Chapter Text
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Danny Williams had been shot at before. He’d been chased, punched, and once stabbed with a pool cue by a drunk in Newark. He’d been screamed at by drug lords, bled on by informants, and narrowly avoided being run over by a taxi—twice. But none of that had prepared him for the complete and utter chaos that was working with Steve McGarrett.
It had been a few weeks. Not even that long, really. Twenty-four days. Danny knew the exact number because every morning, he woke up and seriously considered how many laws he’d break if he “accidentally” tasered his partner.
He didn’t, of course. Because Danny was a professional. A calm, centered man. Mostly.
“Steve,” Danny said slowly, gripping his coffee like it was the only thing grounding him in this cursed office. “Please tell me you did not—please—fire a gun in here again.”
Steve didn’t look up from where he was wiping down his SIG Sauer with the casual calm of someone who’d never once considered the concept of restraint. “I didn’t fire it in here.”
“Oh? That’s funny, because unless we’ve been invaded by precision-trained squirrels, those new holes in the wall didn’t just appear from divine intervention.”
“It was a ricochet.”
Danny dragged a hand down his face. “A ricochet. Oh, well, that’s perfectly acceptable then. Maybe next time you can ricochet it into my head and save me the trouble of enduring one more minute of your Looney Tunes approach to law enforcement.”
“Technically,” Steve said, laying his weapon down with a small, infuriating smile, “Looney Tunes always got the job done.”
“Oh my God, I hate you,” Danny said with the intensity of someone who truly, deeply meant it.
Kono, half-asleep and cradling a mug that said Property of HPD’s Most Dangerous Rookie, glanced up from her laptop. “Are we starting early today, or…?”
“Early?” Danny snapped. “This is just a continuation of yesterday’s madness. We never stopped arguing.”
“It’s true,” Chin called from the far side of the room, flipping through a file folder. “I think they even yelled at each other over lunch. About pineapple on pizza.”
“It’s a crime,” Danny said instantly.
Steve shrugged. “It’s delicious.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You drove a car through a warehouse, Steve.”
“There were hostages!”
“There was a front door!”
Kono held up a finger. “Question. When you guys eventually kill each other, do we get to keep the office?”
“No,” Steve and Danny said in perfect unison. They glared at each other immediately afterward. And for just a second—just a flicker—Danny wasn’t sure if Steve was annoyed or amused. Maybe both. Maybe that was the problem.
Danny turned back to Chin. “Please tell me you have an actual case. Something—anything—that involves neither Steve nor automatic weapons.”
Chin lifted a photo and slid it onto the center table. “Surveillance still from one of Kamekona’s sources. Arms deal going down near Kalihi Valley. Old banana farm, off-grid. The guy in the frame is Akamu Kahele. Known runner for the Yakuza.”
Steve was already reaching for his tac vest. “Let’s roll.”
Danny didn’t move. “Hang on. No plan? No recon? No... I don’t know, caution?”
Steve raised a brow. “That was the plan.”
Danny let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a snort. “You’re the reason I grind my teeth in my sleep.”
Steve clapped him on the shoulder on the way past. “Better than snoring.”
“I do not snore! Who told you that?!” he shouted after him.
Kono stood and grabbed her gear. “I have twenty bucks that says Williams throws something by the end of the mission.”
Chin nodded. “I’ll take that bet.”
Danny muttered something Jersey-colored under his breath and followed.
-
The drive out to Kalihi Valley was, predictably, an exercise in blood pressure control—for Danny, anyway. Steve took the winding roads like they were part of a racing circuit, one hand on the wheel and the other adjusting the radio like they weren’t speeding past sharp turns with a sheer drop on one side.
Danny braced himself with both hands and muttered a running commentary of increasingly creative insults.
“You know what I don’t understand?” Danny said as they whipped around a curve. “Why the hell you always drive like the island is gonna explode if we don’t get there in under five minutes.”
“Time-sensitive op,” Steve said calmly, not even blinking when the tires squealed a little too enthusiastically around another bend.
“There’s nobody chasing us, Steven!”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be prepared.”
“For what? A dramatic entrance? Oh wait—no, sorry, a breach. Because heaven forbid we approach like actual law enforcement instead of the Avengers on Red Bull.”
