracked branches and tracks in the soil in the light darkness of the night and follows them, and in retrospect, maybe he should have known he’d been played. He’s tired, burned out, going through the motions at the edge of his sanity, desperate for this mission to be over. But he probably should have known anyway.
He remembers the weight jumping on his back, dirt and wet leaves sticking to his mouth, to his palate as he fell. The pale flash of the knife when he’d twisted around, trying to get the upper hand, grabbing the man with slick fingers and hauling him away, but not managing, and then a flash of lightning next to him, and the tree, falling. Steve’s breath explodes out of his lungs as he hits the ground, pushed into the mud by the tree, pain bursting all over him, making him light-headed.
Steve’s attacker jumps up to his feet and runs then, and Steve’s determined to do the same, pushes his palm against the earth and tries to get himself up but the pain is searing hot over his back, presses him into the ground, worse than hours in cold water conditions, worse than a bullet wound. He passes out with his face in the dirt.
;;
It’s a date that he tries to forget for the longest time, but he knows, deep within, that it’ll always be with him, whatever he says. They’re all looking at him like he’s never been a part of them before, like he’s different, like his mind has gone just as fast as his body, a betrayal he can’t get back from.
But Steve’s still got his mind, he’s still a Navy SEAL, even if he’s stuck in a wheelchair and his leg muscles are slowly getting atrophied. He still pores over maps and mission orders and thinks - entrance, exit points, the end game, plan A and B and C and the best way to extract men, make the least impact possible, in and out in a sharp attack. That doesn’t mean officers don’t discard him once they realize he’s not going to get the use of his legs back. Steve knows they don’t do it on purpose, always, and there’s always a clear spot for his wheelchair at his team’s table when they’re in Coronado, but the looks he gets are a little sad, and the conversation is stilted around him, like he’s someone to protect, not the one that led these men to possible death a year ago.
Retiring seems to be the only thing Steve can do not to blow a fuse and go Kamikaze on his whole life. It’s like his plans A, B, and C have all been left in the depths of the Bolivian rainforest, and now he’s got nothing left than to go home.
;;
The blade is far from blunt, he knows that, he’s spent long enough sharpening it on his hospital bed. And yet, when he runs it along his thigh, he can’t feel a thing. He can see the blood pearling at the tip of the knife, and he presses in, gathers some more on his MK3 and holds it up to eye level, watching the drop of blood run down the blade, cutting the silver with crimson, the setting sun catching on the edges of the knife, and it looks obscene, beautiful.
Steve drops the knife before he gives his leg another look, turning his wheelchair in the hotel room he’s been living in for the past two weeks. His flight back to Honolulu is only in a few days.
;;
The house is dark and stuffy, all the windows closed, for some time abandoned, and Steve’s wheels run tracks through the dust on the floor. The last time he was here was for his father’s funeral - he didn’t stay that time around, couldn’t bear it, but he never had the heart to sell the house.
Despite the layers of dust coating the furniture, the old pictures of happiness now long gone, feeling foreign to Steve when he looks at them, faded by sunlight and time, the house is still the same, still strangely feels like home. Steve starts by opening all the windows of the ground floor, the salty, tangy air coming from the sea and the hydrangeas the neighbor has in her garden filling the house bit by bit. He vacuum cleans the parts of the house he can reach - one of the only amusing things he’s managed to find to do lately; he speeds through the floor and bumps into walls, gets tangled in the cable and for a minute he can hear his own laughter floating in the air like a ghost.
For a moment, he feels good about being here.
;;
He stays for a day in the Army Medical Center to meet carers and sort out future plans - nursing visits and check-ups and all those things that he didn’t want to deal with back in Coronado and still doesn’t want to now; he has no choice, though.
So he stays in a room with a soldier and he’s small, looks almost fragile, but his eyes are sharp when he looks at Steve. He’s obviously broken, prosthetics in plain view, as if he’s not ashamed, not bothered. He looks happy, looking down at a letter in his hand, and Steve is envious for a moment, as he sits helplessly on his starched white bed.
Then the soldier turns to him, clambers over on his prosthetic leg and sits at the end of Steve’s bed.
“Name’s Alan Decker.”
“Steve McGarrett.”
Seems that once you’ve been blown up, or a tree broke your back and legs, ranks don’t matter.
“What happened to you?”
“Broke my back.”
Alan gestures to his leg. Half of it is covered by the black plastic of his prosthetic, followed by a metal leg, the pump and pistons glistening with oil.
“Landmine. I was lucky. Hey, wanna play poker? The nurses won’t be back for another hour.”
;;
It requires effort and quite some time for Steve to gather up his strength and call Chin Ho. When he does, though, Chin is more than happy to come over and help, in memory of their high school times and Steve’s father, probably.
He brings along a string of people to help, his little cousin Kono and his friends Kawika and Kamekona, both of them big and burly, and also his new partner at HPD, Danny, who shakes Steve’s hand with unsaid things in his eyes that Steve doesn’t have time to ask because Chin is beckoning him over.
Steve wheels the smaller stuff out of the study and to different storage places, documents and files and sports trophies, while the others carry the heavy stuff - desk and dining table from the study, bedframe and mattress and wardrobe from the bedroom upstairs. Steve sorts clothes out with Kono, wishing that Mary Ann was here; Kono’s great company and they talk about surfing and firearms, but she’s not his sister.
It takes them a day, but in the end they have Steve’s bedroom moved downstairs for easy access, and most of the study furniture upstairs. Steve cooks steaks and offers beer as a thank you, a little speechless at how grateful he feels.
;;
Steve sits at the edge of the water, bottle of whiskey in one hand and his knife in the other. It was easy enough to wheel himself here with his custom chair, the one with the track chains around the wheels, like the ones tanks get, made just for him by one of Kawika’s friends. With the motor he doesn’t even need to work for it, that’s the beauty of it.
The bottle is mostly full, Steve doesn’t need the alcohol to fuel the anger. He’s got one long, shallow cut along the inside of his left arm, and another one along the outside of his thigh, a little deeper. He can see pale white scars on his leg from the other times.
He knows it’s not changing anything and it won’t make him feel better, but he doesn’t know how to deal with what he’s feeling; what he’s not feeling. He’s restless and there’s this thrum in his body, the need for exercise, exertion, that he can’t have anymore. It’s better to be paralyzed than to be dead, they said in the hospital, back in California, but Steve doesn’t really feel alive. He feels broken and withdrawn, further away from his emotions now than he ever was in the Navy.
He feels like a failure.
;;
“So, what are you doing these days?” Alan asks one morning, hand rubbing his stump like he’s hoping his leg will regrow. He’s got his protective sock in his other hand, and Steve stares all he wants, so as to not stare at the bandage around his own left arm.
“What do you mean?”
“Got a job? A hobby? I mean, you always look so sullen.”
“Lost my job.”
“You’re not dead, Steve.”
It strikes a chord, and Steve looks up, startled. He’s not, is he? He feels like he is, sometimes, but his heart is still beating, not like Gung-Ho, not like Albatross. He can’t pretend he’s dead forever.
“What do you do?” The words feel a little raw in Steve’s mouth, but he manages not to choke on them.
“Found a job in a garage. I used to be a mechanic in the Army. That didn’t change.”
Steve knows that, if Alan had wanted to, he could still be in Active duty. He doesn’t ask why he’s not, instead starts wondering what he’s good at, that would not require the use of his legs.
;;
He’s digging around in the shed when he finds his old board. Steve shakes it out, random gardening utensils clanking to the floor as he does, and lays it over his knees, running his hands over its deck and rails for a moment, feeling its ruggedness, dings and chips from the past and disuse. He licks his lips, looking down at the faded green paint job he’d done so long ago, and finds himself smiling.
He wheels himself out of the shed with one hand, surfboard locked under one arm, and leaves it leaning against the side wall of the house as he goes back in, finds his dad’s trestles and a plank of plywood, setting up a table outside.
After spending a while checking out his board, he guesses he’d probably be better off just buying a new one, but how would that make sense? Instead he spends a good hour and a half making sure he’s stripped all the old wax, and makes a list of things he needs to buy to fix it up.
;;
He meets Danny again in a surf shop. He’s looking for this particular brand of wax he likes, his lap full of resin and cloth and paint and gloss when he rolls himself into the man, his mind elsewhere.
“Shit, sorry!” Steve looks up, his mouth opening. “Oh, hi, Danny.”
Danny smiles, his fingers flexing over a bodyboard. “Hey, Steve. How you doing?”
“Alright. You’re thinking of taking up bodyboarding?”
“What? Oh, Lord no. It’s for my daughter. She’s adamant she wants to learn, and her mother gave her the green light, so I’m the last one resisting.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re resisting much, here.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it? Kono promised she’d teach her, and Grace is just too excited about it, I don’t have the heart to refuse her, you know? I’ll just have to be around to keep her from being eaten by sharks.” Danny looks forlorn for a second, making Steve raise an eyebrow.
“You don’t like the beach?”
Danny grimaces, looking out the window to the ocean. “Don’t like the beach.”
“Everybody likes the beach.”
“I like cities, you know? Skyscrapers, traffic, no jellyfish. I wouldn’t be here, save for -” Danny stops, makes a hand gesture in the air before him, like he’s got so much more to say, but can’t bring himself to. Steve doesn’t blame him.
“How old is Grace?”
“Nine. Why?” Danny looks intrigued, and Steve wheels around him, going towards the bodyboards on racks, attached to the wall.
“You might want to come back with her. The most important thing about a bodyboard is to make sure it’s the right size, the top of it should reach her belly button, not higher, not lower, otherwise she’ll be unbalanced. Don’t buy one that is really expensive, since she’ll be growing for a while yet, she’ll need to change boards fairly often.”
Danny runs his tongue over his top teeth, stepping away from the boards, eyes darting between Steve and the racks.
“Thanks. Did you used to-”
“Yeah. I’m fixing up my old stick. For kicks.” Steve doesn’t mean the acidic tone, but he can’t help himself. Danny makes a face; lips thin and unhappy, but Steve doesn’t feel bad.
“Okay. Well, thanks, Steve.”
“No problem. If you have questions, you know where I live.”
