what_we_dream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
what_we_dream) wrote2011-05-31 06:29 pm
what_we_dream) wrote2011-05-31 06:29 pm
Entry tags:
Hawaii Five-O: Breathless
Title: Breathless
Series: Hawaii Five-O (1968)
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Notes: Follows 1x12 Pray Love Remember, Pray Love Remember
Summary: After the smash, all you can do is pick up the pieces.
It’s the ones like this – the ones with absolutely no sense behind them, just the raw cruelty of circumstance – that are the worst. Steve says there’s no hierarchy to murder, but Steve lives in a self-constructed cage of law and ethics to keep himself in check. It hasn’t broken him yet, but no one else in Five-O has the determination – or the stupidity – to follow him down that road. Usually what this means is that after the worst ones Steve stays up all night doing paperwork while the rest of them go out to get hammered. But that’s not going to fly tonight.
The case is closed now, although how it will be tried Danny can’t guess. He and Steve watch Kono and Chin lead Benny out of the dim interrogation room, rooster still held precious as a baby in the huge man’s arms. A prize fighting cock, costing $200.00 and a girl’s life. They know what happened, now. It doesn’t mean it makes any more sense. Not tonight, in this dingy room smelling of sweat and cigarettes. Hopefully not ever – Danny tells himself the day it makes sense is the day he’ll leave the Force.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to think about that now. Beside him, Steve is leaning awkwardly up against the table, too tired to stand but unable to sit. His shirt, pinned tightly to him by the bandage around his chest, is covered in dust and dirt. The disarray’s probably bothering him almost as much as his ribs.
“You should check in at the hospital,” says Danny, turning to him as the door clicks shut behind Chin and Kono.
Steve gives a grunt of assent, palms resting on the table’s edge with the fingers curled underneath. He’s staring hard at the wall, although whether he’s deep in thought or just pretending to be Danny can’t tell. “C’mon, I’ll drive you,” he offers rather than speculating, tipping his head towards the door.
Steve blinks and looks over at him as though he’s just noticed Danny – deep in thought, then.
“No, that’s alright Danno. I can drive myself.”
Danny doesn’t point out that while Steve probably can – presuming he doesn’t have to shoulder check or make any quick turns – getting in and out of the car is a different matter entirely. “Sure you can,” he says instead. “But I’ve got a long evening of nothing ahead of me. Why not do me a favour?”
Steve gives him a long look; Danny stares evenly back and tries to ignore the fact that Steve’s never had any difficulty seeing right through him. Finally, Steve smiles wanly and inclines his head in acquiescence. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Danny turns to open the door, carefully not watching Steve push off from the table. When Steve strolls by him into the corridor, his back is ramrod straight and his face is set again in a mask of deep concentration. Danny switches out the lights and closes the door, then heads back to his office.
With the investigation wrapped up and Chin and Kono taking care of booking Benny, there’s no work left to be taken home. Danny stops by his desk to pick up his keys and write a quick note to Chin just in case anything comes up. When he catches up with Steve on the Palace front staircase, though, Steve’s already heading for his own car. Danny slips his keys back in his pocket silently while ahead, Steve makes instinctively for the driver’s side and then redirects himself with a jerk.
The lines at the corners of Steve’s eyes deepen as he leans down to pull the door open, and Danny bites back a reprimand – You don’t have to do everything; you don’t have to be perfect, Steve. Instead he steps forward wordlessly and takes Steve’s arm, helping him lower himself into the seat, and then closes the door after him. Steve leans his head back against the headrest, jaw tense, and stares at the Palace so intently he might be searching for threats. Danny goes around the other side and gets in, waits for Steve to pull his keys stiffly out of his pocket, and then starts the car.
----------------------------------------------------
Steve’s well known in the Emergency Department, and even if he weren’t, the bandage around his ribs and the increasing strain on his face would have been enough to ensure him quick access to a doctor. The strain isn’t any better for his having insisted on prying himself out of the car upon arrival at the hospital; Danny wishes he could take any satisfaction from the evident pain on Steve’s face as the doctor unwraps Steve’s ribs and runs careful hands over his sides.
“Definitely cracked, possibly broken,” is the doctor’s conclusion, frowning at the now-livid bruising on Steve’s chest. “Come back tomorrow afternoon for an x-ray; I’ll book it and call you with a time. For now we’ll wrap them again and I’ll prescribe you some painkillers.” He suits action to words, producing a new bandage from a cupboard full of them and wrapping Steve’s ribs back up again. “No sports, no heavy lifting: if it hurts, don’t do it. But keep taking deep, strong breaths – it prevents pneumonia.” He finishes and turns to write a scrip while Steve pulls his shirt back on in a series of jerky movements like a clockwork soldier, buttoning it with slow fingers.
“Here.” The doc hands the piece of paper to Steve, who takes it with an uninterested glance. “You can get it filled in the hospital pharmacy. Maximum two every four hours. Let me know tomorrow if they’re not cutting down on the pain sufficiently. It’s important that you’re able to breathe properly,” he repeats.
“Right.” Steve stands gingerly from the examination table, and walks out on stiff legs. The doctor directs them to the pharmacy, and then calls his next patient.
At this hour the pharmacy is empty except for the lone pharmacist, a lanky young man with a quivering Adam’s apple, who fills the prescription with no wait. Steve takes the bottle, but drops it into his jacket pocket as soon as they step out of the pharmacy.
“Don’t you want to take one of those?” Danny stops in the middle of the linoleum floor, trying to anchor Steve in place and gain some sort of advantage. He has the car keys, after all.
