FIC: Deja Vu All Over Again (2/4)

[stellarmeadow]

Three beers a piece and three hours later, Danny looked at the time. "I hate to go," he said with real regret, "but I have to pick up Grace tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Steve reached for his wallet, but Danny waved him off. "I chose the place, I'll pay."

"Next one's on me, then," Steve said with a smile.

Danny considered the consequences of no sleep followed by the day he and Grace had planned and forced himself to get up instead of staying in his seat. He laid money on the table and waved to their waitress as he followed Steve out to the car.

The silence on the way back to Steve's was much more comfortable than the one they'd had heading for the bar. Danny had a vision of the two of them riding like this, decades in the future, coming back from dinner, comfortable and relaxed, looking forward to bed....

Jesus, he needed to stop. The guy was only here for a month. Even if something happened between them, Steve would be gone soon after.

He pulled up in front of the McGarrett house and killed the engine. "Thanks," Danny said quietly, looking up at Steve through his lashes. "I had fun."

"Me, too," Steve said, his voice almost a whisper, running through Danny's body like an electric current, making his fingers itch to reach out and pull Steve into a kiss.

Fuck it. The guy wasn't exactly sending mixed signals. Danny leaned in, something unclenching in his chest when Steve met him halfway. The kiss was soft and easy at first, but neither of them pulled back until Danny had to stop to catch his breath.

Without even trying, the time flip occurred, and he was leaning in again, experiencing that first kiss all over. It was just as mind blowing the second time, and this time Danny let his forehead rest against Steve's as he caught his breath again.

"Wow," Steve said softly. "Talk about déjà vu."

Danny froze. "What?"

"I could've sworn that just happened twice. Not that I'm complaining, because I'd be good with a lot more kissing, but that same exact kiss. Weird, yeah?"

"Uh...yeah. Wow. That's so weird."

And really, Danny shouldn't have known that exact look, but he did. He knew Steve had caught on, that something wasn't ringing true. "Really?" Steve said, sitting back just a little to look Danny in the eye. "Because you don't sound like it was all that weird."

"I, uh...." Fuck. He'd tried to tell so many people growing up, and no one ever believed him. So he'd stopped. Even Rachel and Grace had no idea. How could he explain it?

But then Steve had relived the moment with him.

He'd gone through the second minute. That had never happened before. Maybe, just maybe....

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay, this is going to sound weird," he said, his eyes closed. "I have this thing. I mean, there's this thing. That happens. And sometimes, I get do overs."

"What?"

Danny managed to open his eyes and look into Steve's. "I get do overs. Repeating minutes. Only a minute, and I can't always control it. But...yeah. Déjà vu. Only reality."

Steve blinked at him a few times, and Danny was having trouble figuring out if Steve was preparing to jump out of the car and run, or have him carted off to the psych ward. "Okay," Steve said after what felt like forever. "Okay."

"Okay?"
Steve nodded. "There's no other explanation for what just happened. And if it's happened to you before...okay."

"You're taking this very calmly."

"Have you ever used it to hurt anyone?"
"Of course not," Danny said quickly.

"And I'm guessing you've used it to help people?"
Danny nodded. "Ever since I can remember."

"Then why shouldn't I be calm about it?"

Danny stared. "My whole life...." He found himself gripping the emergency brake, staring at the little tip on the end. "For as long as this has been going on," he continued after a moment, "no one has ever believed me."

"But how else did they explain the whole reality déjà vu thing?"

"No one's ever remembered the first minute."

"Never?" Steve asked, a frown creasing his brow.

"Never. Ever."

The frown deepened. "Okay, now I might not be quite as calm."

"I don't blame you," Danny said, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes. "Go ahead," he said tiredly, waving at the door.

"What?"

"I would imagine the last thing you want is to stick around after that."

"Danny."

Danny just shook his head, keeping his eyes closed as he waited for the sound of the car door. He didn't want to watch Steve walk away.

"Danny." Steve's voice got closer, and Danny could feel the heat of his body. "Hey."

He opened his eyes to see Steve leaning in. "I said I might not be quite as calm. I didn't say I was freaking out."

"You're not?"
Steve gave him half a grin. "Trust me, some of the things I've seen, this isn't that weird."

"I'm not sure I want to know what you've seen, then," Danny said.

Steve laughed, and Danny couldn't help leaning into him just a bit, which was all the encouragement Steve apparently needed for another kiss. That kiss led to another, which led to another, until they discovered the emergency break was very inconveniently and uncomfortably placed in the Mustang.

