haolehothead | Timeloop

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- game: tabula rasa

Timeloop

Danny wakes up to the severe pain in his back that only comes accompanied by his pull-out bed. The alarm is blaring, the police radio is sounding that someone needs to check on John McGarrett, and when Danny rolls over to turn off the alarm, his body comes into contact with about two hundred pounds (give or take) of warm flesh. Danny doesn't have to think much to know what this day is. True, the events after he goes to the crime scene are just a little bit more vivid, but he'd been on the island the day that John McGarrett was killed and that was the day he'd picked up the case.

He wakes up fully, giving a wary look beneath him and bracing his weight against Steve's torso with both palms, staring at Steve in the pull-out bed of his crappy apartment. This is going to be so bad for Steve and Danny isn't even sure how to begin going about it. How do you? Steve had been thousands of miles away the first time this happened, there's no way that he's going to deal with this normally. It's Steve, after all.

And the radio keeps asking for someone to check on McGarrett, who went AWOL after lunch.

Danny knows this isn't possible, this has to be a bad dream. He pinches at the flesh of his skin, but it aches thoroughly and now he's faced with the knowledge that he has to figure out how to tell Steve about this. "Steve," he hisses, pushing at him. "Steve, wake up."

First he gets him awake and calm, then they figure out what to do about all this.

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Danny looks up tiredly, not ready to do this back and forth for much longer. He rubs at his tired eyes and nods as he gets up and heads for the car with Steve, taking a deep breath on his way to the parking lot. He's quiet the whole drive, not knowing what to say and unable to help feeling scared as they approach.

Steve's quiet too, for a myriad of reasons - trying to focus on the plan ahead and not on the sight of lifeless bodies, his father's and Danny's, swimming in his mind's eye.

This time, it's Hesse's body he plans on standing over.

Danny swallows hard when they arrive and Steve is right beside him, for the moment. "I need you to think about this rationally. Think about the way you've been going about this, Steve," he warns. "You can't negotiate with this man. Just go in and shoot him, just take a shot. You're a goddamn sniper, aren't you? Take him out!"

Steve nods, slowly, his expression set determinedly. He doesn't have to reach for his gun to know it's there, metal against his thigh, a cold comfort in comparison to the sound of his partner's voice in his ear.

"I know what I have to do," he answers, his voice quiet.

Danny parks the car a good distance from the house and leans over to grab Steve by the collar and haul him in for a desperate kiss. "Okay," he says, assured of that. "Go end this, Steve," he insists, hoarsely. "I don't want to do this again. Do what you have to."

"You won't have to," Steve promises, and he means every word before he leaves Danny behind, refusing to look back for even one last glance - because it won't be his last glance, won't even come close to being last.

He's back to the same place he was in no time at all, but his gun is unholstered and in his hand, the back-up jammed in his boot, and he's only waiting for the opportunity he's got to take the shot as soon as Hesse points his gun away from his father.

"It's simple, McGarrett," Hesse replies, turning his gun where Steve's standing, barely visible around the corner. He puts Hesse in his periphery without completely exposing himself. "Your father for my brother."

"There's something you should know about your brother, Victor," Steve calls out, masking the sound of his gun, cocking it as he hears the sound of footsteps bringing Hesse closer.

"What's that?"

"He died the same way you did."

This time, it's Steve who fires first.

Danny hears the gunshot and bolts from the car immediately, practically sprinting on his way to the house, desperate and determined to get there as soon as he possibly can. He doesn't care about his reckless abandon, all he knows is that he needs to get inside in case Steve needs backup.

When he finds Hesse on the ground and Steve still alive, he practically sags back against the wall in giddy relief, shaking his head before creeping his way inside. "All clear?" he asks warily.

"Clear," Steve replies, jamming his gun into his holster and immediately rushing to his father, slumped in the chair and unresponsive.

"Dad?" He's working frantically to get the knots out, finally settling for cutting them with his knife, careful not to slice skin as the ropes finally fall free, and he's coming back around to the front, gently shaking his father out of unconsciousness. There's sirens in the distance - he doesn't know if Danny's called for back-up, but they'll be here soon either way.