“No.” Steve slips the mooring line effortlessly, either not noticing the attempt or, more likely, disdaining it. He heads for the doors, and after a few seconds Danny follows reluctantly. Sometimes he tries to imagine Steve in his younger days, taking orders from his superiors. It’s not an image he can call up with any sort of realism.
“You heard what the doc said –”
“I’m fine,” Steve barks, his temper worsening as he marches on ahead, unreasonable as a hungry kid. The back of his jacket is a mess of wrinkles, blue serge covered with a reddish-brown dust that Danny associates with the Grand Canyon and the thirsty Arizona desert. “Don’t need the free trip.”
“Steve –”
“Drop it, Danno.”
With a dirty look at Steve’s ruler-straight shoulders, he does as ordered. By the time they get out to the car he’s managed to cover his anger, and helps Steve into his seat with a straight face he keeps even through Steve’s pained hiss as he lets go of Danny’s arm. They drive to Steve’s in silence.
-------------------------------------------------------
Maybe it’s the 20 minute drive on a bumpy road, or the hours of pain taking their toll, or Steve’s ridiculous stamina finally drying up. But by the time they get to Steve’s house, something’s changed. He doesn’t even try to open the door for himself, and when Danny bends to offer an arm it’s a second before he seems to see it.
Sensing Steve’s reluctance, Danny leans in to put a cautious arm around him, and more lifts than anchors him. Steve can’t hide the naked pain and tiredness anymore; his face is clawed with it, skin grey and eyes shadowed. He seems to have aged a decade in the short car ride, and he hobbles like an old man as Danny escorts him into his home. It makes Danny’s own chest ache.
Inside, Steve leans up against a wall to catch his breath while Danny puts the keys on a sideboard and then heads into the kitchen. He finds a glass and fills it with water from the gleaming tap – like his clothes and his office, Steve’s house is spotless. By the time he returns, Steve has managed to pull his jacket off and hang it on a hook; he’s resting against the wall once more, and Danny knows he’s afraid to sit down for fear of being unable to get up again.
“You need to take some painkillers, Steve,” says Danny flatly, handing him the water. Steve nods without looking at him, waves vaguely in the direction of his jacket. Danny fishes the bottle out of his pocket, pops the lid and shakes out a couple of the small capsules. They roll over his palm, tiny and innocuous.
Steve gives them a distasteful look, but knocks them back and washes them down with the water. He sighs when he finishes, and hands the glass back ruefully. “Thanks, Danno. Guess I’ve never been much of a patient.”
“Hopefully you won’t have much more practice,” says Danny awkwardly. Now that his righteous indignation with Steve’s unwillingness to take care of himself has cooled, Danny’s suddenly abruptly aware that he’s in his injured boss’s house browbeating him into taking his medicine as though he were an unruly child. But Steve’s no child: he’s the one man who can make any crime boss on the island start sweating bullets, and he doesn’t take kindly to being managed. But for the moment at least, Danny’s nagging seems to have flown under his radar.
“Cutting back might win me some points with the boys down in Benefits,” Steve jokes weakly, as he straightens up to make for the bedroom. “I hear they’ve got a picture of me on their dartboard.”
Steve’s bedroom, like the rest of his house, is spotless. Steve stops beside the head of the bed and glances down at his shoes darkly. Danny can read the whole of his dilemma in the one look: he can’t conceive of how to untie them without extreme pain, but equally can’t bring himself even to suggest that Danny untie them for him.
“I’ll get ‘em,” says Danny, dropping to one knee easily and keeping his eyes down – he doesn’t want to see the shame. It doesn’t keep him from hearing it in Steve’s voice.
“Danny, don’t –”
“It’s no problem. When I bust mine up, I’ll expect you to do the same.” He does look up now, grinning as he frees the knot with quick fingers. Steve smiles back wanly.
“Is that a threat?”
“Yeah; I’m holding your other shoe hostage.”
Steve sighs and gives a minute shrug. “You drive a hard bargain, Danno.”
“Comes with the job.” He unknots the other lace and stands. “I’ll get you some more water. Need anything else? A snack?”
“Nah. Thanks.” Steve starts unbuttoning his shirt. Danny wanders out slowly, admiring the pictures on the wall as he strolls to the kitchen. He takes a quick look through the upper cabinets just in case there’s anything that would make a good midnight snack despite Steve’s rejection, but only comes up with some cardboard cereal containers. Danny leaves them on the shelf – Steve eats enough of that crap at the office. Danny fills up the glass and saunters back otherwise empty-handed. By the time he’s returned Steve has shucked off his clothes and crawled into his bed. He’s sitting up against the headboard, head resting back against the wall. The shadows under his eyes are even more prominent in the bright electric light, as are the sharp lines of his cheeks.
“Here’s the water, and the pills.” He puts them down on the bedside table, beside the clock.
“Thanks, Danny,” says Steve, again. “How’re you gonna get home?”
“I’ll call a cab. No problem.”
Steve nods slowly. The pain killers must be kicking in now; his lids are beginning to droop.
“You okay here? I can stay if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate your help, Danno.”
“You’re welcome. Take it easy – and don’t come in tomorrow. We can handle the paperwork.”
“Yeah. I know.” There’s nothing but a quiet bitterness in Steve’s voice, and Danny knows the words have brought the case back into his mind. Brought back that girl with her whole life ahead of her, with a family counting on her to bring home the education they had all sacrificed for, with friends and a man who loved her. Dead in the mud for two fish and a chicken.
“Goodnight, Steve.” He manages to instil some warmth into his tone, but it still sounds false to his ears. If Steve notices, it doesn’t show.
“’Night, Danno.”
Danny slips out of the room, hears Steve grunting in pain as he lies down, and goes to call a cab.
