Going with the OMG YOU COULD HAVE DIED NOW WE HAVE SEXYTIEMS cliche. ;)
Danny'll never say it out loud, but it was truly like something out of the Matrix - time stretching, the buzz of bullets seeming to slow, vapor trails practically visible.
He saw Steve go down. Saw his partner's face transform from the SEAL-ninja-more-BAMF-than-anyone-else-on-(and-off)-the-planet type of focus into surprise, shock, pain. All things that should never be seen in the middle of a gunfight. Especially not on Steve.
And that's when Danny lost it. When all he wanted was to run to Steve and check him out and god dammit, hold him or kiss him or something completely fucked like that.
But no, he has scumbag assholes shooting at him, putting holes in his partner, trying to make Gracie fatherless.
And that just fucking won't do.
If he'd had a black duster and a pair of Ray Bans, the look would have been complete. Not that Danny cared. But he wiped the floor with the fuckers, picking up an extra gun on the way and firing two-handed, barrels flaring with fucking justified death. Mess with the bull...
---
It's all died down now and the near-silence is deafening. There are sirens in the distance, the cavalry always two minutes too late.
Danny looks down and sees that he has guns in both hands. Now-empty guns. What the ever living fuck?
And then he's dropping them and running to where he last saw his partner go down.
Fuck. Steve.
He finds him beside the shipping container they'd been rounding, flat on his back, unmoving.
Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Please.
Danny's heavy steps take him to his partner's side and he kneels, grabbing Steve's shoulders, not really shaking, but gripping, assessing.
"Steve!" His voice sounds raw, desperate. "Fuck, Steve, wake up!"
He finally reaches two fingers to Steve's neck, tensing and closing his eyes, focusing on finding a pulse. Anything else is unacceptable.
There.
And there.
Slow, but steady.
God, he chokes back a sob of relief and cups Steve's cheek in one hand. "Steve? Steve, if you don't wake up now, I swear to God I'll fucking kill you."
His eyes track down his partner's body, finally looking for injuries, blood. He sees a darkened blob-shaped hole in Steve's vest.
Right above his heart.
His fingers are visibly shaking as he reaches to touch, then pulls back, the area still warm to the touch.
So fucking close.
"Danny-? Wh'appened?"
Danny huffs out a breath and tries to wipe the blatant emotion he's feeling off his face. "You got shot."
"Hurts." Steve groans, trying to raise up.
"Whoa. HPD just pulled up, gonna have a bus check you out first." Danny presses on Steve's shoulder, trying to keep him still. "Now, what hurts, exactly?"
Steve catches Danny's eyes. "I'm fine, chest just feels sore. Head hurts a little. Probably from going down." He tries on a grin. "Can I get up now, Mom?"
"Mom? Mom. You are so lucky I don't punch you in your god damn smug-ass face, McGarrett."
Steve's raising up and rolling to his feet, seemingly with his wits about him again and adrenaline flowing copiously. "Been there, done that, still have the ugly ass t-shirt."
Danny's body is rigid, tense. "Fuck you. No. You don't get to do that. Just. Fuck." And then he's walking away, not sure what emotion is weighing the most heavily right now.
Anger? Relief?
Who's he kidding? He's fucking mad as hell.
He's just pretty damn sure that it's mostly at himself.
Take me now but know the truth (1/3)-S/D-Adult
Danny'll never say it out loud, but it was truly like something out of the Matrix - time stretching, the buzz of bullets seeming to slow, vapor trails practically visible.
He saw Steve go down. Saw his partner's face transform from the SEAL-ninja-more-BAMF-than-anyone-else-on-(and-off)-the-planet type of focus into surprise, shock, pain. All things that should never be seen in the middle of a gunfight. Especially not on Steve.
And that's when Danny lost it. When all he wanted was to run to Steve and check him out and god dammit, hold him or kiss him or something completely fucked like that.
But no, he has scumbag assholes shooting at him, putting holes in his partner, trying to make Gracie fatherless.
And that just fucking won't do.
If he'd had a black duster and a pair of Ray Bans, the look would have been complete. Not that Danny cared. But he wiped the floor with the fuckers, picking up an extra gun on the way and firing two-handed, barrels flaring with fucking justified death. Mess with the bull...
---
It's all died down now and the near-silence is deafening. There are sirens in the distance, the cavalry always two minutes too late.
Danny looks down and sees that he has guns in both hands. Now-empty guns. What the ever living fuck?
And then he's dropping them and running to where he last saw his partner go down.
Fuck. Steve.
He finds him beside the shipping container they'd been rounding, flat on his back, unmoving.
Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Please.
Danny's heavy steps take him to his partner's side and he kneels, grabbing Steve's shoulders, not really shaking, but gripping, assessing.
"Steve!" His voice sounds raw, desperate. "Fuck, Steve, wake up!"
He finally reaches two fingers to Steve's neck, tensing and closing his eyes, focusing on finding a pulse. Anything else is unacceptable.
There.
And there.
Slow, but steady.
God, he chokes back a sob of relief and cups Steve's cheek in one hand. "Steve? Steve, if you don't wake up now, I swear to God I'll fucking kill you."
His eyes track down his partner's body, finally looking for injuries, blood. He sees a darkened blob-shaped hole in Steve's vest.
Right above his heart.
His fingers are visibly shaking as he reaches to touch, then pulls back, the area still warm to the touch.
So fucking close.
"Danny-? Wh'appened?"
Danny huffs out a breath and tries to wipe the blatant emotion he's feeling off his face. "You got shot."
"Hurts." Steve groans, trying to raise up.
"Whoa. HPD just pulled up, gonna have a bus check you out first." Danny presses on Steve's shoulder, trying to keep him still. "Now, what hurts, exactly?"
Steve catches Danny's eyes. "I'm fine, chest just feels sore. Head hurts a little. Probably from going down." He tries on a grin. "Can I get up now, Mom?"
"Mom? Mom. You are so lucky I don't punch you in your god damn smug-ass face, McGarrett."
Steve's raising up and rolling to his feet, seemingly with his wits about him again and adrenaline flowing copiously. "Been there, done that, still have the ugly ass t-shirt."
Danny's body is rigid, tense. "Fuck you. No. You don't get to do that. Just. Fuck." And then he's walking away, not sure what emotion is weighing the most heavily right now.
Anger? Relief?
Who's he kidding? He's fucking mad as hell.
He's just pretty damn sure that it's mostly at himself.
---