"Steve," John murmurs, happy and dazed. "I didn't - I never thought you'd come - "

"Shh, Dad, it's fine, it doesn't matter now," Steve answers. "Can you walk?"

"You can't - can't be here," his father answers, a soft mumble, wincing as he shifts his weight. "Too many questions. I'll tell 'em - tell 'em Hesse broke in, and that I took him out. You've gotta - leave your gun, Champ."

"Dad," Steve presses, resting a light hand on his father's shoulder. "The toolbox - why did you want me to look for it?"

John smiles slowly, knowingly.

"You'll figure it out."

Danny lingers in the doorway for a moment, but inevitably he pushes forward in order to hover over Steve's shoulder, a hand clamping down firmly. He offers John a friendly enough smile, giving a nod of his head. "Sir," he greets, politely. "Not exactly how I wanted to be seeing you on my day off, but you workaholics are contagious."

His grip on Steve's shoulder tightens somewhat.

"Tell him," he says, quieter, voice soft. Tell him you love him.

Steve's whirling around briefly, his eyes narrowing in confusion - and then, realization - Danny worked with my father, knew my father too.

"Detective," John acknowledges, nodding respectfully at Danny, but Steve doesn't have time to visit his questions now, turning back to John as his father places a hand on his other shoulder, his grip a mirror of Danny's.

Under their hands, Steve lets go, leans in, claps his arms around John in a tight hug, tucking his chin in against his father's shoulder, and if he squeezes too hard, his dad doesn't let on, chuckling softly to mask his wince.

"I never got to tell you," John says, "how proud you made me, Steve. So proud."

The sirens are getting louder. There's that feeling of nausea again, that sense of being pulled away even though his feet are firmly planted, kneeling down in front of his father, holding onto him as though he's afraid of what might happen once he lets go. No, Steve thinks. It's too soon, too soon, I need more time.

He must say the words out loud, because his father pulls back, clasps a hand along the side of Steve's face, and stares down at him, firm and understanding.

"Dad, no, wait - please - "

"I love you, son."

"Dad." Steve presses in, but his father's touch is already slipping away from him, and he fumbles for it, grasping blindly, John's hand slipping from his. "Dad - I love you too, Dad - I - "

"Go, Steve," John whispers, rising from the chair, and Danny's hand is the only one he can still feel on his shoulder as Steve falls away, and it's like the floor goes out from underneath his feet, plunging him into darkness, blackness and the sound of his own heartbeat rushing in his ears, almost like the sound of the ocean's waves crashing into the shore.

Danny's breathing in and out slowly, but he has the presence of mind to curl Steve closer to him, both hands turning his torso until it's well-placed in Danny's arms and he can curl Steve into him, even as the feel of the bed changes and he can hear the familiar sound of Zulu barking lightly. Danny rubs his palm up and down Steve's back slowly, a fond smile on his face, though there's sadness lingering around his eyes.

"Hey," he whispers, sliding his knee in between Steve's legs. "Hey, you're okay. I've got you."

Steve's face is wet, but he doesn't remember crying. He doesn't remember a lot of things, aside from the way his father had smiled at him, the all-too unfamiliar sensation of his father's arms around him. He doesn't ever recall John embracing him like that, but now that it's happened, he doesn't think it's a feeling he'll be able to forget for a very long time.

Danny's got him now, still got him, and the dog is crawling up the bed to try and lick at their faces one at a time, and Steve just pulls Danny in, resolution erasing the tension in his chest, and kisses him deep.

Danny kisses Steve back, protesting with a laugh when Zulu tries to practically clamber into their space. He pushes the dog off lightly, cupping Steve's cheeks with his hands lightly and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "I love you," he says, since it's the day for it. "Steve, I love you." He brings Steve's hand up to his lips to press a kiss to the tattoo, eyes wide open as he does.