----------------------------------------------------------
If Danny doesn’t sleep much that night, he can at least be confident the same is true of Kono and Chin. The sole bright side of Steve’s broken ribs may be the fact that he at least must have had a decent night’s medicated sleep.
Danny’s not due in the office until nine, and even then he’s got some leeway with the hours he worked the day before. After a poor breakfast of coffee and dry toast at 7:30, he starts up the car and heads into town towards Steve’s rather than the Palace.
Steve’s car is still in the driveway, which he was expecting. What he wasn’t expecting is Steve, dressed in light slacks and a polo shirt, elbow resting on the car roof preparatory to swinging himself into the driver’s seat. He looks up as Danny pulls over, and pauses.
Danny stops at the kerb beside the driveway and hops out without bothering to take his keys. “Steve! Where’re you going?” His clothes say it can’t be work, and hospitals rarely finish tests earlier than expected.
Steve doesn’t look guilty, but he does look vaguely unnerved. Almost embarrassed, except that that’s an unthinkable thought. “I thought I would go make a pick-up.”
“Pick-up?”
“Yamamoto-san and Takahashi-san.”
Danny stares, uncomprehending. And then, as his mind’s eye calls up a coloured sketch of two prize koi, it clicks. “The fish? You’re going to get the fish?! Steve, you’ve got a set of broken ribs and the bruises to match – you should be in bed.” He gestures angrily at the house.
“Going for a drive’s hardly going to strain me, Danno.”
“Yeah? How about carrying a bucket with two 40 pound fish plus water?”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “You volunteering, Danno?”
Danny pauses. It’s not his idea of a good time, but if it’ll get Steve back in the house, he’ll relocate a dozen fish. “Sure; I can go by now. I think I can manage alone,” he adds, when Steve shows no sign of going inside.
“I’m sure you could.” Steve tosses him the keys, and goes around the other side.
“You know,” says Danny sourly, getting in as his boss slides gingerly into passenger seat, “if I hadn’t seen your bed for myself I wouldn’t believe you had one.”
-------------------------------------------------
Steve directs him to the house of the newly-arrived Mainlanders, the Babbitts, with its manicured garden filled with the most cliché of Hawaiian plants. Steve’s brought a camera as well as a bucket.
“Really, they should be booked for evidence,” he says as Danny gives him a hand out, stopping to catch his breath against the side of the car while Danny fishes the equipment from the back seat. “But I’ve never known anything living that went into evidence lock-up and came out again that way. Sure as hell not a pair of fish needing a full-sized pond.”
Danny hasn’t actually seen these particular koi, but he’s seen plenty of their kind and he agrees entirely. The only lifeform known to man that survives in the Lockup is the roach, which thrives despite HPD’s best efforts.
Steve rings the bell while Danny stands behind, trying to look as though he feels entirely comfortable standing on the doorstep holding a huge pail. The door is opened after a minute by a middle-aged woman with artificially dark hair wearing a dress that’s much too young for her – the kind of dress only Mainlanders think is authentically Hawaiian.
“Officer McGarrett.” Mrs. Babbitt’s eyes sweep past to Danny, and then down to the bucket in his hands. “Oh. You’ve come for the fish?” She steps aside and waves them into the house.
“Yes ma’am. This is Danny Williams, also Five-O. We’ll photograph them in the pond if you don’t mind before we take them, for evidence. I’ll get someone to come around later and take both your sworn statements as well. It’s important we are able to prove the fish were here, and for you to identify the man who sold them to you. You and your husband will have to give evidence at the trial.” Steve follows her to the back of the house as he speaks. They stop just short of the back doors, Mrs Babbitt turning sharply with wide eyes to stare at them.
“We read it in the newspaper this morning – that man, a murderer! We might have been strangled, just like that poor girl. It’s simply awful to think about.” She shudders. Danny gives an easy smile. Reassuring panicky citizens – even the ones who are obviously revelling in the thrill – is a large part of any cop’s work.
“There’s no need to be concerned, Mrs. Babbitt. You were never in any danger.”
“Well you say so, but that man was a positive giant. I’m sure he could have killed both Frank and I with one hand tied behind his back.” She shivers again theatrically. Danny, with Benny’s statement still fresh as a new cut in his mind, feels a much smaller but deeper chill.
“If we could see the fish?” asks Steve blandly. The woman blinks, clearly having put aside the mundane for a chance to enjoy her brush with notoriety.
“Oh, yes. Of course. They’re still there.” She gestures towards the large pond in the centre of the backyard, overlooked by a bamboo patio.
The back garden is just as unimaginative as the front, packed full of lush banana palms, showy plumeria and orchids. All money and no love diagnoses Danny, sceptical as most Hawaiian-born when it comes to rich Mainlanders. In the centre of it all is the pond, designed by shape and flow to be more a miniature river than still water, with the covered patio looming over it on tiny stilts like a hermit crab crouched over its pool.
As they approach Danny spots the fish easily; the water is clear and shallow, the bottom made of smooth stones. The fish are swimming lazily side by side, one grey and the other white and orange. He puts down the bucket and takes out the camera, winds it up and goes out onto the patio to get a better angle. Behind him Steve is writing up a receipt for Mrs. Babbitt, while she inquires with poorly-disguised curiosity into the details of the murder. Danny takes several snaps of the fish, some from directly above as they drift below the patio, and then some more from the grass. Only when he finishes does it occur to him that they’ve brought no net with them, and the pond is not a shape that lends itself to cornering the two fish.
“Do you have a net?” he asks, as Steve hands Mrs. Babbitt the receipt torn from his notepad. She looks at him, puzzled.
“A net? No. Frank has some fishing gear, but that’s on the boat.”
“How about some fish food?” suggests Steve. The woman nods at this.