;;
Steve has taken to visiting Mamo regularly. He can talk shop, get fed, and spend time outside the house. Sometimes, for a few moments, he doesn’t even feel like an invalid so much. And there’s the ocean in front of him and tourists and Mamo’s soft voice telling him about the people that he used to teach, that are teaching now.
He’s over there one morning when a surfer bum walks up to Mamo’s hut with his board under his arm, looking dejected under his long, wet, hair.
“Awn, brah, I ruined it!”
Mamo smiles indulgently, raises his chin at the man. “Ruined what?”
“The stick, look!”
They lean over the surfboard, and Steve leans back on his chair, trying not to look like he’s eavesdropping.
“Just a ding, braddah. It’s fine.”
“I can fix it, if you want,” Steve says, barely realizing he just said anything. Mamo gives him a look, something indecipherable in his eyes, his head slightly tilted. When he nods, Steve relaxes the grip he had on the arms of his chair.
“Yeah? I got everything needed in the shed.”
“Cool. I’ll do it.”
;;
Danny comes over one morning, just after breakfast, holding two cups of coffee in his hand when Steve opens the door.
“Oh, hi,” Steve says, not quite sure whether to be surprised or pleased. He smiles, wheels himself out of the way, and Danny walks in, closes the door behind him with a nudge of his foot.
“Morning. I thought, since I was about to squeeze you for information, least I could do was bring you coffee. I hope it’s a good time, I’d have called, but I don’t have your number, and it’s our day off, didn’t want to bother Chin with this. So, um. Here I am.”
Steve smiles, finding himself unable not to. He leads Danny to the kitchen.
“It’s fine, it’s as good a time as any. What’s up? Did you buy that bodyboard?”
“Yes. And now, um. I need some more advice, because I need a surfboard.”
“For Grace?”
“No, for me.” Danny falls into a chair and his head drops on the table, making Steve chuckle, the desire to reach over and pat Danny hard to restrain. Steve reaches out for his coffee, toying with the plastic lid as Danny straightens up, shaking off the self-pity.
“You’re a bit shorter than average, but I’m sure any surf shop would give you good advice on a board.”
“You offered to answer my questions,” Danny lets out, matter-of-fact, like any other solution hasn’t even occurred to him.
“Yeah, okay, but there’s not much we can do about this here, though. Guess we have to go shopping.”
;;
After the second surf shop, Danny is so frustrated he’s trembling. If it’s not the owner he doesn’t like, it’s the look and feel of the boards. Steve knows he’s stalling, but he doesn’t say anything, just follows along, hoists himself in and out of Danny’s little sports car and lets Danny take care of his wheelchair.
When they’re both in the car, and Danny is holding onto the steering wheel with white fingers but doesn’t start the engine, Steve takes a deep breath.
“I can make you a board, if you want. You’ll have to get me the stuff I need for it, but I can make you a list. It’s not that hard - it’ll take me longer than any other shaper though, because,” he motions at his useless legs and Danny gapes at him.
“You would?”
“Free of charge, besides the materials.”
Danny turns to look at Steve. He seems a little awed. “You don’t have to. I mean, isn’t it stupid if I don’t know how to surf?”
“Maybe stupid, but I’d like to. Will keep me busy. ‘Sides, word travels fast in the surfing community, and nobody will be willing to sell you anything by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Um, okay. Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
;;
The nightmares don’t go away. Steve wakes up often drenched in sweat and even more tired than he was when he went to sleep, broken images slashing through his dreams. He usually gets out of bed, bathroom, kitchen, and sometimes wheels himself to the lanai, stays there for a while, lets the sounds of the ocean soothe away the pain of old, faded scars and the nagging worry of jagged memories. He wonders how the others are doing, the guys on his old SEAL team.
Doesn’t mean he wants to see them, though.
;;
Mamo lets Steve use his little shed during the day, sends his various customers to Steve when they need a ding fixed or a layer of wax put on. He explains patiently as he prepares the resin - never too much catalyst or the resin will be too brittle - and he lets young and not-so-young surfers cut a piece of cloth the right size and shape to cover the ding, watches them grin when the cloth and the resin fuse together into the rest of the surfboard. Steve discovers it’s an experience for him, too, to see these kids and teens and adults learn something, look over his shoulder with respect and awe at what he can do.
He feels a little less useless. And Mamo feeds him moco loco as Steve waits for the three dings he’s taken care of this morning to dry. He’ll have to sand paper them smooth after, try them out himself - easy enough to do if he keeps the leash strapped around his wrist and throws the stick in shallow waters to make sure of its flotation, he explains to Mamo during their lunch together. Mamo just gives him a long look, a nod, a smile.
“Pupukahi I Holomua.”
;;
Steve barely has time to be alone. He spends some time at the hospital and most of the rest with Mamo and his surfer friends, and he almost forgets that Danny was supposed to bring him the blank foam until the afternoon where Danny shows up. Steve has spent most of his week learning new tricks on how to shape and gloss a board, how to install fins and a leash plug, little details that will make Danny’s board as good as can be. He knows which parts will be the hardest, will take most of his concentration; the glossing will take some time for Steve, but he’s practiced mixing his resin and working quickly on old, broken blanks and scrap foam until he was comfortable with the movements and the time he had. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before; it’s just training.
Steve runs his hand over the blank Danny’s presenting him. “Hope that’s what you wanted? I got exactly what your list said.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect, Danny.”
“Can I stay?” Danny asks with an unsure look, and Steve wonders if he’s making Danny feel as stupid as Danny makes him feel.
“Of course. I’ll need your help anyway.”
Danny grins, runs his fingers through his hair and Steve decides that he wants to do that, too. Together they set the foam blank on Steve’s work table and Danny helps with outlining the shape, using a template he built with one of Mamo’s old friends. Steve has worked out the specifics while training on scrap foams at Mamo’s hut, every little detail with Danny’s body frame and what Steve knows of his personality in mind.
Steve loses himself in the work, cutting the outline, checking out the curve of the shape, marking and measuring with a sure hand. He’s only done this once before, and it was a long time ago, but Steve knows what he’s doing, moving around the board efficiently, something he’s not felt since the accident thrumming in his veins steadily, keeping him calm and focused.
For a while, he forgets about everything else. He forgets that he can’t stand up and walk to the edge of the water, feel the tiny waves lick at his toes. He forgets that he’s a broken puppet, forced aside, away from everything he knew how to do. Everything is at his level, the table just right for Steve to lean over the blank and sand the rocker, the rails, with precision, his hands running over the rough foam, his idea for the board clear and precise in his head.
When he looks up, wiping his hands over his long shorts, Danny is sitting in one of Steve’s Adirondack chairs, looking at him with an intensity in his eyes that Steve has never seen before, that make him shift his eyes away. He’s far from being finished, unable to work as fast as any shaper with both legs to move about the board.
“Sorry, I got carried away. Do you want a beer?”
“Sure. I’ll go get them.” Danny doesn’t give Steve the chance to protest, already on his feet, and Steve looks down at the board in front of him, thinking of all the other things he needs to work on. The shaping is only the first part of it.
Danny comes back quickly and hands Steve a beer, sitting back again. He points at the board with his beer. “How’s it going?”
“Good. You don’t have to stay - it’s okay if you’ve got other stuff to do.”
“Hmm. I’m finding it fascinating. And it’s my day off, I don’t have Grace and I have nowhere to be. So I’m quite happy here. It’s warm and you’ve got your own little beach.”
Steve smiles. “Thought you didn’t like the beach?”
Danny shrugs, drinking some beer before leaning forward, forearms on his thighs. “When life hands you lemons...”
It hits Steve cold, reminding him way too much of the kind of lemonade he’s got to deal with nowadays. He holds his beer a little tighter as he glances down at his legs, but when he looks up he tries to smile. Danny catches him out, though, but he doesn’t apologize.
“So, how long is it going to take you to finish it?”
“Well, once the shape is ready, got to gloss it twice, which should take a couple of hours if I speed through the process. After that it’s just a few little bits. So I guess I’ll finish the shape today, and work on the glossing tomorrow. Should be finished in the evening.”
“Impressive.” Danny leans back on his chair, beer in hand, but Steve shrugs. It’s not as impressive as taking out five guys in complete darkness, or leading a team through the wilderness and getting none of them injured.
“Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do.”
Danny snorts, and this time when Steve smiles, he means it, grinning up at Danny, feeling more relaxed than he has in ages.
“Hey, let me buy you dinner, okay? For the hard work. You like pizza?”
Steve bites the inside of his lip, taking a second before answering.
“Yeah. Love pizza.”
;;
Steve grits his teeth as he pulls himself out of his chair. both his bare feet are in the wet sand, and he can see it compact under them, but can’t feel it.
His chair provides support as he lowers himself to the ground. His ass in the sand, he makes sure the leash is secure around his wrist before he turns to his old surfboard, now fully repaired, and crawls on top of it, grabbing his legs and lining them along the deck. On his stomach, Steve stares at the ocean in front of him, vast and quiet, almost too dark, the moon only a sliver of light in the night sky.
And then, he pushes. Fingers digging in the sand, he uses his upper body strength to launch the board forward, until he’s bobbing in the water atop his old, trusty stick. He paddles for a moment, moving away from shore, sighing with relief at the feeling of the ocean around his hands, up his forearms. He stops paddling when his arms start burning with the effort, and lies his temple against his board, closing his eyes. If he didn’t know he’d never get back on the board, he’d lean to dunk his head in the ocean, but as it is, he focuses on his arms in the water.
His stick is raspy and cold against his skin, and the sea is fresh along his fingers and forearms, a sensation like any other that he has missed more than Hawai’i, more than work, more than anything else. He suddenly feels light, almost like he could jump up and test his balance, paddle up a wave and ride its lip as though he’d never lost the use of his legs.
It doesn’t last. Soon enough, he remembers all too well the two dead weights attached to his hips, and he turns his head, pressing forehead and nose to the board, suppressing a cry as he start paddling again, knowing he’s heading back to shore.