The floodlights came on at the front of the house, startling Danny back to awareness of something other than the smell and feel of Steve. Steve pulled his head back to look over his shoulder, and Danny realized his hands were under Steve's shirt, halfway up his back, and Steve's were making their way up Danny's sides, fingertips digging into Danny's bare skin.

"Shit," Steve said, turning back to capture Danny's lips one more time. "I have to go," he said, glancing over his shoulder again. "Dad might come out here."

Danny couldn't help laughing, leaning his forehead against Steve's temple. "I have to admit," Danny said, "I thought I was long past the stage where any of my dates would say that."

He felt Steve's smile, felt his chuckle reverberate through him. "So this was a date then?" Steve asked.

Danny grinned as he pulled away, having a hard time making his hands leave the warmth of Steve's skin. But he managed. Finally. "You bet your ass," he replied.

"Not until the third date, I won't," Steve teased.

Danny swallowed hard. "Grace has a school concert tomorrow night," he said, "but if we had dinner the night after, that would be two."

"Is that your way of asking me out?" Steve asked, cocking his head.

"Dinner Saturday?" Danny asked.

"Sure."

Danny grinned, unable to resist kissing him one more time before Steve pulled away, his fingertips lingering just a moment on Danny's skin before he let go. "Good night, Danny."
"Good night."

He waited until Steve went into the house and out of sight before he started the car and took off for home. He barely noticed the drive, couldn't actually remember unlocking the door to his house, or getting ready for bed.

His mind was busy replaying that scene in the car as he lay down and turned out the light. Someone actually believed in his gift. Had shared it, accepted it. After a lifetime of hiding, it was still hard to believe.

Of course, Steve could still come to his senses. Things that seemed reasonable making out in a car in the dark didn't always look the same in the light of day. Or even outside the car.

Danny's phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he checked the screen.

Thought you might want my number. Still not freaking out. Go to sleep. S.

Choking back a laugh, Danny sent back a 'goodnight' before he saved Steve's number, liking the feel of permanence having it in his phone gave him. It was silly, a little thing, but it warmed him nonetheless.

He looked at the text one more time, rolled his eyes at himself for behaving like a thirteen-year-old girl. He put the phone down and turned onto his side, away from the phone, and drifted off to sleep.

***

Steve was awake before his dad the next morning, leaving for a run, followed by a swim. He needed to clear his head to think, and if he was honest, he wasn't keen on running into his father, who'd been waiting in the living room when Steve had come in the night before, the taste of Danny still on his lips.

"I thought Danny was giving you a ride home."

"He did."

"You left hours ago."

Steve had slid his tie off from where it hung loose and open around his neck and tucked it in his jacket pocket. "So? We went for drinks."

"Steven."

"Dad. I'm 34."

"Your point?"

"That I'm not 16, and this isn't the prom. Oh, wait," Steve had said, shucking his jacket with more force than necessary, "you wouldn't know what that looked like, would you? So I can see why you might be confused."

John had looked as if Steve had physically slapped him, and Steve steeled himself not to apologize. It was true. Harsh, maybe, but true. "I want the best for you, Steve," his father had said quietly, after a moment, looking a little deflated and suddenly old. "It's all I've ever wanted. Everything I've done was with that in mind."

Steve had shook his head, tossing his jacket over his arm and heading for the stairs. "So you've said." Steve had stopped long enough to fix his father with a look. "I'm just waiting for you to show it."

He'd gone upstairs and hidden in his room until his father had gone to bed. And he was still hiding now. He didn't understand the issue his dad had with the idea of Steve and Danny. It wasn't as if his father hadn't known about Steve. Steve had taken great pleasure in telling his father about a boyfriend when he was 17, though with hindsight, he knows it was partly because he'd hoped Dad would bring him back to the island because of it. But John had neither been shocked or upset.

Steve had thought at the time John just didn't care enough to be bothered.

So why did he care now? Steve pushed through the water towards home, turning that question over in his head. He kept coming back to John's overheard comment to Danny about protecting someone. Was he trying to protect Steve? Not from Danny, surely--Steve might not know his dad that well, but he could tell John trusted Danny.

Unless it was Danny he was trying to protect from Steve. Or maybe Steve's career--both their careers.

Which left him with more questions than answers.

He reached the beach, toweling off on the lanai before going into the house. The house was silent, only the quiet whirr of the ceiling fans greeting him as he walked through the dining room into the living room.

Steve looked out the front window to see the truck was gone. His dad's leg must be feeling better if he'd felt up for a drive. Then again, maybe he'd just needed to drive himself wherever he was going because he couldn't trust anyone else with his location.

