delicatale | 5 Days - 143 Hours - 8086 Minutes -- Steve/Danny

Title: 5 Days - 143 Hours - 8086 Minutes
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It took them 5 days, 14 hours and 43 minutes to get Danny back. Steve didn't think he'd be the one needing Danny afterwards.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, no harm intended, no profit made etc.
Word count: 1875
Author's note:

kapoosh_kapow helped out again with this one, as did

silverferret89, thank you lovelies! Just a bit of hurt/comfort, it kinda came to me during my lunch break at work. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, comments are amazing and I love them a lot.

5 days. 5 days, 14 hours, 43 minutes and a few seconds that Steve has lost in the battle against himself, trying not to shoot everyone in sight, trying not to lash out, let the red veil over his eyes take the better of him. 5 days and three quarters of pure anguish, fear and anger mixing in Steve's blood and used as fuel as he didn't sleep, lying in bed awake looking up at his ceiling fan when he was forced to get some rest by Chin or Kono - the last time, by the Governor herself.

Everyone said, only 5 days, 5 days is good, seeing the leads they had at the beginning it could have lasted much longer, Danny could have been much worse off. But to Steve, 5 days are 120 hours, 134 hours and 43 minutes and some seconds in total without Danny, without knowing where Danny was and if he was okay, with the terrifying idea of having to tell Gracie Daddy wasn't coming back, drowning Steve minute after minute, frozen water filling up his lungs and making him throw up in a bin, tears and blood and guilt ripping him apart. 8086 minutes without Danny, 8086 minutes of drowning, of faking being alive with the only thing keeping Steve going being finding Danny. Like a zombie, a ghost, the shell of himself; but more determined than he ever has been in his entire life.

They got Danny back, but there was something still burning inside Steve. He'd seen Danny's face, seen him breathe and even smile a little. He'd followed to the hospital and waited for Danny to be tended to. He'd watched him sleep, drugs-induced, looking content. He'd stood outside when Rachel and Grace came to visit Danny. He'd left before he could talk to Danny. He'd left before Chin and Kono, even.

He doesn't know why. Maybe because he can't find the words to say to explain what he feels, even now, after swimming more miles than he usually does, trying to empty his head and his lungs, still frozen. He's still scared. He knows Danny's okay, safe, but he's still scared, so fucking scared he trembles when he stumbles out of the water, burying his face in the towel he grabs from the back of one of the chairs on his private little beach, falling gracelessly on it a second after, dripping all over the used wood. He doesn't understand why, but the feeling won't go away, he can't shake it.

"Steve?"

So lost in his thoughts, Steve doesn't even hear the doors, the footsteps coming behind him, until Danny's voice is just here, next to Steve, curious and a little cautious, too. Steve blinks and turns around, stands up a little too fast, stumbles over his own feet as he looks at Danny and doesn't dare move closer, until he can't help himself anymore and rushes forward, cradling Danny's face in his hands, tilting it up. He doesn't keep his eyes on Danny's, though, traveling all over his face, taking in the bruised jaw, the split lip and eyebrow, the stitch at his hairline, the blood in his left eye. Steve dry-swallows, fingers tiptoeing over the bruises, as gentle as he can. He almost moans when Danny closes his eyes and parts his lips.

"You couldn't be a quiet victim, could you?"

Steve smiles despite himself, the fear slowly washing away, with each and every one of Danny's breaths against Steve's lips, chin, cheeks. Danny snorts and opens his eyes, clenching his jaw under Steve's fingertips.

"If a big bad Navy SEAL can't shut me up, a little punk won't manage either."

"You fucking idiot."

They'd been more than little punks, drug trafficking Samoans that thought the kidnapping of a cop would give them immunity, well-armed and dangerous, a lot on the crazy side. Too bad for them, Steve was crazier. It's his turn to close his eyes when Danny's fingers curl around the back of his neck.

"You look exhausted."

"I'm fine. Why are you here, anyway? What about Rachel and Grace?"

Danny sighs softly, looking at his thumb, digging a little in Steve's jaw. The sensation of his skin on Steve's is sharp, amazing.

"Rachel offered to put up with me for a few days, her words, but I told her I had to come home. I just didn't explain exactly where home is for me."

The implications makes Steve's heart stutters, and the frozen water in his lungs melts away, replaced by warmth, by Danny, alive and kicking and loud mouthing his kidnappers. Because Danny doesn't really live here with Steve, not yet anyway, but he's still coming home to Steve.

Steve doesn't have to give bad news to anyone, doesn't have to digest any bad news himself, try to go on in his life without Danny, with the knowledge that Danny died because of him - it'll always be because of him. Danny's fine, bruised, but fine. Steve reassures himself of that fact by running his hands down Danny's chest, his sides, seeing the wince that Danny tries to hide. Steve inhales sharply.

"Can I see? Show me."

"You have the worst kinks."