;;
Danny’s board is finished on Sunday evening, and it’s looking pretty cool, if Steve can say so himself. Its foil is beautiful, for a first try, and Steve feels something very close to pride when he looks at the stick. He tries it on the water before Danny shows up, and it floats well - they’ll have to wait and see how it reacts with Danny, though.
Steve doesn’t talk about his nighttime escapade on his own surfboard.
;;
The head nurse is called Eris, and she likes Steve as much as she’s tired of him and his random little tricks. She looks at his bandaged left leg and sighs, running her fingers through her greying hair.
“You have to stop doing that. You know, if it goes on much longer, I’ll have to report it.”
When she says that, with her disapproving look and the worried twist of her lips, Steve almost feels guilty for it. It never lasts too long but for a moment there, he wishes he could stop doing it, too.
“Hey, I’m fine. At least I clean it up..”
“It isn’t funny, Steve. God, what am I going to do with you?”
“You’re going to suffer him like you suffer the rest of us, lovely Eris.” Alan’s voice drifts in from the doorway and the nurse makes a face, making Steve grin as he pulls the paper gown down his thighs.
“You two should never have met.”
Alan laughs, ambles over to kiss her cheek, before giving Steve a look. “You soon done with him?”
“Yeah, he’s free to go.”
“Good. C’mon, brah, I’ve just bought this carcass of a car and I’m going to need help fixing it up. Up for it?”
Steve slides his shorts up his legs, squirming about until they’re on. He ignores the way Alan looks at his bandaged leg, and takes off the hospital gown, swapping it for his shirt before he slides into his wheelchair, almost smoothly.
“Sure am, man.”
;;
Grace is the kind of little girl you can’t help but adore, on the spot. Steve watches her approach from the porch, her hand in Danny’s, and right away he knows that she’ll have him wrapped around her little finger. Danny grins when Steve wheels himself forward once the two of them are up the stairs.
“Hey, Grace! It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Steve.”
He holds his hand for her and she shakes it timidly, giving him a good look before smiling. “Danno talks a lot about you.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at that, looking up at Danny to find his cheeks a little red, making Steve smile.
“Oh, does he now?”
Danny interrupts them, pointing to the car they can see turning into Steve’s driveway. “Hey, Gracie, look over there, Kono just made it, why don’t you help her with your bodyboard, huh? Go on.”
Danny turns back to Steve once Grace is down the stairs again, running towards Kono, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t say a word.”
“I’ve not said anything, Danno.”
Danny rolls his eyes, punching Steve’s shoulder lightly. “Stop being cute, McGarrett.”
They all make their way to the beach and Steve grabs a surfboard from the few he’s taken back home from Mamo’s hut and starts sanding around a ding as he watches Kono give Danny and Grace the basics of surfing; paddling on the sand, teaching Grace how to hold herself on her bodyboard, and Danny how to stand up.
Sooner than Steve thought, they’re all in the water and he feels his stomach churning with the need to be alongside them, paddling and splashing about, and swimming - he misses swimming so much it’s a physical ache through his chest.
He forces it down, though, tries his best to forget about it as he focuses on repairing the boards, sanding and pouring resin and waxing, repetitive motions that lull his mind enough that he doesn’t even hear Danny run up to him until he’s just there, shaking himself like a wet puppy before grabbing a towel. Steve looks up, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Enjoy that?”
“There have been no shark bites, so I count it as a win.”
Steve snorts, lowering the third board back onto the outside rack, a new addition to his shed.
“Surfing is fun, I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Danny plops down on the sand next to Steve, looking out at Kono and Grace still playing around, the two of them on Danny’s board now, taking steps along its length - balance exercises.
“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m just doing it for her for now, you know? Like most things, really.”
Steve licks his lips. “You’re a good dad.”
He feels Danny looking at him, so he turns his head, eyes boring into Danny’s, not sure he’s able to read anything in Danny’s eyes. Then Danny’s turning away, back to the ocean.
“Do you think you’ll ever get to surf again?”
Steve takes a deep breath against the pain that blossoms in his chest, fresh and raw. “No.”
;;
“Come on, buddy, work with me here!”
Alan is drinking a ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous drink, something pink with a little umbrella and pieces of fruit floating in it, as he sits next to Steve at Mamo’s hut on Waikiki Beach, wearing sweatpants that he’s hiked up his good leg. Steve relaxes, his fingers climbing up and down his thighs, wishing in the back of his mind he could feel it.
“Okay, fine, what do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, terms of endearment or something.”
Steve thinks about it for a second, watching Mamo talk with a kid about his surfing stance a little way away. Steve’s been spending most of his time working on boards for Mamo’s friends and people, keeping busy, his hands finding new habits that have nothing to do with how to hold a gun.
“Okay. Makemake oe.”
“Makemake oe. Did I say it right? What does it mean?”
“It means I want you. And don’t say it like ‘make’, say it ma-ké.”
Alan repeats it a few times, a look of concentration on his face that makes Steve want to laugh, creases over his brow as he whispers the Hawaiian words. Steve reaches into the cooler he brought with him for a beer, taking a grateful mouthful of the cold drink.
“Hey, Steve.”
Steve turns his head around quickly, his upper body twisting when he hears Danny’s voice. He’s walking towards them, wearing his usual work attire - slacks, tie, button down. Steve can barely take his eyes off him; he’s realized this is happening more and more.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just needed to ask Mamo about something. Didn’t know you’d be there.” Steve had no idea Danny knew Mamo, but he’s too stunned to ask, his lips parted as he watches Danny. Danny looks down at his feet, his hands in his pockets, looking like he’s keeping some kind of big secret he can’t wait to tell, bursting at the seams with it. Steve flushes when Alan clears his throat next to him, realizing he’s completely ignored him.
“Danny Williams, this is my friend Alan Decker, he was in the Army. Alan, this is - Danny. He’s a cop. I made him his surfboard.”
Steve feels like he’s babbling, not exactly certain what to qualify Danny as, wondering if maybe Danny’s thinking Alan is more than a friend. Calling Danny a friend feels weird, somehow, like they’ve not reached that part yet. If he’s honest with himself, Steve would rather skip the friends stage entirely, but nothing tells him that Danny’s interested.
Alan is grinning when he shakes Danny’s hand, giving him a nod. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Yeah, likewise. So what are you guys doing?”
“Steve is teaching me how to woo the ladies in Hawaiian. Makemake oe. Sexy, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re a stunner,” Danny says, smiling indulgently, even though he’s looking at Steve. “Hey, I was thinking - think you’d be able to add some kind of design to my board?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m not the best artist, but if you’ve got a pattern, it’s easy enough.”
“Cool, yeah. I’ve got something. Okay, then, I’m gonna go talk to Mamo now, because I’ve got to get back to the precinct before Chin decides to take on all the cases thrown our way and bury us under paperwork.”
Steve smiles, nodding. “Right. Okay, Danno.”
Danny rolls his eyes, leaning down to punch Steve’s shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Alan.”
“Yeah, same.”
Danny gives them a wave before jogging off to where Mamo’s standing on the beach, and Steve observes them as they talk, trying his best to read their lips and failing. Alan lets out a low whistle.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, my friend. Nothing at all.”
;;
Steve runs his fingers along the knife he’s left on the end of the kitchen table, feeling just how sharp the blade is, watching how it catches the moonlight. He grips the hilt, looks down at his legs for a moment, at the newly healed cuts he’s made into himself.
His phone rings, and Steve blinks the haze away, reaching out for his phone and letting go of the knife.
“Hello?”
”Hey, Steve, It’s Danny. I know it’s late, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I wasn’t asleep. What’s up?”
”I was wondering if you wanted to join Grace and I tomorrow for the day? We’re going to the North Shore for a local surfing competition she wants to watch. And chase autographs, I think.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a burden, it’s your day with Grace, Danny.”
”She’ll be delighted to see you and I - I’d like you to come.”
Something warm curls into Steve’s stomach, and he finds himself smiling at nothing, gazing out the window as he contemplates saying no for a split second before pushing the thought away. There’s no way.
“Okay. I’d love to join you and Grace, then.”
There’s a second of silence on the other side, like Danny was prepared to hear a no, and then there’s a rush of breath.
“Yeah? Cool, then I’ll pick you up at 10, that works for you?”
“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.”
“Great. Great! See you tomorrow then.”
“Good night, Danny.”
Steve hangs up, looking at his phone for a second before grinning, dropping it back on the kitchen table.
Steve puts the knife back in the drawer, his free hand curled around his thigh.
;;
Steve is trying to explain tricks and the points system of the surfing competition to Grace when she interrupts him, her hands around his arm. He’s sitting in the sand, his chair next to them.
“Do your legs hurt?”
Steve looks up from her to see Danny busy at the shave ice stand, and he licks his lips, wondering what Danny would want him to answer. In this case, Steve guesses that honesty is the best policy.
“No. I can’t feel them at all any more.” He decides it’s better not to tell her about phantom aches and the constant back pains he suffers through, his eyes moving between her and Danny, precariously carrying three shave ice cones back to their little camp on the beach.
“Even if you get a bump?”
“Even if I get a bump.”
Grace has a look of concentration on her face, like she’s trying to assemble the puzzle of Steve’s injury in her head. He takes one of her hands in his, making her look up at him.
“But they’re still a part of me, so if I get a bump, I have to take care of it, just like you.”
“Hey, what are you chatting about?”
Danny hands Steve his cherry-flavored shave ice and Grace her strawberry one, keeping lemon for himself, before sitting in the sand next to his daughter.
“Steve was telling me how he has to take care of his legs even though he can’t feel them any more.”
Danny’s eyes fly up to Steve’s, alarmed, but Steve smiles, still holding Grace’s hand in his, hoping he’s reassuring enough. She didn’t offend or upset, not with her candid questions and genuine innocence. Danny nods, and Steve suppresses the primal need to look away, to shield himself away from the sudden realization that Danny can read him just as easily as he can read an open book. Steve’s guts clench, apprehension and warmth blossoming in his stomach.
The silent conversation is abruptly cut off when Grace drops shave ice over her shirt, and she and Danny giggle together as he helps her clean up, a father and daughter duo that Steve cannot look away from. He had no idea this could be his life, with these people in it, opening themselves up for him even when he was keeping his distance. Suddenly he’s distressingly thankful for small blessings.