Steve tilted his sunglasses down just enough to glance sideways. “I prefer to think of us as Mission: Impossible.”
“Please. You’re not Ethan Hunt. You’re like... Ethan Hunt’s less emotionally stable cousin who was kicked out of spy school for excessive property damage.”
From the back seat, Kono piped up, “I thought that was kind of the point of spy school.”
“Thank you,” Steve said with a nod.
Danny turned around to gape at her. “Don’t encourage him. You’re supposed to be the sane one.”
Chin, in the passenger seat, chuckled. “That ship sailed, my friend.”
“Unbelievable,” Danny muttered. “I’m surrounded by lunatics. This is what I get for leaving Jersey.”
But even as he said it, something about the wind against his face and the blur of green outside the window made his chest loosen a fraction. He wasn’t smiling, exactly—but the constant tug of exasperation wasn’t quite as sharp today. There was something weirdly grounding about Steve’s recklessness. Like maybe—just maybe—Danny didn’t always have to be the only one holding up the sky.
They pulled off the main road and down a gravel path that looked like it hadn’t seen a vehicle since 1982. Overgrown banana trees lined either side, giving the place a claustrophobic, humid atmosphere. The old shack was visible through the foliage—half-collapsed, sun-bleached wood, and rusted tin roofing. An idyllic location for a gun deal, obviously.
Steve parked the car with what Danny was pretty sure was a deliberate jolt just to mess with him.
As they got out, Steve tossed a flashbang toward Danny.
Danny caught it on reflex, then stared at it like it was a live grenade. “What is this? No. No. You do not give me things that go boom without a PowerPoint and a liability waiver.”
“It’s standard gear,” Steve said, checking the safety on his weapon.
“It’s not standard when the person holding it doesn’t want to go deaf or accidentally commit homicide.”
“Relax. You pull the pin, toss it, look away.”
“I know how a flashbang works, McGarrett,” Danny said through clenched teeth. “I just prefer not to use them on abandoned fruit farms.”
Kono, strapping on her vest, gave him a sympathetic look. “Want me to take it?”
“Yes,” Danny said instantly. “Take it. Take it far away. Preferably to another island.”
Steve rolled his eyes and gestured toward the shack. “Kono, you circle from the east. Chin, take north. Danny, you’re with me—west entrance.”
Danny groaned. “Of course. Of course I am. Because God forbid you go five minutes without me pointing out what a terrible idea you’re about to implement.”
“You know,” Steve said as they crunched through underbrush, “you complain a lot for someone who volunteered for this task force.”
“I was blackmailed into this task force. You threatened to get me fired and then guilted me with my daughter. Don’t act like I begged to join your merry band of chaos.”
“I don’t recall threatening.”
“You literally showed up with a badge and a smug smile and ruined my life.”
“That sounds more like recruiting.”
Danny stopped, hand on his hips. “You are the only person I’ve ever met who can make war crimes sound charming.”
Steve smiled. “Thank you.”
And yet, Danny wasn’t sure if Steve actually believed half the things he said, or if he just liked the sound of his own bravado.
There was something unnerving about how easily Steve deflected everything with that cool calm, like a man who’d never been afraid of anything in his life.
Danny didn’t know if that was confidence or a mask. He didn’t care, he told himself. Not really. But the thought stuck with him anyway, quiet and unwanted, like sand in a shoe.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
-
They reached the west side of the shack just as Chin’s voice crackled in over comms. “Visual on one male inside. Looks armed. No movement outside perimeter.”
Steve crouched behind a tree and tapped his earpiece. “Copy that. On my mark.”
Danny crouched beside him, eyeing the terrain.
“Wait,” he said quietly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the underbrush. He reached out to stop Steve with a hand to his arm—more instinct than permission. “You see that? Grass is flattened. Drag marks. Light footprints, maybe two different sets. Someone’s been moving something back here.”
Steve stilled, followed Danny’s line of sight. His brows drew together—focused. “Could be gear. Or a backup exit.”
“Or a trap,” Danny muttered. “Doesn’t feel right.”
There was a beat of silence as the weight of that possibility settled.
Steve gave Danny a brief glance—quick, but not dismissive this time. “Good catch.”
Danny didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. But a small thread of tension unwound in his shoulders as they shifted into position. Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t just the guy shouting from the passenger seat.