“Sure. In the bottom of the drinks cabinet.” She goes over to it while Danny sits down and takes off his socks and shoes. He rolls his pants up to the knees, and feels thankful that he at least wore a cheaper pair of slacks today. Mrs. Babbitt returns with a large plastic container of brown pellets the size of chick peas.
“Here you are. We’ve been feeding them three times a day, but they haven’t had anything yet this morning. They’re almost as demanding as a dog, really.”
Steve takes the container. “Okay. Thank you. Danno, you go in and let them get used to you. Don’t move around too fast. When they’re calmed down, I’ll throw some food in over here; it’s the tightest bend. Then you grab them.”
“It sounds so easy when you say it.” Danny fills the bucket up and puts it on the side of the pond, then steps in. The water’s cooler than the air, but not uncomfortably so. The fish break into a faster pattern as he pads over the smooth stones, but when he settles by the spot Steve chose they calm down again. He rolls up his sleeves and then stoops to put his hands in the water. He used to fish like this in tide pools as a child, trying to catch the tiny minnows stranded there by the receding tide. He can only remember catching one once, the little wriggling body beating against his hands as he scooped it out of the water. Somehow, its so-apparent terror had transmuted itself to him and he had dropped it immediately, his triumph turning to puzzled shame.
He wonders if that was how Benny felt, staring down at the girl he had choked to death.
“Okay,” says Steve, snapping him out of his reverie. He’s opened the container, and now scatters a handful of the pellets into the water around Danny’s legs and hands. The fish, recognizing the food, swim over to gulp it down. Danny forces himself to wait, doesn’t even let his fingers twitch, until the grey one swims right through his hands. He grabs and lifts, sweeping it smoothly right out of the water before it has time to struggle free. It’s surprisingly strong as it fights his hold, twisting its whole body in half circles in a frantic attempt to escape.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s cool,” he tells the fish, feeling like an idiot as the reassurances slip out. He leans over and puts the fish carefully into the small bucket, holding onto it until he’s sure it’s not going to beat itself against the sides. When he does release it, it swims around tightly once and then splashes its tail against the surface, as if in protest. “It’s just for a while,” says Danny, and catches Steve’s smile as he turns back to look for the other one. It’s hiding under the patio, just a tiny sliver of white visible, like a pin in a dark suit.
“They’re supposed to have pretty bad memories, right?” asks Danny, hopefully. Steve’s answering look is not encouraging.
As it turns out it takes the fish nearly ten minutes to recover from the trauma of its friend’s disappearance, by which time most of the food has broken up into sodden flecks and disappeared. Danny resumes his awkward slouch, and Steve throws out some more food.
The fish is considerably more cautious this time, approaching slowly and giving the food a few thoughtful nibbles rather than chasing it voraciously. Danny shifts, slow as an afternoon shadow, until he’s near enough to it that he can scoop it out of the water in a sharp movement. It comes out more in his arms than his hands, and gives a mighty flip that nearly earns it its freedom. But Danny twists and grabs it by the head and tail, sticking a thumb in its open mouth and grasping tightly. The fight largely goes out of the fish, and he’s able to slip it into the bucket more easily than the first.
One fish in the bucket was tight; with two there’s no room for movement at all. They lie pressed up against each other, gills fluttering and mouths gulping at the surface. It doesn’t look at all healthy.
“Let’s get them back to the Institute,” says Steve, apparently reading his mind as he too stares down into the cramped bucket.
“Right.”
As predicted, with the water and the fish in it, the bucket is no easy weight. Danny tries the handle, finds it too heavy, and takes it by the rim instead. He carries it by swinging it slowly between his legs like a pendulum, just skimming the top of the grass while the water inside washes up towards the brim with each step. Steve goes on ahead and opens the doors, saying nothing. Mrs Babbitt watches them go from her pristine lawn, the receipt still clutched in her hands.
-------------------------------------------------------
Steve sits in the back with the fish on the drive to the Institute, although the bucket is heavy enough that Danny highly doubts even a smoke-raising stop would pitch them off the seat. When he glances back they’ve got their mouths out of the water, swallowing air with a worrying urgency. Danny gives the car a bit more gas.
-------------------------------------------------------
This time, at least, they’re able to drive nearly to the edge of the pond. Danny helps Steve out, then lifts the fish out after him with a groan and a painful twinge in his back. After that, though, moving the bucket to the waterside is easy enough.
There are a number of other koi in the water, at least as big as the ones in the bucket. He hadn’t really noticed them when he was here the first time, but he had had other things on his mind then. He doesn’t look at the now unmarked spot where the girl’s body lay. Just lifts the koi up carefully out of the bucket and returns them to the water. They slip energetically from his hands into their home, disappearing immediately into the deepest water. Danny empties the bucket after them, then steps back to join Steve.
“They seem okay,” he says. Already, he’s not sure which is which. The fish are crisscrossing in a pack, at least at ease with each other if not glad to see their returned schoolmates. Danny has no idea if koi have the self-identity necessary to miss individuals.
“Yeah. Should’ve brought a bigger bucket, I guess.”
They watch the fish for a minute, skimming lazily over the bottom now.
“It doesn’t make her death any better, does it?” says Danny eventually, hands in his pockets.
“Nope. Nothing will. All we can do is try to keep it from being worse than it already is.”
“Doesn’t seem like enough,” he says, quietly. Steve puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, but when Danny looks at him he’s staring at the fish pond. His expression is distant and surprisingly intense, and for no reason he can name Danny suddenly wonders what dreams the meds brought Steve last night – the ones he was so reluctant to take. Wonders just what drove Steve out here so early, and so unorganized. Wonders whether, for all Steve preaches equality, there are some ghosts that haunt him more than others. The one thing Danny can be sure of is that Steve will never tell him.