That toolbox might hold a key, if Steve could find it. And since his father was out, maybe he could make some headway. He looked in the garage again, checking other corners and under old rags, but no luck. Same with the closets downstairs. He even tried his father's room, but he'd never expected him to be that obvious. He'd have to know that's the first place Steve would likely look.

The truck pulled up outside, and Steve grabbed some clothes and ducked into the bathroom before his father could come in. He took a longer shower than normal, not caring if his father assumed it was to avoid him. But he had to come out eventually, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, toweling his hair dry as he walked down the steps.

"You were up early," his father said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Actually, I slept late for me."

John walked a little further into the room and stopped, as if he was afraid to get too close. "Look, Steve...I'm sorry."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that, Dad."

"About last night. I don't have a problem with you and Danny. It's just that you're only here for a month. And I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

Steve studied him for a long moment. He was telling the truth, only not. Something still wasn't right. "We're adults, Dad. We can take care of ourselves."

"I know. I'm sorry. Just," John's pause seemed forced, "be careful. Danny tends to throw his whole heart into things without thinking sometimes."

So he was more worried about Danny than Steve? Or did he think Steve didn't have a heart? That he could hurt Danny, but Danny couldn't hurt him? He was so wrong there, but Steve was being very careful not to admit to anyone just how much he thought Danny could hurt him already--himself included. But he knew, deep down, that he was already in over his head. He'd do just about anything for Danny, including give him up, if it came to that.

Which his father would be counting on, and have no hesitation in using to try to keep them apart.

"Well," Steve said, not letting on that he had guessed his father's game, "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

"I am sorry," John repeated.

Steve couldn't bring the words 'I know' to his lips. "Don't worry about it, Dad," he said instead.

"I'm going to go rest my leg for a while. I stocked some sandwich stuff in the fridge. You should eat."

Steve watched John carefully climb the stairs, realizing, in one of the few flashes he'd had since returning, how close he'd come to losing his dad. He didn't want it to be like this between them if something happened to either of them. He wanted to fix it.

He just had no idea how to fix it as long as John was hell bent on protecting him.

He had to find that toolbox. He planned his attack as he ate, then went back through the closets, turning them out, but no luck. The garage still nagged at him, something about it making him think it should be there, so he went through there again, but the search yielded the same results as before.

Standing by the spot he'd originally found it, Steve looked around the room, hands on his hips. It had to be here. His father would've expected this to be the last place Steve would turn upside down, because it was the first place it had been.

So where could he hide it that he would think Steve wouldn't look?

He surveyed the room once more, his eyes landing on the Marquis. Which had a trunk. Where people frequently stored tool boxes.

The keys were hanging on the wall by the door as always. "Nice touch, Dad," he muttered to himself. Because if the keys were there in the open, Steve wouldn't bother to look in the trunk. Or so his dad apparently thought, as when Steve opened the trunk, there was the box, looking as if it had been hastily stuffed in there.

He left it in the trunk, opening the lid and sifting through the contents. They made no sense. Random odds and ends, no patterns, no notes on what they were.

But maybe the notes were on the recorder. Steve hit play.

"I'm gonna have to do this on my own. It's all about the key. I don't know what it's for, but--"

"I should've known that wouldn't work," John said from the garage door.

Steve stopped the recorder, but didn't try to hide anything. "You're right," he said, after a moment. "You should've. Just like you should trust me."

"I do trust you."

"Really, Dad?" Steve's laugh was bitter as he dropped the recorder and a key back into the toolbox. "Because people don't normally hide things from people they trust."

John took a step closer. "I had to--"

"Protect me? From what? Do you have any idea what I do for a living? What makes you think that there is anything I can't handle?"

"There are things you don't know--"

"Oh, I'm very aware of that, thanks," Steve said, slamming the lid shut on the toolbox. "Because you refuse to tell me. And yet when you were on the phone, you made damn sure to give me clues to find this toolbox in case you didn't make it. You've never called me Champ in my life--don't try to tell me it wasn't a clue."

John nodded. "It was."

"So you wanted me to find the toolbox, but you didn't want me to know about it?"

"I needed you to find it if I was gone."

"But not while you're alive?" Steve shouted. "What, you only trust me if you're not around? I'm the second string, brought in to clean up the mess if you screw up, is that it?"

John took another step. "Steve--"

"No." Steve stepped back, hands in the air. "Either you trust me or you don't."

"I trust you."