He looks out at the ocean, the small figures gliding on it, impressive and beautiful; the tall waves of the North Shore, the sun beating down on them, made bearable by the breeze blowing gently over the beach; he listens to Grace telling Danny about tennis lessons with her friend Maggie and how she likes to watch him surf, and he looks over, sees Danny smile at him over Grace’s head.
Steve smiles back, and resists reaching out to hold onto Danny’s fingers, playing with the sand between the two of them.
;;
Grace is sound asleep in the backseat of Danny’s Camaro by the time he gets back to Steve’s place, taking his time to get Steve’s wheelchair out of the trunk and wheeling it out to the passenger side, letting Steve slide into it easily. They stay there for a moment, Danny’s hand on Steve’s shoulder, warm and strong, and Steve tries not to lean into the touch.
Danny’s fingers squeezing Steve’s shoulder, before he crouches, his eyes level with Steve’s.
“I had a great time, today. I’m glad you were here.”
“I’m glad I was here, too. It was fun.”
“Hey, so. Thanks for, you know. Answering her questions. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. She’s a good kid, Danny. You did well.”
Danny smiles, his lips parting and Steve can’t look away from them even though he wants to, even though he wants to break the sudden tension between them, simmering under his skin.
Danny’s the one to break the spell, scratching his throat and straightening up. “So I’ll come over again soon for that design on my board, if that’s okay with you? I’ll call you?”
Steve shakes the haunting image of Danny’s lips out of his mind.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sounds good. Thanks, for today.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you soon, Steve.”
;;
Steve shakes the hand of the newest hao’le that’s dinged his board and asked him for a quick repair, raising his eyebrows in greeting when he sees Mamo walk close to him.
“Aloha, brah.”
“Hey, Mamo. How you doing this morning?”
“Great, Steve, I’m great. It’s good you’re here, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Steve follows Mamo back to his hut, allowing him to take a seat. There’s something nagging at the back of his mind, something a little worrying. But then Mamo smiles, his big, friendly hand landing on Steve’s shoulder.
“I was thinking you should take the shed, make it a bit bigger and open a proper shop. Repair boards, shape some. Make some money of it. We could associate it with my name if you want.”
Steve stills, taking in the words. He’s never been this lucky, he’s never deserved all of this. Maybe he’s had enough horrors happen to him and his family in the past, but still, he can’t believe he’d have such people in his life now, such generous, amazing people. Mamo, Danny, Chin, even Alan, with his acerbic comments on everything and everyone, they’re all more than Steve ever thought he’d get. And now this, something that feels so much like a future it’s making Steve’s carefully built walls crack. And he still can’t speak, no idea what to tell Mamo, how to express his gratefulness.
“Think on it, okay? I think it’d be good. You practically already made a job of it, we can make it official.”
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling like he’s about to tip over an edge.
“I’ll think about it.”
;;
Steve throws the bandage in the bathroom trashcan, inspecting the light scar along his thigh. He’s got no new one to compare it to. He hasn’t felt the compulsive need in a while, hasn’t felt so bad about himself in long enough for the last cut to heal, without any other adding itself on top of it.
Steve isn’t proud of it, it doesn’t make him feel special, or accomplished. But it’s good, all the same, something Eris won’t have to scold him for again, something he doesn’t have to be ashamed about any more.
He wheels aimlessly around the house for a while, thinking about dinner and ending up on the lana’i, a beer in hand, just looking out at the ocean. He contemplates getting his board out again, getting himself in the water, but he hears the knock on his front door before he can make a decision.
He crosses the house again, lazily, and opens the door to Danny and a pack of Longboards, which make Steve smile. It’s not a visit they’ve talked about, but Steve is happy to see Danny anyway, he’s not about to deny that.
“You come bearing gifts.”
“That I do.”
“Come on in.”
Danny does, and under a minute they’re both outside, looking out in silence, which manages not to be uncomfortable for as long as it lasts - not very long, Danny’s hands moving in the space in front of him soon enough.
“So, I know, I said I’d call and all, but you know, I was home alone and bored and I thought, I thought I’d give it a go and come over anyway.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Danny. It’s fine, you don’t have to call before you drop by.”
“Plus, I brought beer.”
Steve nods, tipping his bottle towards Danny. “You did that. Wanna talk about that design?”
Danny waves a dismissive hand, looking more relaxed and calm than Steve has ever seen him, like he’s come to a conclusion after an epiphany, and he’s finally come to terms with it. Steve almost asks before stopping himself, but he doesn’t look away from Danny all the same.
“It’s kind of amazing, out there, Steve, you know?”
“Yeah. Hey, did I tell you? Mamo offered for me to open my own little board shop on his piece of beach.”
Danny opens his mouth, looking at Steve for a second before grinning. “Oh, man, that’s awesome! A proper job like the rest of us!”
Steve laughs, raising an eyebrow at Danny. “Of course, not as respectful as yours...”
“Well, I can’t blame you for being as awesome as I am. It’s okay, we can’t all have perfect genetics.”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “Shut up and pass me a beer.”
“Seriously though, it’s awesome, Steve.”
Danny looks part proud, part seriously enthusiastic, and Steve finds the excitement emanating from Danny contagious, making him grin. “Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be good.”
“You’ll let me be your first client, right?”
Steve gives Danny a quick look. “You’re already my first client.”
“I mean, once you have a proper thing set up.”
“Of course, Danny.”
Steve nods, staring at the ocean for a while before he looks at the side of Danny’s face. Danny’s looking at him, his whole body turned towards Steve’s. Steve blinks, almost defuses the sudden tension with a stupid question, but instead he just curls his fingers in Danny’s shirt when Danny leans in close, the two of them clear in their intent. There is no hesitation in the way they kiss, but there is nothing precise about it either, lips brushing and then pressing harder, opening and teasing, sticking to each other when they pull away.
Danny smiles, something soft and genuine reflecting in his eyes, his thumb digging lightly into the curve of Steve’s jaw. Steve’s fingers are still curled into Danny’s shirt.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Want to? You can treat me this time.”
Steve grins, and then nods. “Okay.”
;;
“You, you look too happy for your own good.”
Steve raises his eyes from the wooden panel he’s been painting the words Hang Loose board shop on, seeing Alan amble through Steve’s house like he owns it, his prosthetic leg in plain view because of the shorts he’s wearing.
“I look happy?”
“You were humming. And you’ve got an idiotic smile. Stop smiling like that, seriously, it’s creepy, Steve.”
“I wasn’t -” Alan raises an eyebrow. “I’m not -” Alan crosses his arms over his chest, looking more and more amused. Steve sighs. “Fine. I am in a good mood, that’s all.”
“You look like someone who got laid last night.”
“I didn’t get laid last night.”
“Well, that is sad. Why do you look so self-satisfied if you didn’t even get laid? This kind of look should be reserved for people who actually have sex.”
“You don’t have sex and you always look smug.”
“Shut up. Finally put the moves on Danny then? Because seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine today, it’s blinding me, and I do not believe it has only to do with painting your surfboard garage sign.”
Steve puts down his painting brush, looking up at Alan for more than a second this time, feeling confused for a moment.
“What?”
Alan rolls his eyes and steals Steve’s beer as he sits in front of him. “Please. I’m disabled, not an idiot. I’ve seen the way you two were giving each other the eyes and all. It’s okay. I don’t care, and I won’t go babbling to your ex-superiors, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Steve isn’t. He’s thought about it, of course, about this thing with Danny becoming something he cannot control, something he shouldn’t show, but technically; technically he is not a soldier any more. And even if old habits die hard, he’s willing to fight his demons for this.
“I’m not - afraid.”
“So? You and Danny?”
Steve shrugs; Alan is a true gossip queen when he wants to be, which is hilarious, in a way.
“Yeah, maybe. We’re figuring things out.”
“I’m sure if you get to third base things will figure themselves out.”
“Please, shut up. Here, help me out with this.” Steve hands Alan a brush, hoping it will get him to stop about Steve and Danny having sex. And Alan starts working on the sign, but still, he doesn’t shut up.
“Have you had sex? Since the accident?”
“No. Can we not talk about it? Let’s just not, please.”
Alan sighs, but seems to relent, nodding. “Fine. Have I told you about the Impala I got in the garage the other day?”
;;
When Steve wakes up with a hard-on, he starts by blaming Alan for making him think so much about sex. Then he starts to worry, because no matter which way he tries, he can’t get himself off. He’s tried before, but no amount of touching is helping.
He watches his erection flag off as he showers, and Steve feels almost angry about it, mostly sad. It’s always been there, from the very beginning, nurses and doctors have told him about the difficulties he might face, about the loss of sensation, but Steve tried his best not to think about it.
And now, now he just can’t stop thinking about it. Does Danny want him that way? Will he feel anything? He has no idea. He wants it, wants the whole thing, with Danny, wants him to be satisfied, too. He’s not sure where to go with this.
So he starts on the internet. He reads things from health websites, spinal cord injury-specific places; forums, testimonies and tales of wheelchair sex. He reads about drugs that help, Viagra and some that are injected directly into the penis and he closes the tab as quickly as possible. He reads about tantric sex and expanded orgasms, and it’s fascinating, and arousing to imagine Danny in some of these situations. Steve’s half hard when he gives himself a look, but he leaves it be, knowing he won’t get himself off, but it’s still reassuring, in a way, that his brain still seems to be connected to his cock, even if he doesn’t feel it.
He reads about the possibility he might not be able to father kids, and the thought makes his heart clench, even if he’s never thought about it before. He liked the idea that, if he ever wanted, it could be on the cards, but now, everything’s muddled and confusing, and Steve turns off his laptop and tries to stop thinking about sex altogether.
;;
Part II
stjarna1984, tailoredshirt, theellibu, perspi and somehowunbroken for their help and support. You made this not suck. I feel like I've been writing this forever. So, okay, here goes nothing.
A story where Steve has a spinal cord injury and has to learn how to live his life again, without his legs. Contains some self-harm, to be on the cautious side. Also, contains awkward sex.