“No,” says Steve, turning back to the car. “It isn’t.”
END
Series: Hawaii Five-O (1968)
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Notes: Follows 1x12 Pray Love Remember, Pray Love Remember
Summary: After the smash, all you can do is pick up the pieces.
It’s the ones like this – the ones with absolutely no sense behind them, just the raw cruelty of circumstance – that are the worst. Steve says there’s no hierarchy to murder, but Steve lives in a self-constructed cage of law and ethics to keep himself in check. It hasn’t broken him yet, but no one else in Five-O has the determination – or the stupidity – to follow him down that road. Usually what this means is that after the worst ones Steve stays up all night doing paperwork while the rest of them go out to get hammered. But that’s not going to fly tonight.
The case is closed now, although how it will be tried Danny can’t guess. He and Steve watch Kono and Chin lead Benny out of the dim interrogation room, rooster still held precious as a baby in the huge man’s arms. A prize fighting cock, costing $200.00 and a girl’s life. They know what happened, now. It doesn’t mean it makes any more sense. Not tonight, in this dingy room smelling of sweat and cigarettes. Hopefully not ever – Danny tells himself the day it makes sense is the day he’ll leave the Force.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to think about that now. Beside him, Steve is leaning awkwardly up against the table, too tired to stand but unable to sit. His shirt, pinned tightly to him by the bandage around his chest, is covered in dust and dirt. The disarray’s probably bothering him almost as much as his ribs.
“You should check in at the hospital,” says Danny, turning to him as the door clicks shut behind Chin and Kono.
Steve gives a grunt of assent, palms resting on the table’s edge with the fingers curled underneath. He’s staring hard at the wall, although whether he’s deep in thought or just pretending to be Danny can’t tell. “C’mon, I’ll drive you,” he offers rather than speculating, tipping his head towards the door.
Steve blinks and looks over at him as though he’s just noticed Danny – deep in thought, then.
“No, that’s alright Danno. I can drive myself.”
Danny doesn’t point out that while Steve probably can – presuming he doesn’t have to shoulder check or make any quick turns – getting in and out of the car is a different matter entirely. “Sure you can,” he says instead. “But I’ve got a long evening of nothing ahead of me. Why not do me a favour?”
Steve gives him a long look; Danny stares evenly back and tries to ignore the fact that Steve’s never had any difficulty seeing right through him. Finally, Steve smiles wanly and inclines his head in acquiescence. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Danny turns to open the door, carefully not watching Steve push off from the table. When Steve strolls by him into the corridor, his back is ramrod straight and his face is set again in a mask of deep concentration. Danny switches out the lights and closes the door, then heads back to his office.
With the investigation wrapped up and Chin and Kono taking care of booking Benny, there’s no work left to be taken home. Danny stops by his desk to pick up his keys and write a quick note to Chin just in case anything comes up. When he catches up with Steve on the Palace front staircase, though, Steve’s already heading for his own car. Danny slips his keys back in his pocket silently while ahead, Steve makes instinctively for the driver’s side and then redirects himself with a jerk.
The lines at the corners of Steve’s eyes deepen as he leans down to pull the door open, and Danny bites back a reprimand – You don’t have to do everything; you don’t have to be perfect, Steve. Instead he steps forward wordlessly and takes Steve’s arm, helping him lower himself into the seat, and then closes the door after him. Steve leans his head back against the headrest, jaw tense, and stares at the Palace so intently he might be searching for threats. Danny goes around the other side and gets in, waits for Steve to pull his keys stiffly out of his pocket, and then starts the car.
----------------------------------------------------
Steve’s well known in the Emergency Department, and even if he weren’t, the bandage around his ribs and the increasing strain on his face would have been enough to ensure him quick access to a doctor. The strain isn’t any better for his having insisted on prying himself out of the car upon arrival at the hospital; Danny wishes he could take any satisfaction from the evident pain on Steve’s face as the doctor unwraps Steve’s ribs and runs careful hands over his sides.
“Definitely cracked, possibly broken,” is the doctor’s conclusion, frowning at the now-livid bruising on Steve’s chest. “Come back tomorrow afternoon for an x-ray; I’ll book it and call you with a time. For now we’ll wrap them again and I’ll prescribe you some painkillers.” He suits action to words, producing a new bandage from a cupboard full of them and wrapping Steve’s ribs back up again. “No sports, no heavy lifting: if it hurts, don’t do it. But keep taking deep, strong breaths – it prevents pneumonia.” He finishes and turns to write a scrip while Steve pulls his shirt back on in a series of jerky movements like a clockwork soldier, buttoning it with slow fingers.
“Here.” The doc hands the piece of paper to Steve, who takes it with an uninterested glance. “You can get it filled in the hospital pharmacy. Maximum two every four hours. Let me know tomorrow if they’re not cutting down on the pain sufficiently. It’s important that you’re able to breathe properly,” he repeats.
“Right.” Steve stands gingerly from the examination table, and walks out on stiff legs. The doctor directs them to the pharmacy, and then calls his next patient.
At this hour the pharmacy is empty except for the lone pharmacist, a lanky young man with a quivering Adam’s apple, who fills the prescription with no wait. Steve takes the bottle, but drops it into his jacket pocket as soon as they step out of the pharmacy.
“Don’t you want to take one of those?” Danny stops in the middle of the linoleum floor, trying to anchor Steve in place and gain some sort of advantage. He has the car keys, after all.
“No.” Steve slips the mooring line effortlessly, either not noticing the attempt or, more likely, disdaining it. He heads for the doors, and after a few seconds Danny follows reluctantly. Sometimes he tries to imagine Steve in his younger days, taking orders from his superiors. It’s not an image he can call up with any sort of realism.