Steve's expression is calm, his eyes half-lidded, his body relaxed and pliant against Danny's when his partner leans over him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his hand. He laces their fingers together, squeezing Danny's hand in a certain hold, relaxing his arm back against the pillows by his head to draw Danny up over him, tangling their bodies.

"Never thought I'd be so happy to wake up here," he breathes, tipping his chin up to push another kiss to Danny's mouth.

Danny lets out a soft sigh and looks at Steve warily, not truly sure how he's coping with the whole thing. He opens his mouth to ask, but is interrupted by another kiss, indulging in that while turning their bodies so he's on the bottom and Steve's atop him. "Hey," he breathes out. "You okay, babe?"

"Yeah," Steve replies, after a moment of dwelling, looking down at Danny as he props his elbow up on the pillow, resting his head in his hand. Even as he says the words, he knows they're the truth. "Yeah, I'm gonna be."

Danny reaches up to let his fingers slide into Steve's hair, playing with the softness lightly as he musters up a tired smile. He's exhausted and he's still a little spooked, truth be told. Where he might have ranted a little about how Steve is so very not okay (or so Danny thinks), he ends up quiet instead, tapping Steve's hip twice just so he'll get off him.

Steve rolls over, stretching out on his back against Danny's side, staring up at the ceiling and just quietly musing, his brow furrowed in thought, one hand resting lightly on his stomach as his brain revisits every word his father had spoken to him.

What he's done - what they did - it may not actually change the outcome of what really happened, but he knows now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father really had cared.

Danny's on his feet while Steve lays out on his back. Danny's half-naked, considering how they went to bed the night before, but he heads straight for the bathroom and closes the door behind him to get some kind of privacy. He's shaken, fuck, he's shaken. His fingers are trembling mildly, but he needs to get it the fuck together when Steve's had to see worse than Danny's experienced.

"Hey!" he calls out, mimicking his normal tone as best as he can. "So, why don't you go blow off some ITF steam this morning, huh?"

Steve sits up slowly in bed, the fingers of one hand smoothing over his hair, and frowns slightly at Danny's words, even though he figures the intention behind them is a good one.

"I don't know," he replies. Actually shooting Victor Hesse had been fairly satisfying in terms of any residual steam Steve might've needed to blow off. "Maybe not today. Do you want breakfast? I could make breakfast."

Danny closes his eyes tightly. He needs a couple hours to himself to just get this out before Steve comes back. He's not hungry, he's not sure he can sleep, and mostly, he just wants to hug Grace so tight that she complains she can't breathe, but he can't do the latter. "Not really hungry," he replies back, a bit feebly.

"Okay," Steve answers, and when there's no other response from Danny's side of the bathroom door, he takes that as a hint. He's dressed in clothes for running and heading out the door without stopping to do anything else - except to let out the dog to do his business - and sets off on his normal jogging route, looping around the Compound and then taking the road back that runs along the beach.

Danny waits until Steve is absolutely and for sure gone before he creeps out of the bathroom and closes the bedroom door. He uses Zulu as a Grace-substitute, not bothering to change out of his pajamas as he curls the pup in as tight as possible, burying his face into the dog's fur as he tries not to scare himself too much with what-ifs and that fleeting moment where there had been nothing at all.

Steve takes a longer run to give himself more time to sit in his thoughts, finishing up his trip with a quick dip in the ocean as he nears their hut. He strips off his shoes and socks, leaving his shirt on the shore alongside them as he dives in, washing off sweat amidst the back-and-forth routine of doing laps. There's something cathartic about the water, cleansing of more than just the obvious sweat and grit of running, and he stays out as long as he's able.

Danny finally rouses, but it's not enough to push him out of bed so much as he sits up with Zulu prowling about his lap curiously, sniffing and whining before plopping right back down, which is as good a sign as any for Danny to follow suit and curl back into the well-worn sheets, pulling the covers right back over his head.

The suit he was supposed to wear (hung lovingly in the closet) goes ignored and Danny remains in the sweats.

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