Steve loses the use of his legs deep in the Bolivian rainforest. He’s alone, having left his brothers-in-arms to go in other directions, all of them dressed in camo vests and camo paint, with knives at the ready instead of firearms. It’s raining hard, lightning scarring the night skies overhead regularly, shedding some light on the muddy path Steve’s taking after one of the men his team has tracked all the way here.
He sees cracked branches and tracks in the soil in the light darkness of the night and follows them, and in retrospect, maybe he should have known he’d been played. He’s tired, burned out, going through the motions at the edge of his sanity, desperate for this mission to be over. But he probably should have known anyway.
He remembers the weight jumping on his back, dirt and wet leaves sticking to his mouth, to his palate as he fell. The pale flash of the knife when he’d twisted around, trying to get the upper hand, grabbing the man with slick fingers and hauling him away, but not managing, and then a flash of lightning next to him, and the tree, falling. Steve’s breath explodes out of his lungs as he hits the ground, pushed into the mud by the tree, pain bursting all over him, making him light-headed.
Steve’s attacker jumps up to his feet and runs then, and Steve’s determined to do the same, pushes his palm against the earth and tries to get himself up but the pain is searing hot over his back, presses him into the ground, worse than hours in cold water conditions, worse than a bullet wound. He passes out with his face in the dirt.
;;
It’s a date that he tries to forget for the longest time, but he knows, deep within, that it’ll always be with him, whatever he says. They’re all looking at him like he’s never been a part of them before, like he’s different, like his mind has gone just as fast as his body, a betrayal he can’t get back from.
But Steve’s still got his mind, he’s still a Navy SEAL, even if he’s stuck in a wheelchair and his leg muscles are slowly getting atrophied. He still pores over maps and mission orders and thinks - entrance, exit points, the end game, plan A and B and C and the best way to extract men, make the least impact possible, in and out in a sharp attack. That doesn’t mean officers don’t discard him once they realize he’s not going to get the use of his legs back. Steve knows they don’t do it on purpose, always, and there’s always a clear spot for his wheelchair at his team’s table when they’re in Coronado, but the looks he gets are a little sad, and the conversation is stilted around him, like he’s someone to protect, not the one that led these men to possible death a year ago.
Retiring seems to be the only thing Steve can do not to blow a fuse and go Kamikaze on his whole life. It’s like his plans A, B, and C have all been left in the depths of the Bolivian rainforest, and now he’s got nothing left than to go home.
;;
The blade is far from blunt, he knows that, he’s spent long enough sharpening it on his hospital bed. And yet, when he runs it along his thigh, he can’t feel a thing. He can see the blood pearling at the tip of the knife, and he presses in, gathers some more on his MK3 and holds it up to eye level, watching the drop of blood run down the blade, cutting the silver with crimson, the setting sun catching on the edges of the knife, and it looks obscene, beautiful.
Steve drops the knife before he gives his leg another look, turning his wheelchair in the hotel room he’s been living in for the past two weeks. His flight back to Honolulu is only in a few days.
;;
The house is dark and stuffy, all the windows closed, for some time abandoned, and Steve’s wheels run tracks through the dust on the floor. The last time he was here was for his father’s funeral - he didn’t stay that time around, couldn’t bear it, but he never had the heart to sell the house.
Despite the layers of dust coating the furniture, the old pictures of happiness now long gone, feeling foreign to Steve when he looks at them, faded by sunlight and time, the house is still the same, still strangely feels like home. Steve starts by opening all the windows of the ground floor, the salty, tangy air coming from the sea and the hydrangeas the neighbor has in her garden filling the house bit by bit. He vacuum cleans the parts of the house he can reach - one of the only amusing things he’s managed to find to do lately; he speeds through the floor and bumps into walls, gets tangled in the cable and for a minute he can hear his own laughter floating in the air like a ghost.
For a moment, he feels good about being here.
;;
He stays for a day in the Army Medical Center to meet carers and sort out future plans - nursing visits and check-ups and all those things that he didn’t want to deal with back in Coronado and still doesn’t want to now; he has no choice, though.
So he stays in a room with a soldier and he’s small, looks almost fragile, but his eyes are sharp when he looks at Steve. He’s obviously broken, prosthetics in plain view, as if he’s not ashamed, not bothered. He looks happy, looking down at a letter in his hand, and Steve is envious for a moment, as he sits helplessly on his starched white bed.
Then the soldier turns to him, clambers over on his prosthetic leg and sits at the end of Steve’s bed.
“Name’s Alan Decker.”
“Steve McGarrett.”
Seems that once you’ve been blown up, or a tree broke your back and legs, ranks don’t matter.
“What happened to you?”
“Broke my back.”
Alan gestures to his leg. Half of it is covered by the black plastic of his prosthetic, followed by a metal leg, the pump and pistons glistening with oil.
“Landmine. I was lucky. Hey, wanna play poker? The nurses won’t be back for another hour.”
;;
It requires effort and quite some time for Steve to gather up his strength and call Chin Ho. When he does, though, Chin is more than happy to come over and help, in memory of their high school times and Steve’s father, probably.
He brings along a string of people to help, his little cousin Kono and his friends Kawika and Kamekona, both of them big and burly, and also his new partner at HPD, Danny, who shakes Steve’s hand with unsaid things in his eyes that Steve doesn’t have time to ask because Chin is beckoning him over.
Steve wheels the smaller stuff out of the study and to different storage places, documents and files and sports trophies, while the others carry the heavy stuff - desk and dining table from the study, bedframe and mattress and wardrobe from the bedroom upstairs. Steve sorts clothes out with Kono, wishing that Mary Ann was here; Kono’s great company and they talk about surfing and firearms, but she’s not his sister.
It takes them a day, but in the end they have Steve’s bedroom moved downstairs for easy access, and most of the study furniture upstairs. Steve cooks steaks and offers beer as a thank you, a little speechless at how grateful he feels.
;;
Steve sits at the edge of the water, bottle of whiskey in one hand and his knife in the other. It was easy enough to wheel himself here with his custom chair, the one with the track chains around the wheels, like the ones tanks get, made just for him by one of Kawika’s friends. With the motor he doesn’t even need to work for it, that’s the beauty of it.
The bottle is mostly full, Steve doesn’t need the alcohol to fuel the anger. He’s got one long, shallow cut along the inside of his left arm, and another one along the outside of his thigh, a little deeper. He can see pale white scars on his leg from the other times.
He knows it’s not changing anything and it won’t make him feel better, but he doesn’t know how to deal with what he’s feeling; what he’s not feeling. He’s restless and there’s this thrum in his body, the need for exercise, exertion, that he can’t have anymore. It’s better to be paralyzed than to be dead, they said in the hospital, back in California, but Steve doesn’t really feel alive. He feels broken and withdrawn, further away from his emotions now than he ever was in the Navy.
He feels like a failure.
;;
“So, what are you doing these days?” Alan asks one morning, hand rubbing his stump like he’s hoping his leg will regrow. He’s got his protective sock in his other hand, and Steve stares all he wants, so as to not stare at the bandage around his own left arm.
“What do you mean?”
“Got a job? A hobby? I mean, you always look so sullen.”
“Lost my job.”
“You’re not dead, Steve.”
It strikes a chord, and Steve looks up, startled. He’s not, is he? He feels like he is, sometimes, but his heart is still beating, not like Gung-Ho, not like Albatross. He can’t pretend he’s dead forever.
“What do you do?” The words feel a little raw in Steve’s mouth, but he manages not to choke on them.
“Found a job in a garage. I used to be a mechanic in the Army. That didn’t change.”
Steve knows that, if Alan had wanted to, he could still be in Active duty. He doesn’t ask why he’s not, instead starts wondering what he’s good at, that would not require the use of his legs.
;;
He’s digging around in the shed when he finds his old board. Steve shakes it out, random gardening utensils clanking to the floor as he does, and lays it over his knees, running his hands over its deck and rails for a moment, feeling its ruggedness, dings and chips from the past and disuse. He licks his lips, looking down at the faded green paint job he’d done so long ago, and finds himself smiling.
He wheels himself out of the shed with one hand, surfboard locked under one arm, and leaves it leaning against the side wall of the house as he goes back in, finds his dad’s trestles and a plank of plywood, setting up a table outside.
After spending a while checking out his board, he guesses he’d probably be better off just buying a new one, but how would that make sense? Instead he spends a good hour and a half making sure he’s stripped all the old wax, and makes a list of things he needs to buy to fix it up.
;;
He meets Danny again in a surf shop. He’s looking for this particular brand of wax he likes, his lap full of resin and cloth and paint and gloss when he rolls himself into the man, his mind elsewhere.
“Shit, sorry!” Steve looks up, his mouth opening. “Oh, hi, Danny.”
Danny smiles, his fingers flexing over a bodyboard. “Hey, Steve. How you doing?”
“Alright. You’re thinking of taking up bodyboarding?”
“What? Oh, Lord no. It’s for my daughter. She’s adamant she wants to learn, and her mother gave her the green light, so I’m the last one resisting.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re resisting much, here.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it? Kono promised she’d teach her, and Grace is just too excited about it, I don’t have the heart to refuse her, you know? I’ll just have to be around to keep her from being eaten by sharks.” Danny looks forlorn for a second, making Steve raise an eyebrow.
“You don’t like the beach?”
Danny grimaces, looking out the window to the ocean. “Don’t like the beach.”
“Everybody likes the beach.”
“I like cities, you know? Skyscrapers, traffic, no jellyfish. I wouldn’t be here, save for -” Danny stops, makes a hand gesture in the air before him, like he’s got so much more to say, but can’t bring himself to. Steve doesn’t blame him.
“How old is Grace?”
“Nine. Why?” Danny looks intrigued, and Steve wheels around him, going towards the bodyboards on racks, attached to the wall.
“You might want to come back with her. The most important thing about a bodyboard is to make sure it’s the right size, the top of it should reach her belly button, not higher, not lower, otherwise she’ll be unbalanced. Don’t buy one that is really expensive, since she’ll be growing for a while yet, she’ll need to change boards fairly often.”
Danny runs his tongue over his top teeth, stepping away from the boards, eyes darting between Steve and the racks.