“You heard what the doc said –”
“I’m fine,” Steve barks, his temper worsening as he marches on ahead, unreasonable as a hungry kid. The back of his jacket is a mess of wrinkles, blue serge covered with a reddish-brown dust that Danny associates with the Grand Canyon and the thirsty Arizona desert. “Don’t need the free trip.”
“Steve –”
“Drop it, Danno.”
With a dirty look at Steve’s ruler-straight shoulders, he does as ordered. By the time they get out to the car he’s managed to cover his anger, and helps Steve into his seat with a straight face he keeps even through Steve’s pained hiss as he lets go of Danny’s arm. They drive to Steve’s in silence.
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Maybe it’s the 20 minute drive on a bumpy road, or the hours of pain taking their toll, or Steve’s ridiculous stamina finally drying up. But by the time they get to Steve’s house, something’s changed. He doesn’t even try to open the door for himself, and when Danny bends to offer an arm it’s a second before he seems to see it.
Sensing Steve’s reluctance, Danny leans in to put a cautious arm around him, and more lifts than anchors him. Steve can’t hide the naked pain and tiredness anymore; his face is clawed with it, skin grey and eyes shadowed. He seems to have aged a decade in the short car ride, and he hobbles like an old man as Danny escorts him into his home. It makes Danny’s own chest ache.
Inside, Steve leans up against a wall to catch his breath while Danny puts the keys on a sideboard and then heads into the kitchen. He finds a glass and fills it with water from the gleaming tap – like his clothes and his office, Steve’s house is spotless. By the time he returns, Steve has managed to pull his jacket off and hang it on a hook; he’s resting against the wall once more, and Danny knows he’s afraid to sit down for fear of being unable to get up again.
“You need to take some painkillers, Steve,” says Danny flatly, handing him the water. Steve nods without looking at him, waves vaguely in the direction of his jacket. Danny fishes the bottle out of his pocket, pops the lid and shakes out a couple of the small capsules. They roll over his palm, tiny and innocuous.
Steve gives them a distasteful look, but knocks them back and washes them down with the water. He sighs when he finishes, and hands the glass back ruefully. “Thanks, Danno. Guess I’ve never been much of a patient.”
“Hopefully you won’t have much more practice,” says Danny awkwardly. Now that his righteous indignation with Steve’s unwillingness to take care of himself has cooled, Danny’s suddenly abruptly aware that he’s in his injured boss’s house browbeating him into taking his medicine as though he were an unruly child. But Steve’s no child: he’s the one man who can make any crime boss on the island start sweating bullets, and he doesn’t take kindly to being managed. But for the moment at least, Danny’s nagging seems to have flown under his radar.
“Cutting back might win me some points with the boys down in Benefits,” Steve jokes weakly, as he straightens up to make for the bedroom. “I hear they’ve got a picture of me on their dartboard.”
Steve’s bedroom, like the rest of his house, is spotless. Steve stops beside the head of the bed and glances down at his shoes darkly. Danny can read the whole of his dilemma in the one look: he can’t conceive of how to untie them without extreme pain, but equally can’t bring himself even to suggest that Danny untie them for him.
“I’ll get ‘em,” says Danny, dropping to one knee easily and keeping his eyes down – he doesn’t want to see the shame. It doesn’t keep him from hearing it in Steve’s voice.
“Danny, don’t –”
“It’s no problem. When I bust mine up, I’ll expect you to do the same.” He does look up now, grinning as he frees the knot with quick fingers. Steve smiles back wanly.
“Is that a threat?”
“Yeah; I’m holding your other shoe hostage.”
Steve sighs and gives a minute shrug. “You drive a hard bargain, Danno.”
“Comes with the job.” He unknots the other lace and stands. “I’ll get you some more water. Need anything else? A snack?”
“Nah. Thanks.” Steve starts unbuttoning his shirt. Danny wanders out slowly, admiring the pictures on the wall as he strolls to the kitchen. He takes a quick look through the upper cabinets just in case there’s anything that would make a good midnight snack despite Steve’s rejection, but only comes up with some cardboard cereal containers. Danny leaves them on the shelf – Steve eats enough of that crap at the office. Danny fills up the glass and saunters back otherwise empty-handed. By the time he’s returned Steve has shucked off his clothes and crawled into his bed. He’s sitting up against the headboard, head resting back against the wall. The shadows under his eyes are even more prominent in the bright electric light, as are the sharp lines of his cheeks.
“Here’s the water, and the pills.” He puts them down on the bedside table, beside the clock.
“Thanks, Danny,” says Steve, again. “How’re you gonna get home?”
“I’ll call a cab. No problem.”
Steve nods slowly. The pain killers must be kicking in now; his lids are beginning to droop.
“You okay here? I can stay if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate your help, Danno.”
“You’re welcome. Take it easy – and don’t come in tomorrow. We can handle the paperwork.”
“Yeah. I know.” There’s nothing but a quiet bitterness in Steve’s voice, and Danny knows the words have brought the case back into his mind. Brought back that girl with her whole life ahead of her, with a family counting on her to bring home the education they had all sacrificed for, with friends and a man who loved her. Dead in the mud for two fish and a chicken.
“Goodnight, Steve.” He manages to instil some warmth into his tone, but it still sounds false to his ears. If Steve notices, it doesn’t show.
“’Night, Danno.”
Danny slips out of the room, hears Steve grunting in pain as he lies down, and goes to call a cab.
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If Danny doesn’t sleep much that night, he can at least be confident the same is true of Kono and Chin. The sole bright side of Steve’s broken ribs may be the fact that he at least must have had a decent night’s medicated sleep.