"Then why didn't you want me to find this unless you were dead?"

John took a deep breath. "Because...." He stopped for another deep breath. "Because knowing what's in that box puts you in danger, and I couldn't lose anyone else to it."

Else? Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're right," John said with a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hand. "I should've told you. I told myself I was protecting you, but maybe I was ultimately protecting myself."

"From what?"

"You want to know? Fine. I suppose I owe you that. But let's do it where I can sit down and put my leg up. Come on." He turned to go back into the house. "And bring the damn toolbox with you."

Steve grabbed the toolbox and followed his dad into the dining room. As John took a seat, Steve placed the toolbox on the table. He pulled a chair up for John to prop his leg on and took the next seat over. "Okay, you're comfortable," Steve said, with as much patience as he could manage. "Start talking."

"Easier said than done."

"Dad, I swear--"

"Calm down, son. I'm going to tell you what I know. It's just figuring out where to start is...complicated."

"How about at the beginning?"

John took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. Twenty years ago I started investigating a lead on the yakuza. We knew they'd increased their business in Hawaii, but we couldn't put a finger on anyone bigger than a tadpole in their organization. And tadpoles don't talk--they do, their families get wiped out.

"A couple of years went by," John said, opening the toolbox and taking out a stack of postcards, "and I was head of organized crime, but I had precious little to go on when it came to the yakuza. And then I found someone who was willing to help." He laid the postcards out in front of Steve. " These were from a contact in Japan. He was carefully trying to give me a name."

Steve frowned at the random stick figures on the cards. "I don't get it."

"Well, no, you never did have the patience for Sherlock Holmes," John said with a hint of a smile. "But it's a code from one of the books. It gave me enough to come up with a name."

"What name?"

"Hiro Noshimuri."

Steve frowned at the postcards. "That name sounds familiar."

"It should. He's got money in every corner of every island in Hawaii."

"Yakuza money?"
John nodded. "I started digging on Noshimuri, but I had to be careful. His brother, Koji, was a cop."

"Was?"

"Was. He quit years ago. Apparently enforcement for his brother pays better."

Steve lifted his eyes to meet his father's. "So if you knew all this twenty years ago, why are they still out there?"

"Because I pushed too hard and too loudly. And learned about my mistake the hard way."

"I'm not following," Steve said, when his father didn't continue right away.

"I was getting close," John said, more slowly now, "and starting to make an impact on their business. The yakuza doesn't take kindly to that."

John reached into the toolbox and pulled out what looked like more postcards. "Apparently the yakuza decided to get rid of me," he said quietly. "So they rigged my car. Only I wasn't driving it."

Steve blinked, frowning, waiting for John to explain. When he didn't, Steve said, "And?"

"Your mother had the car."

Which made no sense. His mother had died in a car accident. The cop who'd come to the door had said so. Except he hadn't. Steve had answered the door, but the cop had asked to see John alone. John had relayed the message once the cop was gone.

No. John had lied once the cop was gone. And then told Steve and Mary the same lie for the rest of their lives.

"Mom's death?"

"It wasn't a car accident. They were after me, and they got her by mistake." John laid the other postcards on the table, and Steve realized they weren't postcards, but pictures. Of a car bombing.

His mother's car bombing.

His mother had been in that car. That burnt out shell of a car with nothing left but a charred frame was the last place his mother had taken a breath.

"I can't...I don't even...." The chair screeched across the wood floor as Steve shoved it back to pace across the dining room, needing the length of the table between himself and his father. "How could you lie to us? All these years, and you never told us the truth!"

"What was I supposed to tell you, Steve? 'Hey, your mother was murdered because of me, but don't worry, you'll be fine, I promise.'? The safest thing for you and your sister was to know nothing."

"Safe? You think it was safe, sending us out there every day when they wanted you dead? How did that help? We should've known to be on the lookout!"

"What, so you could live your lives in fear of something I intended to make damn sure to protect you from?"

Steve slammed his fist on the table. "We should've known that we needed to protect ourselves from your mess! You clearly weren't up to the job!"

John flinched, but Steve couldn't quite find it in himself to feel bad about it. Eighteen years and his father had lied to him every single day of it. Lied to Mary. To everyone. Had every person they knew lie to them, too."
"Did Joe know?" Steve asked quietly.

"Steve--"

"Did. Joe. Know."

John's lips thinned. "Yes."

"I can't even...I don't even know what to say to you."
"Hear me out before you say anything else."

Steve waved a hand, more to give himself time to process what he'd already heard than in any sort of magnanimous gesture.