“Thanks. Did you used to-”
“Yeah. I’m fixing up my old stick. For kicks.” Steve doesn’t mean the acidic tone, but he can’t help himself. Danny makes a face; lips thin and unhappy, but Steve doesn’t feel bad.
“Okay. Well, thanks, Steve.”
“No problem. If you have questions, you know where I live.”
;;
Steve has taken to visiting Mamo regularly. He can talk shop, get fed, and spend time outside the house. Sometimes, for a few moments, he doesn’t even feel like an invalid so much. And there’s the ocean in front of him and tourists and Mamo’s soft voice telling him about the people that he used to teach, that are teaching now.
He’s over there one morning when a surfer bum walks up to Mamo’s hut with his board under his arm, looking dejected under his long, wet, hair.
“Awn, brah, I ruined it!”
Mamo smiles indulgently, raises his chin at the man. “Ruined what?”
“The stick, look!”
They lean over the surfboard, and Steve leans back on his chair, trying not to look like he’s eavesdropping.
“Just a ding, braddah. It’s fine.”
“I can fix it, if you want,” Steve says, barely realizing he just said anything. Mamo gives him a look, something indecipherable in his eyes, his head slightly tilted. When he nods, Steve relaxes the grip he had on the arms of his chair.
“Yeah? I got everything needed in the shed.”
“Cool. I’ll do it.”
;;
Danny comes over one morning, just after breakfast, holding two cups of coffee in his hand when Steve opens the door.
“Oh, hi,” Steve says, not quite sure whether to be surprised or pleased. He smiles, wheels himself out of the way, and Danny walks in, closes the door behind him with a nudge of his foot.
“Morning. I thought, since I was about to squeeze you for information, least I could do was bring you coffee. I hope it’s a good time, I’d have called, but I don’t have your number, and it’s our day off, didn’t want to bother Chin with this. So, um. Here I am.”
Steve smiles, finding himself unable not to. He leads Danny to the kitchen.
“It’s fine, it’s as good a time as any. What’s up? Did you buy that bodyboard?”
“Yes. And now, um. I need some more advice, because I need a surfboard.”
“For Grace?”
“No, for me.” Danny falls into a chair and his head drops on the table, making Steve chuckle, the desire to reach over and pat Danny hard to restrain. Steve reaches out for his coffee, toying with the plastic lid as Danny straightens up, shaking off the self-pity.
“You’re a bit shorter than average, but I’m sure any surf shop would give you good advice on a board.”
“You offered to answer my questions,” Danny lets out, matter-of-fact, like any other solution hasn’t even occurred to him.
“Yeah, okay, but there’s not much we can do about this here, though. Guess we have to go shopping.”
;;
After the second surf shop, Danny is so frustrated he’s trembling. If it’s not the owner he doesn’t like, it’s the look and feel of the boards. Steve knows he’s stalling, but he doesn’t say anything, just follows along, hoists himself in and out of Danny’s little sports car and lets Danny take care of his wheelchair.
When they’re both in the car, and Danny is holding onto the steering wheel with white fingers but doesn’t start the engine, Steve takes a deep breath.
“I can make you a board, if you want. You’ll have to get me the stuff I need for it, but I can make you a list. It’s not that hard - it’ll take me longer than any other shaper though, because,” he motions at his useless legs and Danny gapes at him.
“You would?”
“Free of charge, besides the materials.”
Danny turns to look at Steve. He seems a little awed. “You don’t have to. I mean, isn’t it stupid if I don’t know how to surf?”
“Maybe stupid, but I’d like to. Will keep me busy. ‘Sides, word travels fast in the surfing community, and nobody will be willing to sell you anything by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Um, okay. Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
;;
The nightmares don’t go away. Steve wakes up often drenched in sweat and even more tired than he was when he went to sleep, broken images slashing through his dreams. He usually gets out of bed, bathroom, kitchen, and sometimes wheels himself to the lanai, stays there for a while, lets the sounds of the ocean soothe away the pain of old, faded scars and the nagging worry of jagged memories. He wonders how the others are doing, the guys on his old SEAL team.
Doesn’t mean he wants to see them, though.
;;
Mamo lets Steve use his little shed during the day, sends his various customers to Steve when they need a ding fixed or a layer of wax put on. He explains patiently as he prepares the resin - never too much catalyst or the resin will be too brittle - and he lets young and not-so-young surfers cut a piece of cloth the right size and shape to cover the ding, watches them grin when the cloth and the resin fuse together into the rest of the surfboard. Steve discovers it’s an experience for him, too, to see these kids and teens and adults learn something, look over his shoulder with respect and awe at what he can do.
He feels a little less useless. And Mamo feeds him moco loco as Steve waits for the three dings he’s taken care of this morning to dry. He’ll have to sand paper them smooth after, try them out himself - easy enough to do if he keeps the leash strapped around his wrist and throws the stick in shallow waters to make sure of its flotation, he explains to Mamo during their lunch together. Mamo just gives him a long look, a nod, a smile.
“Pupukahi I Holomua.”
;;
Steve barely has time to be alone. He spends some time at the hospital and most of the rest with Mamo and his surfer friends, and he almost forgets that Danny was supposed to bring him the blank foam until the afternoon where Danny shows up. Steve has spent most of his week learning new tricks on how to shape and gloss a board, how to install fins and a leash plug, little details that will make Danny’s board as good as can be. He knows which parts will be the hardest, will take most of his concentration; the glossing will take some time for Steve, but he’s practiced mixing his resin and working quickly on old, broken blanks and scrap foam until he was comfortable with the movements and the time he had. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before; it’s just training.
Steve runs his hand over the blank Danny’s presenting him. “Hope that’s what you wanted? I got exactly what your list said.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect, Danny.”
“Can I stay?” Danny asks with an unsure look, and Steve wonders if he’s making Danny feel as stupid as Danny makes him feel.
“Of course. I’ll need your help anyway.”
Danny grins, runs his fingers through his hair and Steve decides that he wants to do that, too. Together they set the foam blank on Steve’s work table and Danny helps with outlining the shape, using a template he built with one of Mamo’s old friends. Steve has worked out the specifics while training on scrap foams at Mamo’s hut, every little detail with Danny’s body frame and what Steve knows of his personality in mind.
Steve loses himself in the work, cutting the outline, checking out the curve of the shape, marking and measuring with a sure hand. He’s only done this once before, and it was a long time ago, but Steve knows what he’s doing, moving around the board efficiently, something he’s not felt since the accident thrumming in his veins steadily, keeping him calm and focused.
For a while, he forgets about everything else. He forgets that he can’t stand up and walk to the edge of the water, feel the tiny waves lick at his toes. He forgets that he’s a broken puppet, forced aside, away from everything he knew how to do. Everything is at his level, the table just right for Steve to lean over the blank and sand the rocker, the rails, with precision, his hands running over the rough foam, his idea for the board clear and precise in his head.
When he looks up, wiping his hands over his long shorts, Danny is sitting in one of Steve’s Adirondack chairs, looking at him with an intensity in his eyes that Steve has never seen before, that make him shift his eyes away. He’s far from being finished, unable to work as fast as any shaper with both legs to move about the board.
“Sorry, I got carried away. Do you want a beer?”
“Sure. I’ll go get them.” Danny doesn’t give Steve the chance to protest, already on his feet, and Steve looks down at the board in front of him, thinking of all the other things he needs to work on. The shaping is only the first part of it.
Danny comes back quickly and hands Steve a beer, sitting back again. He points at the board with his beer. “How’s it going?”
“Good. You don’t have to stay - it’s okay if you’ve got other stuff to do.”
“Hmm. I’m finding it fascinating. And it’s my day off, I don’t have Grace and I have nowhere to be. So I’m quite happy here. It’s warm and you’ve got your own little beach.”
Steve smiles. “Thought you didn’t like the beach?”
Danny shrugs, drinking some beer before leaning forward, forearms on his thighs. “When life hands you lemons...”
It hits Steve cold, reminding him way too much of the kind of lemonade he’s got to deal with nowadays. He holds his beer a little tighter as he glances down at his legs, but when he looks up he tries to smile. Danny catches him out, though, but he doesn’t apologize.
“So, how long is it going to take you to finish it?”
“Well, once the shape is ready, got to gloss it twice, which should take a couple of hours if I speed through the process. After that it’s just a few little bits. So I guess I’ll finish the shape today, and work on the glossing tomorrow. Should be finished in the evening.”
“Impressive.” Danny leans back on his chair, beer in hand, but Steve shrugs. It’s not as impressive as taking out five guys in complete darkness, or leading a team through the wilderness and getting none of them injured.
“Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do.”
Danny snorts, and this time when Steve smiles, he means it, grinning up at Danny, feeling more relaxed than he has in ages.
“Hey, let me buy you dinner, okay? For the hard work. You like pizza?”
Steve bites the inside of his lip, taking a second before answering.
“Yeah. Love pizza.”
;;
Steve grits his teeth as he pulls himself out of his chair. both his bare feet are in the wet sand, and he can see it compact under them, but can’t feel it.
His chair provides support as he lowers himself to the ground. His ass in the sand, he makes sure the leash is secure around his wrist before he turns to his old surfboard, now fully repaired, and crawls on top of it, grabbing his legs and lining them along the deck. On his stomach, Steve stares at the ocean in front of him, vast and quiet, almost too dark, the moon only a sliver of light in the night sky.
And then, he pushes. Fingers digging in the sand, he uses his upper body strength to launch the board forward, until he’s bobbing in the water atop his old, trusty stick. He paddles for a moment, moving away from shore, sighing with relief at the feeling of the ocean around his hands, up his forearms. He stops paddling when his arms start burning with the effort, and lies his temple against his board, closing his eyes. If he didn’t know he’d never get back on the board, he’d lean to dunk his head in the ocean, but as it is, he focuses on his arms in the water.
His stick is raspy and cold against his skin, and the sea is fresh along his fingers and forearms, a sensation like any other that he has missed more than Hawai’i, more than work, more than anything else. He suddenly feels light, almost like he could jump up and test his balance, paddle up a wave and ride its lip as though he’d never lost the use of his legs.