Danny’s not due in the office until nine, and even then he’s got some leeway with the hours he worked the day before. After a poor breakfast of coffee and dry toast at 7:30, he starts up the car and heads into town towards Steve’s rather than the Palace.
Steve’s car is still in the driveway, which he was expecting. What he wasn’t expecting is Steve, dressed in light slacks and a polo shirt, elbow resting on the car roof preparatory to swinging himself into the driver’s seat. He looks up as Danny pulls over, and pauses.
Danny stops at the kerb beside the driveway and hops out without bothering to take his keys. “Steve! Where’re you going?” His clothes say it can’t be work, and hospitals rarely finish tests earlier than expected.
Steve doesn’t look guilty, but he does look vaguely unnerved. Almost embarrassed, except that that’s an unthinkable thought. “I thought I would go make a pick-up.”
“Pick-up?”
“Yamamoto-san and Takahashi-san.”
Danny stares, uncomprehending. And then, as his mind’s eye calls up a coloured sketch of two prize koi, it clicks. “The fish? You’re going to get the fish?! Steve, you’ve got a set of broken ribs and the bruises to match – you should be in bed.” He gestures angrily at the house.
“Going for a drive’s hardly going to strain me, Danno.”
“Yeah? How about carrying a bucket with two 40 pound fish plus water?”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “You volunteering, Danno?”
Danny pauses. It’s not his idea of a good time, but if it’ll get Steve back in the house, he’ll relocate a dozen fish. “Sure; I can go by now. I think I can manage alone,” he adds, when Steve shows no sign of going inside.
“I’m sure you could.” Steve tosses him the keys, and goes around the other side.
“You know,” says Danny sourly, getting in as his boss slides gingerly into passenger seat, “if I hadn’t seen your bed for myself I wouldn’t believe you had one.”
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Steve directs him to the house of the newly-arrived Mainlanders, the Babbitts, with its manicured garden filled with the most cliché of Hawaiian plants. Steve’s brought a camera as well as a bucket.
“Really, they should be booked for evidence,” he says as Danny gives him a hand out, stopping to catch his breath against the side of the car while Danny fishes the equipment from the back seat. “But I’ve never known anything living that went into evidence lock-up and came out again that way. Sure as hell not a pair of fish needing a full-sized pond.”
Danny hasn’t actually seen these particular koi, but he’s seen plenty of their kind and he agrees entirely. The only lifeform known to man that survives in the Lockup is the roach, which thrives despite HPD’s best efforts.
Steve rings the bell while Danny stands behind, trying to look as though he feels entirely comfortable standing on the doorstep holding a huge pail. The door is opened after a minute by a middle-aged woman with artificially dark hair wearing a dress that’s much too young for her – the kind of dress only Mainlanders think is authentically Hawaiian.
“Officer McGarrett.” Mrs. Babbitt’s eyes sweep past to Danny, and then down to the bucket in his hands. “Oh. You’ve come for the fish?” She steps aside and waves them into the house.
“Yes ma’am. This is Danny Williams, also Five-O. We’ll photograph them in the pond if you don’t mind before we take them, for evidence. I’ll get someone to come around later and take both your sworn statements as well. It’s important we are able to prove the fish were here, and for you to identify the man who sold them to you. You and your husband will have to give evidence at the trial.” Steve follows her to the back of the house as he speaks. They stop just short of the back doors, Mrs Babbitt turning sharply with wide eyes to stare at them.
“We read it in the newspaper this morning – that man, a murderer! We might have been strangled, just like that poor girl. It’s simply awful to think about.” She shudders. Danny gives an easy smile. Reassuring panicky citizens – even the ones who are obviously revelling in the thrill – is a large part of any cop’s work.
“There’s no need to be concerned, Mrs. Babbitt. You were never in any danger.”
“Well you say so, but that man was a positive giant. I’m sure he could have killed both Frank and I with one hand tied behind his back.” She shivers again theatrically. Danny, with Benny’s statement still fresh as a new cut in his mind, feels a much smaller but deeper chill.
“If we could see the fish?” asks Steve blandly. The woman blinks, clearly having put aside the mundane for a chance to enjoy her brush with notoriety.
“Oh, yes. Of course. They’re still there.” She gestures towards the large pond in the centre of the backyard, overlooked by a bamboo patio.
The back garden is just as unimaginative as the front, packed full of lush banana palms, showy plumeria and orchids. All money and no love diagnoses Danny, sceptical as most Hawaiian-born when it comes to rich Mainlanders. In the centre of it all is the pond, designed by shape and flow to be more a miniature river than still water, with the covered patio looming over it on tiny stilts like a hermit crab crouched over its pool.
As they approach Danny spots the fish easily; the water is clear and shallow, the bottom made of smooth stones. The fish are swimming lazily side by side, one grey and the other white and orange. He puts down the bucket and takes out the camera, winds it up and goes out onto the patio to get a better angle. Behind him Steve is writing up a receipt for Mrs. Babbitt, while she inquires with poorly-disguised curiosity into the details of the murder. Danny takes several snaps of the fish, some from directly above as they drift below the patio, and then some more from the grass. Only when he finishes does it occur to him that they’ve brought no net with them, and the pond is not a shape that lends itself to cornering the two fish.
“Do you have a net?” he asks, as Steve hands Mrs. Babbitt the receipt torn from his notepad. She looks at him, puzzled.
“A net? No. Frank has some fishing gear, but that’s on the boat.”
“How about some fish food?” suggests Steve. The woman nods at this.