"The governor is giving me a task force," John said. "Full immunity and means, and the ability to finally dig into the Yakuza and get the bastards responsible for this." He took a deep breath. "And I want you to join me."

Five minutes ago Steve might have been honored at the invitation, excited, even. But now? "No."

"Steve, just think about it."

"Think?" Steve took a few steps back before he turned, arms folded over his chest, to stare at the model ship behind him. "What do you want me to think about, Dad?" he asked, turning on his heel to face his father again. "Whether to stay in my job where I'm respected and not lied to as opposed to joining a task force that's already been lying to me for 18 years before it even existed? Not much to think about."

"Steve--"
"No! " Steve wanted to punch something, and his father's face was starting to look like a really good target. "I can't even deal with this right now," he said, storming past his father with a curt, "I'm taking the truck," as he headed for the door, grabbing the keys on the way out.

***

Danny pulled in beside the Silverado and killed the engine, pocketing his keys as he got out of the car. When he'd stopped by the McGarrett house and John had filled him in, Danny had thought he might know where to find Steve.

Sure enough, Steve was inside the bar, sitting at the same booth he and Danny had occupied the night before. Danny waved at the waitress for a beer as he sat down opposite Steve.

"I thought you had Grace," Steve said without looking up from his drink.

"I did," Danny said. "And I watched her be the best recorder player in the history of the recorder. And then she wanted to stay at Laura's house with the rest of her friends, so I dropped her off and went by to see you."

"I'm not home."

Danny frowned at Steve's glass. "How many of those have you had?"
"Not enough." Steve looked up through his lashes at Danny. "How'd you find me?"
"Well, I tried calling you, but I didn't get an answer."

"I turned the phone off."

"I figured that after I talked with your dad."

Steve finished off his whiskey. "And what did he tell you?"

"He told me about your mom," Danny said quietly, pausing for the waitress to bring his beer and take Steve's glass, and his request for another. When she was gone, Danny continued. "I'm sorry."

"At least he didn't wait eighteen years to tell you," Steve said. "Guess that rates you higher on the list than his kids."

"Steve--" Danny waited for the waitress to put down Steve's drink and walk away again. "He had his reasons."

"What reasons could someone have for lying to their kids about their mother's death for half their lives, Danny?"

Danny took a sip of his beer as he contemplated what answer could possibly be good enough. "I didn't say they were good reasons," Danny said at last, "but he wasn't doing it to hurt you. He was trying to--"

"I swear to God, you say 'protect me' and I'll punch you."

"And you'd have a good reason for that, I suppose?" Danny said mildly.

Steve shot him a look. "It's not the same thing and you know it."

"No, but it made my point."

"And what point was that?"

"That sometimes people do stupid things. Doesn't make them bad people. Just means they made bad decisions."

Steve leaned back in the seat, pulling his glass back with him and taking another drink. "Eighteen years, Danny," he all but growled. "Eighteen years that he let us think she died in a car accident."

"Would it have been easier knowing?" Danny asked. "Would it have been easier if you'd known about the bomb? If you'd been wondering if you or Mary might be the next casualties while blaming your father for her death? Or," Danny asked, remembering what John had said about Steve after his mother's death, "if you'd lost your mother and spent every waking moment worrying your father would be next?"

"That's still not the point," Steve said, but Danny noticed there was less heat behind the statement this time.

Danny shook his head. "It is the point. You were 15. Mary was 12. Your father made a choice to try to protect you until you were old enough for it not to hurt you."

"And when did he think that was going to be - when we were 90?"

"I'm sure he just didn't know how to tell you after a while, and it was easier to just leave it alone."

"How very noble of him," Steve bit out, finishing off his drink before leaning forward once more.

Sighing, Danny leaned in, placing a hand over one of Steve's where it rested on the table. "When you have kids," Danny said slowly, "you'd do anything to protect them. And it doesn't stop just because they grow up. You always look at them and see that baby you held the moment it was born. Even if they're 90."

"It's not right. You should be honest with your kids."

"Right, like telling them there is no Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy?"

"Well, no, I don't mean that. But important stuff."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Santa's a pretty big lie, my friend. An expensive, 10-year or more lie. That's not important?"

Steve leaned back again, pulling his hand out from under Danny's. "Again, not really the point."

"But it is," Danny insisted. "You do whatever it takes for your kids and damn the consequences. And you find yourself doing stuff you'd have sworn you'd never, ever do when you were a parent, and not even feeling bad about it. Because you love your kids and you want to protect them."