It doesn’t last. Soon enough, he remembers all too well the two dead weights attached to his hips, and he turns his head, pressing forehead and nose to the board, suppressing a cry as he start paddling again, knowing he’s heading back to shore.
;;
Danny’s board is finished on Sunday evening, and it’s looking pretty cool, if Steve can say so himself. Its foil is beautiful, for a first try, and Steve feels something very close to pride when he looks at the stick. He tries it on the water before Danny shows up, and it floats well - they’ll have to wait and see how it reacts with Danny, though.
Steve doesn’t talk about his nighttime escapade on his own surfboard.
;;
The head nurse is called Eris, and she likes Steve as much as she’s tired of him and his random little tricks. She looks at his bandaged left leg and sighs, running her fingers through her greying hair.
“You have to stop doing that. You know, if it goes on much longer, I’ll have to report it.”
When she says that, with her disapproving look and the worried twist of her lips, Steve almost feels guilty for it. It never lasts too long but for a moment there, he wishes he could stop doing it, too.
“Hey, I’m fine. At least I clean it up..”
“It isn’t funny, Steve. God, what am I going to do with you?”
“You’re going to suffer him like you suffer the rest of us, lovely Eris.” Alan’s voice drifts in from the doorway and the nurse makes a face, making Steve grin as he pulls the paper gown down his thighs.
“You two should never have met.”
Alan laughs, ambles over to kiss her cheek, before giving Steve a look. “You soon done with him?”
“Yeah, he’s free to go.”
“Good. C’mon, brah, I’ve just bought this carcass of a car and I’m going to need help fixing it up. Up for it?”
Steve slides his shorts up his legs, squirming about until they’re on. He ignores the way Alan looks at his bandaged leg, and takes off the hospital gown, swapping it for his shirt before he slides into his wheelchair, almost smoothly.
“Sure am, man.”
;;
Grace is the kind of little girl you can’t help but adore, on the spot. Steve watches her approach from the porch, her hand in Danny’s, and right away he knows that she’ll have him wrapped around her little finger. Danny grins when Steve wheels himself forward once the two of them are up the stairs.
“Hey, Grace! It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Steve.”
He holds his hand for her and she shakes it timidly, giving him a good look before smiling. “Danno talks a lot about you.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at that, looking up at Danny to find his cheeks a little red, making Steve smile.
“Oh, does he now?”
Danny interrupts them, pointing to the car they can see turning into Steve’s driveway. “Hey, Gracie, look over there, Kono just made it, why don’t you help her with your bodyboard, huh? Go on.”
Danny turns back to Steve once Grace is down the stairs again, running towards Kono, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t say a word.”
“I’ve not said anything, Danno.”
Danny rolls his eyes, punching Steve’s shoulder lightly. “Stop being cute, McGarrett.”
They all make their way to the beach and Steve grabs a surfboard from the few he’s taken back home from Mamo’s hut and starts sanding around a ding as he watches Kono give Danny and Grace the basics of surfing; paddling on the sand, teaching Grace how to hold herself on her bodyboard, and Danny how to stand up.
Sooner than Steve thought, they’re all in the water and he feels his stomach churning with the need to be alongside them, paddling and splashing about, and swimming - he misses swimming so much it’s a physical ache through his chest.
He forces it down, though, tries his best to forget about it as he focuses on repairing the boards, sanding and pouring resin and waxing, repetitive motions that lull his mind enough that he doesn’t even hear Danny run up to him until he’s just there, shaking himself like a wet puppy before grabbing a towel. Steve looks up, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Enjoy that?”
“There have been no shark bites, so I count it as a win.”
Steve snorts, lowering the third board back onto the outside rack, a new addition to his shed.
“Surfing is fun, I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Danny plops down on the sand next to Steve, looking out at Kono and Grace still playing around, the two of them on Danny’s board now, taking steps along its length - balance exercises.
“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m just doing it for her for now, you know? Like most things, really.”
Steve licks his lips. “You’re a good dad.”
He feels Danny looking at him, so he turns his head, eyes boring into Danny’s, not sure he’s able to read anything in Danny’s eyes. Then Danny’s turning away, back to the ocean.
“Do you think you’ll ever get to surf again?”
Steve takes a deep breath against the pain that blossoms in his chest, fresh and raw. “No.”
;;
“Come on, buddy, work with me here!”
Alan is drinking a ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous drink, something pink with a little umbrella and pieces of fruit floating in it, as he sits next to Steve at Mamo’s hut on Waikiki Beach, wearing sweatpants that he’s hiked up his good leg. Steve relaxes, his fingers climbing up and down his thighs, wishing in the back of his mind he could feel it.
“Okay, fine, what do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, terms of endearment or something.”
Steve thinks about it for a second, watching Mamo talk with a kid about his surfing stance a little way away. Steve’s been spending most of his time working on boards for Mamo’s friends and people, keeping busy, his hands finding new habits that have nothing to do with how to hold a gun.
“Okay. Makemake oe.”
“Makemake oe. Did I say it right? What does it mean?”
“It means I want you. And don’t say it like ‘make’, say it ma-ké.”
Alan repeats it a few times, a look of concentration on his face that makes Steve want to laugh, creases over his brow as he whispers the Hawaiian words. Steve reaches into the cooler he brought with him for a beer, taking a grateful mouthful of the cold drink.
“Hey, Steve.”
Steve turns his head around quickly, his upper body twisting when he hears Danny’s voice. He’s walking towards them, wearing his usual work attire - slacks, tie, button down. Steve can barely take his eyes off him; he’s realized this is happening more and more.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just needed to ask Mamo about something. Didn’t know you’d be there.” Steve had no idea Danny knew Mamo, but he’s too stunned to ask, his lips parted as he watches Danny. Danny looks down at his feet, his hands in his pockets, looking like he’s keeping some kind of big secret he can’t wait to tell, bursting at the seams with it. Steve flushes when Alan clears his throat next to him, realizing he’s completely ignored him.
“Danny Williams, this is my friend Alan Decker, he was in the Army. Alan, this is - Danny. He’s a cop. I made him his surfboard.”
Steve feels like he’s babbling, not exactly certain what to qualify Danny as, wondering if maybe Danny’s thinking Alan is more than a friend. Calling Danny a friend feels weird, somehow, like they’ve not reached that part yet. If he’s honest with himself, Steve would rather skip the friends stage entirely, but nothing tells him that Danny’s interested.
Alan is grinning when he shakes Danny’s hand, giving him a nod. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Yeah, likewise. So what are you guys doing?”
“Steve is teaching me how to woo the ladies in Hawaiian. Makemake oe. Sexy, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re a stunner,” Danny says, smiling indulgently, even though he’s looking at Steve. “Hey, I was thinking - think you’d be able to add some kind of design to my board?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m not the best artist, but if you’ve got a pattern, it’s easy enough.”
“Cool, yeah. I’ve got something. Okay, then, I’m gonna go talk to Mamo now, because I’ve got to get back to the precinct before Chin decides to take on all the cases thrown our way and bury us under paperwork.”
Steve smiles, nodding. “Right. Okay, Danno.”
Danny rolls his eyes, leaning down to punch Steve’s shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Alan.”
“Yeah, same.”
Danny gives them a wave before jogging off to where Mamo’s standing on the beach, and Steve observes them as they talk, trying his best to read their lips and failing. Alan lets out a low whistle.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, my friend. Nothing at all.”
;;
Steve runs his fingers along the knife he’s left on the end of the kitchen table, feeling just how sharp the blade is, watching how it catches the moonlight. He grips the hilt, looks down at his legs for a moment, at the newly healed cuts he’s made into himself.
His phone rings, and Steve blinks the haze away, reaching out for his phone and letting go of the knife.
“Hello?”
”Hey, Steve, It’s Danny. I know it’s late, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I wasn’t asleep. What’s up?”
”I was wondering if you wanted to join Grace and I tomorrow for the day? We’re going to the North Shore for a local surfing competition she wants to watch. And chase autographs, I think.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a burden, it’s your day with Grace, Danny.”
”She’ll be delighted to see you and I - I’d like you to come.”
Something warm curls into Steve’s stomach, and he finds himself smiling at nothing, gazing out the window as he contemplates saying no for a split second before pushing the thought away. There’s no way.
“Okay. I’d love to join you and Grace, then.”
There’s a second of silence on the other side, like Danny was prepared to hear a no, and then there’s a rush of breath.
“Yeah? Cool, then I’ll pick you up at 10, that works for you?”
“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.”
“Great. Great! See you tomorrow then.”
“Good night, Danny.”
Steve hangs up, looking at his phone for a second before grinning, dropping it back on the kitchen table.
Steve puts the knife back in the drawer, his free hand curled around his thigh.
;;
Steve is trying to explain tricks and the points system of the surfing competition to Grace when she interrupts him, her hands around his arm. He’s sitting in the sand, his chair next to them.
“Do your legs hurt?”
Steve looks up from her to see Danny busy at the shave ice stand, and he licks his lips, wondering what Danny would want him to answer. In this case, Steve guesses that honesty is the best policy.
“No. I can’t feel them at all any more.” He decides it’s better not to tell her about phantom aches and the constant back pains he suffers through, his eyes moving between her and Danny, precariously carrying three shave ice cones back to their little camp on the beach.
“Even if you get a bump?”
“Even if I get a bump.”
Grace has a look of concentration on her face, like she’s trying to assemble the puzzle of Steve’s injury in her head. He takes one of her hands in his, making her look up at him.
“But they’re still a part of me, so if I get a bump, I have to take care of it, just like you.”
“Hey, what are you chatting about?”
Danny hands Steve his cherry-flavored shave ice and Grace her strawberry one, keeping lemon for himself, before sitting in the sand next to his daughter.
“Steve was telling me how he has to take care of his legs even though he can’t feel them any more.”
Danny’s eyes fly up to Steve’s, alarmed, but Steve smiles, still holding Grace’s hand in his, hoping he’s reassuring enough. She didn’t offend or upset, not with her candid questions and genuine innocence. Danny nods, and Steve suppresses the primal need to look away, to shield himself away from the sudden realization that Danny can read him just as easily as he can read an open book. Steve’s guts clench, apprehension and warmth blossoming in his stomach.