Steve leaned around the corner and then, without warning, darted forward.
“Damn it, Steve!” Danny hissed, scrambling to catch up. “Why do you even wear a comm if you’re going to ignore protocol?!”
The shack was barely held together, so Steve did what Steve always did—he kicked in the side panel.
Danny barely made it through the breach before everything went to hell.
He was still mid-sentence when the tripwire snapped.
There was a sharp click, a hissing pop, and then McGarrett shouted, “Move!” before shoving him out of the doorway like a linebacker. A primitive flash charge went off overhead—more sparks and smoke than actual force—but the light was blinding and the noise sharp enough to leave his ears ringing.
Danny hit the mud hard, palms first, knees sinking into the wet earth. He gritted his teeth, blinked through the haze, and groaned.
“Seriously?” he muttered, pushing up onto one knee. “Can we have one entry without fireworks?”
Inside the shack, Steve’s voice cut through the crackling comms. “Suspect’s gone! Kono, back exit!”
“On it!” she called.
Danny stood, brushing mud off his arm with a disgusted look. He caught sight of Chin and Kono darting around the opposite side of the shack, rifles up, already splitting off to intercept.
“Just once,” Danny muttered, staggering out of the smoke. “Just once I’d like a doorway that doesn’t try to kill me.”
His knee throbbed, sharp and deep, but he kept moving. Because that’s what you did when adrenaline carried you farther than common sense. Because Steve had already gone charging in, and like hell was Danny going to let him do that alone. Not even when he was this mad. Not even then.
Then came the yelling—a shout, the sound of bodies hitting the ground, and Steve’s voice calling out, “Clear!”
By the time Danny reached the clearing, it was over. Steve was standing with his knee in the suspect’s back, cuffs already snapped into place. Chin was watching the perimeter, weapon still raised but relaxed. Kono moved to flank as backup.
Danny looked around, breathing hard. His clothes were wet, his shoes were full of mud, and his patience was wearing so thin he could see daylight through it.
“You okay?” Chin asked, glancing over.
“I’m peachy,” Danny said, adjusting his collar. “If by ‘okay’ you mean face-planted in a swamp and used as a human riot shield.”
Steve looked up. “You’re welcome.”
Danny raised both brows. “You think you saved me?”
Steve stood, pulling the suspect upright. “You were in front of the tripwire.”
Danny shook his head, lips tight. “And you were the one who missed it. Again.”
Steve shrugged. “Nobody got hurt.”
“Yet,” Danny muttered. “Let’s see how the paperwork feels.”
Kono smirked as she holstered her weapon. “Should’ve brought popcorn.”
“Why would you even assume there’d be a trap on the back wall?” Danny asked, half to the team, half to himself.
“Because it’s Steve,” Chin said flatly.
Steve tossed the guy toward Chin. “I handled it.”
Danny followed, still wiping mud off his arm. “No. What you handled was another entry that turned into an explosion. I swear, you light up like a Christmas tree when something goes bang.”
“Better than hiding behind a desk.”
“I was not hiding.”
“You were ducking.”
“I was avoiding shrapnel, like any rational human being would.”
Steve looked at him, dry. “You keep using the word ‘rational’ like it means ‘nagging from behind cover.’”
“And you keep using ‘tactical’ when you mean ‘stupid and lucky.’”
Chin and Kono shared a look and started dragging the suspect toward the car without a word.
As they walked, Danny rolled his shoulder and let out a quiet exhale. Not quite a sigh—closer to resignation. The ache in his muscles wasn’t just from the fall. It was the kind of tired that came from being stretched too thin too long. And maybe, he wasn’t quite as furious as he should’ve been. Because when Steve had shouted, he hadn’t hesitated. Not for one damn second.
-
Back at HQ, the mood was lighter—mission complete, suspect in custody, and no actual injuries beyond Danny’s bruised pride and slightly mud-drenched wardrobe.
Danny walked in under his own power, posture upright, jaw set. His clothes were half-dried, the mud mostly brushed off, and while he looked like he’d wrestled with a particularly feisty taro field, he still carried himself like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Because he did. Danny Williams didn’t survive years in Newark and make detective without learning how to hold the line—even when it involved dodging tripwires in tropical terrain.