"He was still trying to protect me at 34, Danny. I'm a fucking Navy SEAL and he wouldn't tell me until I forced it out of him. I mean, what if he'd died? What if Hesse had shot him? Would I have been floundering around in the dark with no idea what any of that damn toolbox meant or what kind of danger it held? How is that protecting me?"

"That's an excellent question," Danny said, knowing what had really happened, and how Steve would probably feel if Danny hadn't been just in time--the second time. "What if he'd died that day? Would you give a crap if you found out he'd lied to you? Would it even matter in the face of never seeing him again? What if instead of coming home to help him recuperate, you'd come home to bury him?"

Steve's eyes were a little wild by the time Danny finished, one hand gripping his glass so tightly Danny worried it was going to break. "I--"

The waitress interrupted, asking Danny if he wanted another beer, and he declined. "Sir?" she said to Steve. "Shall I get you a sixth one?"

She was looking at Danny as she said it, so he figured that was really meant for him to try to stop him. "He's done," Danny said. "Thanks."

When she'd left the check and walked away again, Steve let out a ragged breath. "I have nightmares," he said in a low voice, eyes unfocused. "Ever since that call, a nightmare that he dies. That Hesse shoots him. It was so real I thought it had really happened that day until you got on the phone and told me he was okay. I really thought Hesse had shot him."

He didn't know how to get his point across. Unless.... Steve already knew about Danny's abilities. What if Steve knew how close he'd really come to losing his father? "Um, actually, about that...."

Steve blinked, confusion giving way to something akin to horror. "Danny...did...?" He leaned back against the booth, swallowing hard. "It was a do over, wasn't it?"

It wasn't a question, but Danny nodded. "You have no idea how close it was to being real."

"But I do. I remember it. I thought it was just the stress, that I'd imagined the worst, but it really happened. Oh my God." Steve put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "Why?" he asked, looking up, fingers pushing into his face just enough to rub. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"
"Because I was a little freaked out at everything that had happened already and didn't really feel like it was the time to bring it up. 'Oh, hey, by the way, that whole do over thing? Yeah, I saved your dad's life.' I mean, really."

Steve huffed. "Good point."

"Finally I have a good point!"

That got something that almost passed for a grin before it faded, along with some of the shock, from Steve's face. "I don't know what to do," he said after a moment.

"Think about this," Danny said. "If I hadn't had a do over, if you'd been coming home to bury him, would you still be so pissed off? Knowing that you'd never see him again, would you want to yell at him if you had a second chance? Or take that second chance in case it's gone before you know it?"

Steve sighed. "Well put," he said, before finishing his drink. "He's got a new task force for the governor--did he tell you? He asked me to join, but I was so pissed off I turned him down on the spot."

"That's too bad," Danny said. "Because I'm going to need a partner there, and I was kind of hoping it might be you."

"You...he asked you?"
Danny nodded. "This afternoon. He said then he was thinking about asking you, so I was a little hopeful."

"He was thinking about asking me this afternoon?" Steve frowned. "Before I forced him into telling me everything?"
"Maybe he was already trying to figure out how to tell you."

"Maybe."

He didn't sound completely doubtful, so Danny counted it as a win. "Does that mean you'll give him a chance?"
"He lied to me for years," Steve said. "Sent Mary and me away, missed half our lives." He took a deep breath, eyes meeting Danny's. "But I didn't fight it. I could've--I was of age three years later. I could've come back. I could've pushed. But I didn't. I kept running until Hesse shot him."

"But Hesse didn't shoot him."

"Except I think I knew deep down he had. I just ignored it because it didn't make any sense. That's why I took any flight I could and got here a day early. I just couldn't believe he wasn't dead until I saw it."

Ignoring the part of his brain that was still trying to process the fact that Steve had relived two of Danny's extra minutes that they knew of, Danny focused on the problem at hand. "So does that mean there's a chance I may have a partner?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I have to think about whether I can do this. Whether I can trust him. And there's my job--it'll have to be worked out. The Navy isn't like a normal job. You can't just resign."

"I'm sure your father and the governor knew all that before he offered you the job."

"Still. I need to think." Steve pushed his empty glass away. "And probably on a little less alcohol."

Danny smiled. "Come on," he said. "I'll give you a ride home. I can bring you back to get the truck tomorrow."

"Dad'll be pissed about not having the truck."

"He's earned a little difficulty," Danny said. Because while he understood the reasons John might've had, he had no trouble understanding Steve's anger. And thought John might be getting off easy in the end.