The silent conversation is abruptly cut off when Grace drops shave ice over her shirt, and she and Danny giggle together as he helps her clean up, a father and daughter duo that Steve cannot look away from. He had no idea this could be his life, with these people in it, opening themselves up for him even when he was keeping his distance. Suddenly he’s distressingly thankful for small blessings.
He looks out at the ocean, the small figures gliding on it, impressive and beautiful; the tall waves of the North Shore, the sun beating down on them, made bearable by the breeze blowing gently over the beach; he listens to Grace telling Danny about tennis lessons with her friend Maggie and how she likes to watch him surf, and he looks over, sees Danny smile at him over Grace’s head.
Steve smiles back, and resists reaching out to hold onto Danny’s fingers, playing with the sand between the two of them.
;;
Grace is sound asleep in the backseat of Danny’s Camaro by the time he gets back to Steve’s place, taking his time to get Steve’s wheelchair out of the trunk and wheeling it out to the passenger side, letting Steve slide into it easily. They stay there for a moment, Danny’s hand on Steve’s shoulder, warm and strong, and Steve tries not to lean into the touch.
Danny’s fingers squeezing Steve’s shoulder, before he crouches, his eyes level with Steve’s.
“I had a great time, today. I’m glad you were here.”
“I’m glad I was here, too. It was fun.”
“Hey, so. Thanks for, you know. Answering her questions. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. She’s a good kid, Danny. You did well.”
Danny smiles, his lips parting and Steve can’t look away from them even though he wants to, even though he wants to break the sudden tension between them, simmering under his skin.
Danny’s the one to break the spell, scratching his throat and straightening up. “So I’ll come over again soon for that design on my board, if that’s okay with you? I’ll call you?”
Steve shakes the haunting image of Danny’s lips out of his mind.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sounds good. Thanks, for today.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you soon, Steve.”
;;
Steve shakes the hand of the newest hao’le that’s dinged his board and asked him for a quick repair, raising his eyebrows in greeting when he sees Mamo walk close to him.
“Aloha, brah.”
“Hey, Mamo. How you doing this morning?”
“Great, Steve, I’m great. It’s good you’re here, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Steve follows Mamo back to his hut, allowing him to take a seat. There’s something nagging at the back of his mind, something a little worrying. But then Mamo smiles, his big, friendly hand landing on Steve’s shoulder.
“I was thinking you should take the shed, make it a bit bigger and open a proper shop. Repair boards, shape some. Make some money of it. We could associate it with my name if you want.”
Steve stills, taking in the words. He’s never been this lucky, he’s never deserved all of this. Maybe he’s had enough horrors happen to him and his family in the past, but still, he can’t believe he’d have such people in his life now, such generous, amazing people. Mamo, Danny, Chin, even Alan, with his acerbic comments on everything and everyone, they’re all more than Steve ever thought he’d get. And now this, something that feels so much like a future it’s making Steve’s carefully built walls crack. And he still can’t speak, no idea what to tell Mamo, how to express his gratefulness.
“Think on it, okay? I think it’d be good. You practically already made a job of it, we can make it official.”
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling like he’s about to tip over an edge.
“I’ll think about it.”
;;
Steve throws the bandage in the bathroom trashcan, inspecting the light scar along his thigh. He’s got no new one to compare it to. He hasn’t felt the compulsive need in a while, hasn’t felt so bad about himself in long enough for the last cut to heal, without any other adding itself on top of it.
Steve isn’t proud of it, it doesn’t make him feel special, or accomplished. But it’s good, all the same, something Eris won’t have to scold him for again, something he doesn’t have to be ashamed about any more.
He wheels aimlessly around the house for a while, thinking about dinner and ending up on the lana’i, a beer in hand, just looking out at the ocean. He contemplates getting his board out again, getting himself in the water, but he hears the knock on his front door before he can make a decision.
He crosses the house again, lazily, and opens the door to Danny and a pack of Longboards, which make Steve smile. It’s not a visit they’ve talked about, but Steve is happy to see Danny anyway, he’s not about to deny that.
“You come bearing gifts.”
“That I do.”
“Come on in.”
Danny does, and under a minute they’re both outside, looking out in silence, which manages not to be uncomfortable for as long as it lasts - not very long, Danny’s hands moving in the space in front of him soon enough.
“So, I know, I said I’d call and all, but you know, I was home alone and bored and I thought, I thought I’d give it a go and come over anyway.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Danny. It’s fine, you don’t have to call before you drop by.”
“Plus, I brought beer.”
Steve nods, tipping his bottle towards Danny. “You did that. Wanna talk about that design?”
Danny waves a dismissive hand, looking more relaxed and calm than Steve has ever seen him, like he’s come to a conclusion after an epiphany, and he’s finally come to terms with it. Steve almost asks before stopping himself, but he doesn’t look away from Danny all the same.
“It’s kind of amazing, out there, Steve, you know?”
“Yeah. Hey, did I tell you? Mamo offered for me to open my own little board shop on his piece of beach.”
Danny opens his mouth, looking at Steve for a second before grinning. “Oh, man, that’s awesome! A proper job like the rest of us!”
Steve laughs, raising an eyebrow at Danny. “Of course, not as respectful as yours...”
“Well, I can’t blame you for being as awesome as I am. It’s okay, we can’t all have perfect genetics.”
Steve huffed out a laugh. “Shut up and pass me a beer.”
“Seriously though, it’s awesome, Steve.”
Danny looks part proud, part seriously enthusiastic, and Steve finds the excitement emanating from Danny contagious, making him grin. “Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be good.”
“You’ll let me be your first client, right?”
Steve gives Danny a quick look. “You’re already my first client.”
“I mean, once you have a proper thing set up.”
“Of course, Danny.”
Steve nods, staring at the ocean for a while before he looks at the side of Danny’s face. Danny’s looking at him, his whole body turned towards Steve’s. Steve blinks, almost defuses the sudden tension with a stupid question, but instead he just curls his fingers in Danny’s shirt when Danny leans in close, the two of them clear in their intent. There is no hesitation in the way they kiss, but there is nothing precise about it either, lips brushing and then pressing harder, opening and teasing, sticking to each other when they pull away.
Danny smiles, something soft and genuine reflecting in his eyes, his thumb digging lightly into the curve of Steve’s jaw. Steve’s fingers are still curled into Danny’s shirt.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Want to? You can treat me this time.”
Steve grins, and then nods. “Okay.”
;;
“You, you look too happy for your own good.”
Steve raises his eyes from the wooden panel he’s been painting the words Hang Loose board shop on, seeing Alan amble through Steve’s house like he owns it, his prosthetic leg in plain view because of the shorts he’s wearing.
“I look happy?”
“You were humming. And you’ve got an idiotic smile. Stop smiling like that, seriously, it’s creepy, Steve.”
“I wasn’t -” Alan raises an eyebrow. “I’m not -” Alan crosses his arms over his chest, looking more and more amused. Steve sighs. “Fine. I am in a good mood, that’s all.”
“You look like someone who got laid last night.”
“I didn’t get laid last night.”
“Well, that is sad. Why do you look so self-satisfied if you didn’t even get laid? This kind of look should be reserved for people who actually have sex.”
“You don’t have sex and you always look smug.”
“Shut up. Finally put the moves on Danny then? Because seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine today, it’s blinding me, and I do not believe it has only to do with painting your surfboard garage sign.”
Steve puts down his painting brush, looking up at Alan for more than a second this time, feeling confused for a moment.
“What?”
Alan rolls his eyes and steals Steve’s beer as he sits in front of him. “Please. I’m disabled, not an idiot. I’ve seen the way you two were giving each other the eyes and all. It’s okay. I don’t care, and I won’t go babbling to your ex-superiors, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Steve isn’t. He’s thought about it, of course, about this thing with Danny becoming something he cannot control, something he shouldn’t show, but technically; technically he is not a soldier any more. And even if old habits die hard, he’s willing to fight his demons for this.
“I’m not - afraid.”
“So? You and Danny?”
Steve shrugs; Alan is a true gossip queen when he wants to be, which is hilarious, in a way.
“Yeah, maybe. We’re figuring things out.”
“I’m sure if you get to third base things will figure themselves out.”
“Please, shut up. Here, help me out with this.” Steve hands Alan a brush, hoping it will get him to stop about Steve and Danny having sex. And Alan starts working on the sign, but still, he doesn’t shut up.
“Have you had sex? Since the accident?”
“No. Can we not talk about it? Let’s just not, please.”
Alan sighs, but seems to relent, nodding. “Fine. Have I told you about the Impala I got in the garage the other day?”
;;
When Steve wakes up with a hard-on, he starts by blaming Alan for making him think so much about sex. Then he starts to worry, because no matter which way he tries, he can’t get himself off. He’s tried before, but no amount of touching is helping.
He watches his erection flag off as he showers, and Steve feels almost angry about it, mostly sad. It’s always been there, from the very beginning, nurses and doctors have told him about the difficulties he might face, about the loss of sensation, but Steve tried his best not to think about it.
And now, now he just can’t stop thinking about it. Does Danny want him that way? Will he feel anything? He has no idea. He wants it, wants the whole thing, with Danny, wants him to be satisfied, too. He’s not sure where to go with this.
So he starts on the internet. He reads things from health websites, spinal cord injury-specific places; forums, testimonies and tales of wheelchair sex. He reads about drugs that help, Viagra and some that are injected directly into the penis and he closes the tab as quickly as possible. He reads about tantric sex and expanded orgasms, and it’s fascinating, and arousing to imagine Danny in some of these situations. Steve’s half hard when he gives himself a look, but he leaves it be, knowing he won’t get himself off, but it’s still reassuring, in a way, that his brain still seems to be connected to his cock, even if he doesn’t feel it.
He reads about the possibility he might not be able to father kids, and the thought makes his heart clench, even if he’s never thought about it before. He liked the idea that, if he ever wanted, it could be on the cards, but now, everything’s muddled and confusing, and Steve turns off his laptop and tries to stop thinking about sex altogether.
;;
Part II
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Date: 2011-09-27 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-27 07:04 pm (UTC)