“Sure. In the bottom of the drinks cabinet.” She goes over to it while Danny sits down and takes off his socks and shoes. He rolls his pants up to the knees, and feels thankful that he at least wore a cheaper pair of slacks today. Mrs. Babbitt returns with a large plastic container of brown pellets the size of chick peas.
“Here you are. We’ve been feeding them three times a day, but they haven’t had anything yet this morning. They’re almost as demanding as a dog, really.”
Steve takes the container. “Okay. Thank you. Danno, you go in and let them get used to you. Don’t move around too fast. When they’re calmed down, I’ll throw some food in over here; it’s the tightest bend. Then you grab them.”
“It sounds so easy when you say it.” Danny fills the bucket up and puts it on the side of the pond, then steps in. The water’s cooler than the air, but not uncomfortably so. The fish break into a faster pattern as he pads over the smooth stones, but when he settles by the spot Steve chose they calm down again. He rolls up his sleeves and then stoops to put his hands in the water. He used to fish like this in tide pools as a child, trying to catch the tiny minnows stranded there by the receding tide. He can only remember catching one once, the little wriggling body beating against his hands as he scooped it out of the water. Somehow, its so-apparent terror had transmuted itself to him and he had dropped it immediately, his triumph turning to puzzled shame.
He wonders if that was how Benny felt, staring down at the girl he had choked to death.
“Okay,” says Steve, snapping him out of his reverie. He’s opened the container, and now scatters a handful of the pellets into the water around Danny’s legs and hands. The fish, recognizing the food, swim over to gulp it down. Danny forces himself to wait, doesn’t even let his fingers twitch, until the grey one swims right through his hands. He grabs and lifts, sweeping it smoothly right out of the water before it has time to struggle free. It’s surprisingly strong as it fights his hold, twisting its whole body in half circles in a frantic attempt to escape.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s cool,” he tells the fish, feeling like an idiot as the reassurances slip out. He leans over and puts the fish carefully into the small bucket, holding onto it until he’s sure it’s not going to beat itself against the sides. When he does release it, it swims around tightly once and then splashes its tail against the surface, as if in protest. “It’s just for a while,” says Danny, and catches Steve’s smile as he turns back to look for the other one. It’s hiding under the patio, just a tiny sliver of white visible, like a pin in a dark suit.
“They’re supposed to have pretty bad memories, right?” asks Danny, hopefully. Steve’s answering look is not encouraging.
As it turns out it takes the fish nearly ten minutes to recover from the trauma of its friend’s disappearance, by which time most of the food has broken up into sodden flecks and disappeared. Danny resumes his awkward slouch, and Steve throws out some more food.
The fish is considerably more cautious this time, approaching slowly and giving the food a few thoughtful nibbles rather than chasing it voraciously. Danny shifts, slow as an afternoon shadow, until he’s near enough to it that he can scoop it out of the water in a sharp movement. It comes out more in his arms than his hands, and gives a mighty flip that nearly earns it its freedom. But Danny twists and grabs it by the head and tail, sticking a thumb in its open mouth and grasping tightly. The fight largely goes out of the fish, and he’s able to slip it into the bucket more easily than the first.
One fish in the bucket was tight; with two there’s no room for movement at all. They lie pressed up against each other, gills fluttering and mouths gulping at the surface. It doesn’t look at all healthy.
“Let’s get them back to the Institute,” says Steve, apparently reading his mind as he too stares down into the cramped bucket.
“Right.”
As predicted, with the water and the fish in it, the bucket is no easy weight. Danny tries the handle, finds it too heavy, and takes it by the rim instead. He carries it by swinging it slowly between his legs like a pendulum, just skimming the top of the grass while the water inside washes up towards the brim with each step. Steve goes on ahead and opens the doors, saying nothing. Mrs Babbitt watches them go from her pristine lawn, the receipt still clutched in her hands.
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Steve sits in the back with the fish on the drive to the Institute, although the bucket is heavy enough that Danny highly doubts even a smoke-raising stop would pitch them off the seat. When he glances back they’ve got their mouths out of the water, swallowing air with a worrying urgency. Danny gives the car a bit more gas.
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This time, at least, they’re able to drive nearly to the edge of the pond. Danny helps Steve out, then lifts the fish out after him with a groan and a painful twinge in his back. After that, though, moving the bucket to the waterside is easy enough.
There are a number of other koi in the water, at least as big as the ones in the bucket. He hadn’t really noticed them when he was here the first time, but he had had other things on his mind then. He doesn’t look at the now unmarked spot where the girl’s body lay. Just lifts the koi up carefully out of the bucket and returns them to the water. They slip energetically from his hands into their home, disappearing immediately into the deepest water. Danny empties the bucket after them, then steps back to join Steve.
“They seem okay,” he says. Already, he’s not sure which is which. The fish are crisscrossing in a pack, at least at ease with each other if not glad to see their returned schoolmates. Danny has no idea if koi have the self-identity necessary to miss individuals.
“Yeah. Should’ve brought a bigger bucket, I guess.”
They watch the fish for a minute, skimming lazily over the bottom now.
“It doesn’t make her death any better, does it?” says Danny eventually, hands in his pockets.
“Nope. Nothing will. All we can do is try to keep it from being worse than it already is.”
“Doesn’t seem like enough,” he says, quietly. Steve puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, but when Danny looks at him he’s staring at the fish pond. His expression is distant and surprisingly intense, and for no reason he can name Danny suddenly wonders what dreams the meds brought Steve last night – the ones he was so reluctant to take. Wonders just what drove Steve out here so early, and so unorganized. Wonders whether, for all Steve preaches equality, there are some ghosts that haunt him more than others. The one thing Danny can be sure of is that Steve will never tell him.
“No,” says Steve, turning back to the car. “It isn’t.”
END