It got a laugh out of Steve, who pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills onto the check. He stumbled a little as he put his wallet back in his pocket, and Danny put a hand on his back to steady him, leaving it there even when Steve was fine.

He could feel the heat of Steve through his shirt, and he remembered all too well how good his skin had felt the night before. He wanted to feel more of that skin. Wanted to touch and lick and taste.

Steve hiccupped as they walked out, and Danny didn't hide his smile. He'd have to save the tasting for a night when Steve was sober.

The ride to the house was silent, Steve clearly lost in his own thoughts. When he pulled to a stop, Steve turned and leaned in without hesitation for a kiss. He tasted like whiskey and sex, and Danny gripped the console and the shifter to avoid grabbing onto Steve and keeping him in the car.

"I should go," Steve murmured against Danny's lips.

"You should."

A few kisses later, Steve pulled back, reaching for the door handle. He had the door open when Danny stopped him. "So does this count as date number two?" Danny asked.

Steve laughed. "Ask me again tomorrow."

"I will. Night."

"Good night."

***

Steve stood on the porch and watched Danny pull away until the lights faded into the distance, resisting the urge to go after him. Not just because he wanted Danny--though he did--but also to avoid the conversation he suspected he'd be having once he walked through the door.

Maybe he'd get lucky and his dad would be in bed. So he'd open the door, and if John was asleep, he'd walk right back out and down the road until he found the house with Danny's car parked in front of it.

That gave him the push to turn the knob and push the door open. He hadn't even stepped both feet inside when he saw his father sitting in the chair nearest the door. "You're still up," Steve said, closing the door and leaning back against it.

"I was waiting for you," John said. "Did Danny find you?"
Steve nodded. "He drove me home. The truck's still at the bar."

If he'd been hoping that would pick a fight, he was wrong. "It's fine," John said, waving his hand. "I'll get it tomorrow. Better that than you drinking and driving."

"Okay."

"Son...." John looked uncertain, not a look Steve was familiar with on him. He only remembered it once, the day his dad told him he and his sister were being sent away. "I'm sorry."

"For which thing, Dad?"

John pushed himself out of the chair, moving behind it to lean on the back for support. "Everything. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner about your mother. I'm sorry for trying to keep everything from you. And I'm sorry for not telling you a lot more. I shouldn't need a gun to my head to make me tell you how proud I am of everything you've done."

Steve's bottom teeth were trying to push themselves into the top ones. "No," he agreed. "You shouldn't."

"I've made a lot of mistakes," John said. "But I'd like to try working with you to bring these guys down. You, me, Danny...I think we have a shot."

"I don't know, Dad." The 15-year-old boy in him wanted to jump at the chance to work alongside his father. The Steve who'd grown up resenting being shoved aside, however, he wasn't so sure.

"I understand," John said, limping across the room to stop less than a foot from Steve. "The toolbox is on the dining room table," he said quietly. "Look through it. Listen to the tape. Think about it. And let me know in the morning if you want to stay and figure all this out."

He wasn't sure if that meant figuring out the case, or figuring out where he and his father went from there. "Okay," Steve said, because if he was going to insist on being treated like an adult, he should act like a reasonable one.

John put his hand on Steve's shoulder, giving him a weak smile. "Thank you." At Steve's nod, John said, "Good night, son."

Steve managed a hoarse good night as his dad turned and made his way slowly up the stairs.

When he heard the bedroom door close, Steve pushed off the door and went into the dining room. The toolbox was wide open, spilling secrets all over the table. Steve looked through the various items, but the only ones that actually made any sense were the postcards and the photos.

He forced himself to look at the bombing photos again. He'd had too much experience with explosives not to be able to picture the car as it went up in flames.

After one last look, he put the pictures aside, face down. He couldn't think straight if he was looking at them. And he had a lot of thinking to do.

The tape recorder was lying in front of the toolbox. Steve sat down at the head of the table, took a deep breath, and hit play.

***

The first pale rays of sun were just starting to filter into the room when Steve turned the recorder off. He'd long since lost the emotional buffer of alcohol, and he'd felt a lot of his father's grief in his recording. How he'd given up his kids to chase the men who'd taken so many family members away, Steve's mother being only one of many.

A day ago he'd have said his father had never wavered in his determination to keep his kids at a distance. He'd have sworn that the man hadn't been bothered by it. But the man on the tape was haunted by his decision, even if it fueled his work. He wasn't going to let that sacrifice be for nothing.

And yet it almost had been. If Danny hadn't been who he was, if he'd been just seconds later his first time, a minute might not have been enough.