Kono looked up as he stepped in and arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Danny said. “Except for the fact that my shoes now qualify as biohazards, I got up close and personal with island agriculture, and I might never trust vegetation again.”
“Still standing, though,” Chin said, handing him a clean towel. “And still better dressed than Steve.”
“Thank you,” Danny said, accepting the towel like it was a medal of honor. “Finally, someone with taste.”
Steve strolled in a moment later, completely unbothered as always. “You gonna start monologuing again, or can we debrief?”
Danny tossed the towel onto the back of his chair and sat down. “Depends. You planning to listen to what I say, or are you going to interpret it as a personal attack and respond with hand-to-hand combat?”
“Depends,” Steve echoed, grabbing a bottle of water. “You planning to keep ignoring that we got the guy?”
Danny exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers on the desk. “No. We got him. You’re right.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “Wow.”
“I said you’re right, not that I’m wrong,” Danny clarified.
Chin smirked but said nothing. Kono, perched on the edge of the table, tilted her head at Danny. “Seriously, though—good eyes on that path. You saw the drag marks near the shack before any of us. That’s what pointed Chin to the back route, right?”
Danny gave her a nod. “Yeah. Footprints were light, but the drag line through the grass was obvious. Guy was either moving gear or setting up something back there. Didn’t know it’d be a trap, but figured something was off.”
Steve glanced over at him, thoughtful. “Nice call.”
Danny met his eyes, neutral. “Nice tackle.”
And that was it—nothing flowery, nothing dramatic. Just two professionals who didn’t like each other but could at least recognize capability when they saw it.
Kono flipped through the initial field notes and smiled to herself. “You two should get into MMA. Just scream insults at each other while sparring. I’d pay to see that.”
“I’ve got technique,” Danny said. “McGarrett would cheat.”
“I am technique,” Steve said automatically.
“Yeah? Then next time lead with that instead of your damn shoulder.”
Chin chuckled. “You know, there’s a weird kind of chemistry here.”
“It’s called irritation,” Danny replied.
Steve tilted his head. “I think it’s synergy.”
Danny stood and pointed at him. “That’s the kind of word that gets people fired in corporate meetings.”
Steve grinned. “You want to submit a complaint?”
Danny held up his phone. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I have a whole draft email labeled ‘McGarrett’s Greatest Hits: A Tragedy in Ten Explosions.’”
-
The office was quiet. Chin and Kono had left twenty minutes ago after finishing their initial reports, and HPD had taken the suspect into processing. Now it was just Steve and Danny, the hum of desk lamps, and the clacking of keyboards.
Danny was at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, brow furrowed as he finished typing up the incident report. His shirt was stiff with dried mud, and his knee still ached from slipping, but he worked in silence—focused, competent, no sign of complaint. Just the job.
Across the room, Steve sat at the main table, jotting quick notations on a paper map with a pencil, lips pressed into a line. The overhead light cut a sharp line over his brow, shadowing his face. Quiet. For once.
Danny glanced up. Caught Steve looking over. They both paused.
“What?” Danny asked, tone neutral but clipped.
Steve held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. “Nothing.”
Danny nodded once, then turned back to his screen. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Silence stretched again. Not hostile. Just loaded.
Steve tapped his pencil against the map once, twice. “You were right about the drag marks.”
Danny didn’t look up. “I know.”
Another pause.
“That probably saved us ten minutes of circling.”
Danny finished the sentence he was typing before responding. “You don’t have to say it like it pains you.”
Steve went back to his notes. “Just don’t make a thing out of it.”
Danny smirked—barely. “Too late.”
The keyboard kept clacking. The map got folded. Both men worked until the paperwork was done and the office lights flickered slightly with the timer hitting after-hours mode.
Danny stood, stretched his neck, and grabbed his keys.
“See you tomorrow, McGarrett.”
Steve didn’t look up. “Try not to trip on the way out.”
Danny opened the door and turned just enough to say, “Next time, maybe wait for backup before throwing yourself into a shack. You know, just for fun.”
Steve glanced up with that same dry look he always wore when he was being exactly as stubborn as Danny expected.
“No promises.”
Danny left without another word.
Steve looked back down at the file in front of him. But his smirk stayed for just a second longer than it needed to.
-