Danny shakes his head, but he's already pulling his shirt out of his jeans - casual wear that Rachel probably got for him to put on after his trip to the hospital. Steve helps, pulls the shirt over Danny's head, takes a deep breath and swallows hard as he looks down at his chest. There are more bruises, but he's drawn to the deep cut running along Danny's side. It's deep and angry, red and looking up at him, a little accusing, even through the stitching. It runs all the way down to his hipbone, and Steve feels the anger resurging, pressing on top of such pain he chokes on his next few breaths, falling to his knees in front of Danny. His eyes are burning with the tears he can't shed, and he lets out a quiet sob when Danny's hands grab at his hair, but he doesn't look up, instead burying his face in Danny's stomach, between the cut and a large, ugly purple bruise. Danny's fingers thread through his hair, softer than usual.

"I spat food in one of the guys' faces on the third night. He didn't like it."

"Fuck. Fuck."

Steve closes his eyes and pushes his nose into Danny's skin for a second, smelling soap and sweat and sun. Danny's hairs tickle him for a second as he gently moves around, trying to wrap his head around all of it. He's been trained for this, he's been trained not to feel this way, not to hurt like this, not to be scared and not to be angry, he's been trained not to feel human for a fallen comrade. But this is Danny, this is not the Navy anymore, this is home and Danny is just as much home as the house Steve grew up in, and the idea of him hurt makes Steve shake a little, enough for Danny to tug gently at his hair to make him look up.

"I'm okay, Steve. D'you hear me? I'm fine. A little battered, but nothing that won't heal."

Steve nods, looking back down, eyelashes fluttering against Danny's stomach. He's okay. 5 days, 14 hours, 43 minutes and a few seconds. 134 hours, 43 minutes and a few seconds. 8086 minutes and a few seconds. He's alive. Steve leans in and kisses Danny's stomach softer than he ever has before, kisses his way to the cut, leaving the imprint of his lips all along it, going up, passing over a bruise and another one when he kisses his way around, feeling Danny's stomach moving faster under his touches, heaving with each breath Danny takes.

Steve wants his kisses to mark Danny more than anything these men did; he wants his kisses to erase those last 5 days, 14 hours, 43 minutes and a few seconds. He wants to heal Danny and he knows - he's neither naive nor stupid, the Navy definitely knocked any of that out of him - he knows it's not possible but he still wants it. He still wishes he could do this.

Steve is scared of looking at Danny's back, his legs. He's scared of the bruises he'll find there, all those bruises and cuts and all this pain he can't shift away. It's always his fucking fault, he shouldn't have taunted the Samoans, shouldn't have thought he was better than them. They took Danny to spite him, and all of this was his fault. Danny hurt, wincing as he moves, with a deep cut down his side, new scars he should never have had. Steve should be the one bearing them.

Danny kneels in front of Steve, grabs his head in firm hands, looking almost angry when Steve dares look into his eyes. But then he softens, leans in, kisses Steve, nothing soft like Steve expected, no, hungry, a little desperate. Steve kisses back in the same fashion and slides his hand into Danny's hair, only keeps himself from pulling when he feels the dried blood of a small cut on Danny's scalp. Fuck, fuck. He'd taken too long to find Danny.

Danny pulls away with a groan and his fingers curled tight around Steve's biceps, his breath a little ragged when he looks at Steve, pulling him in close a second later. Steve hides his face in Danny's neck, his smell, holding on and yet trying not to hurt Danny further. He kisses his way around yet another bruise on Danny's shoulder.

"Have you slept in the past 5 days?"

Steve knows, whatever his answer is, it won't be the right one, so he goes for the truth, shaking his head slowly, nose dragging along Danny's skin. There's so much of it and it's all sorts of colors that Steve doesn't like to see, purples and greens and yellows and blues, all sickly and disgusting and Steve fucking hates, but he manages to push those feelings away, forcing them into a corner of his head, closing a bolted door over them.

"No. Not really."

"No wonder you can't even stand on your feet. Come on, you insane goof. Let's get to bed. I'm pretty beat myself."

Steve nods. His fingers are still coursing over Danny's skin, trying to find bruises, trying to know, without seeing, where they all are, so he can check their progress, check how they're healing, how fast. They'll never heal fast enough.

"Yeah, okay."

Danny pulls away enough to be able to look at Steve, a slight smile on his face as he brushes his thumb along the corner of Steve's mouth.

"You can only sleep if I'm here to fend off the monsters, huh?"

Steve chuckles. Danny's okay, he honestly, genuinely is. He's been okay through those 5 days, those 143 hours, those 8086 minutes. And Steve knows that tonight, for the first time in all those days, hours and minutes, he'll be able to sleep. In all those days, hours and minutes, he's been the one needing Danny, always more than Danny needed him.

"Yeah. Can only sleep when you're around."

And Steve's okay with that.