And Steve wouldn't have either parent anymore.

He put the recorder down and stood, stretching his body, stiff and sore after hours of sitting on a hard dining room chair. He couldn't even think of sleeping just yet, so he'd need to substitute food for a nap.

Steve was nearly done with the pancakes when his father came down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen, hovering just inside the doorway, giving Steve a guarded look. "You're up early."

"I never went to bed," Steve said, before turning his attention back to the stove. "Are you hungry?"
"I could eat."
"Good. Have a seat."

He heard the chair scrape as he piled pancakes onto a plate before taking it over and putting it on the table in front of his father. He waited for the rest to cool, getting them both coffee before he brought his own plate to the table and sat down opposite John.

"So," John said, as he cut his pancakes with more care than the job warranted, "have you made a decision?"

"Depends." Steve held his father's gaze intently. "You think you can put aside your instinct to protect me and let me do my job if we do this?"

John nodded eagerly. "I can. I know you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, Steve. That was never a doubt. I just didn't want you to be collateral damage in my mess."

"It's not a mess. It's a case. And we're going to solve it."

"Does that mean you're in?" John asked.
"I'm in."

***

Steve waited until his father had left in a cab to get the truck--he'd insisted, as if it was some sort of gesture to make up for things--to call Danny.

"So was there any bloodshed?" Danny answered.

Stepping out onto the lanai, Steve laughed. "And a good morning to you, too," he said. "How'd you know it was me?"

"You texted me your number, remember?"
"You have it memorized already?"
"No, I saved it to the phone. You call, it pops up your name. That's how cell phones work."

Steve couldn't remember the last time anyone had made him laugh as much as Danny did. Or want as much. "You saved my number? I'm touched."

"Yeah, uh," Danny's voice lowered a little, "you never know when it might be handy to have a Navy SEAL in your pocket."

"There's a joke in there about handy and your pockets, but I'm too tired to find it," Steve said after a moment.

Danny made a sympathetic noise. "What happened when you went inside?"
"We talked," Steve said, making his way down the beach to sit in one of the old chairs by the water. "I spent the night thinking. And this morning I accepted his offer to join the task force."

"So I get my partner after all?"

There was no mistaking the pleasure in Danny's voice. "If you still want me."
"Oh, babe, there are so many ways I can go with that one." The note in Danny's voice sent warmth through Steve's body. "Speaking of which, are we still on for dinner?"
"If you're still free."

"Grace just got home from her sleepover. I have to take her to Rachel's this afternoon, and then I'm all yours."

The images that went through Steve's head at that made him pause for a moment. "So," Steve said, clearing his throat before continuing, "where are we having dinner?"
"Actually, I was thinking I could cook."

"You cook?"
"Yes, I cook. This surprises you?"
Steve tilted his head back, smiling up at the sun. "Everything about you surprises me."
"Good. I like to keep you on your toes." Steve could picture Danny's face as he said that, all smug and smiling, and incredibly sexy. "So, dinner at my place at seven?"
"Sounds good." He'd just as soon go over there now, but Grace was there and Steve didn't want to intrude.

"Should I come get you?"

He was really going to need a car soon. But not for this. "You're only a couple of blocks away, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll walk."

"Okay. Should I come get you this afternoon to go get the truck?"

A little sad for the lack of excuse to see Danny sooner, Steve reluctantly told him no. "Dad's gone to get it."

"That was good of him."

He didn't think he was imagining that Danny sounded a little put out about it, too. "Yeah, he's a prince."

"He's our boss."

Oh, God. Steve hadn't thought of it that way until just now. "Is it too late to back out?"

"Yes. You're stuck with us. Like it or not."

Whatever his issues were with his father, however, Steve couldn't be unhappy at the idea of being stuck with Danny. "Well, I suppose that's not all bad."

"You'll be much more enthusiastic later, I promise you."

And that voice was definitely full of promise. "You have a big house, right?" Steve asked.

"It's a good size."

"Good. Just wanted to make sure there'd still be room in there for me with your ego."

"Babe, that wasn't ego. That was a fact."

Laughing again, Steve pushed out of the chair as he heard a voice in the background of the phone--Grace, he assumed. "You have to go?"
"Yeah, Grace can't find Annie."
"Annie?"

"Dolphin Trainer Annie. Long story. Anyway, see you at seven?"
"Yeah. Looking forward to it."

"Oh me, too. Believe me."

Danny hung up, and Steve put the phone down on the chair, dropping his shirt on top of it before he ran out into the ocean for a swim.

***
Part 3