Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1558355.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hawaii_Five-0_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Steve_McGarrett/Danny_"Danno"_Williams
  Character:
      Kono_Kalakaua, Chin_Ho_Kelly, Max_Bergman, Lori_Weston, Catherine
      Rollins, Matthew_Williams, Gabrielle_Asano
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Alternate_Universe_-_Witness
      Protection, Witness_Protection, really_mild_E
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-03 Words: 19211
****** to know you all wrong ******
by spiekiel
Summary
     They break apart long enough for Steve to say, "You got shot, by the
     way."
     (Danny is in Witness Protection, Steve is a teenage delinquent, and
     everyone does dumb shit in high school. But really it's a heck of a
     lot more complicated than that.)
Notes
     so totally un-beta'd
See the end of the work for more notes
 
Danny has gotten awful good at juggling juice boxes.  
 
He doesn’t view it as a particularly useful skill – not since Mattie decided he
was too old for Minute Maid and started chugging Red Bull like it was his job –
but it still helps sometimes.  Like now – when he’s sandwiched between Abby and
Katie in economy class during lunchtime, goldfish spilled in his lap and a
smear of grape jelly across his tee shirt, an hour to go until landing. 
 
“Danno,” says Katie.  She sounds tired – her voice carries the same lilt as her
drooping pigtails, weighted down by her big purple scrunchies and the events of
the past few weeks.  “Can I have an apple one?”
 
“Sure, monkey.”  Danny twists around the seat-back tray table to grab yet
another juice box out of his bag on the floor.  He pops the straw in and then
hands it to Katie, who grabs it eagerly before tucking back into her chair,
half of which is taken up by her favorite stuffed animal – a red triceratops,
worn around the edges by its five years in her company.  
 
There’s a weight against his arm on his other side, and when he looks down
Abby’s slumped against him, one hand bunched in his sleeve.  “Can I have
another sandwich?” she asks.  
 
She’s already put down the two that he packed for her with an appetite that
he’s growing to expect from her, and all he’s got left is a bag of orange
slices.  “You already ate yours, Abs,” he says.  “I’ve got oranges, though, if
you want them.”
 
Abby sticks out her lower lip in a childish pout.  “But Mattie’s not eating
his.  Can’t I have it?”
 
Danny retrieves the PB&J in question from the food bag while Abby watches in
anticipation.  He leans across her into the aisle.  “Mattie,” he says, trying
to get his brother’s attention.
 
Mattie doesn’t seem to hear, his ears covered by a set of sound-canceling
headphones.  Danny reaches out and taps his shoulder.  Mattie looks over at the
tap, but doesn’t bother removing his headphones.  Danny holds up the sandwich
in silent question, and Mattie shrugs.
 
Danny sits back in his own seat.  “Heaven knows how I’m supposed to interpret
that,” he says to himself, but hands the sandwich over to Abby anyways.
 
He looks back over at his younger brother – fourteen and wide-eyed, despite his
attempts to look anything but, his hair cut in a trendy swoop across his
forehead, hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie.  He looks
uncomfortable, but then, he doesn’t really ever look comfortable, and Danny
doesn’t know if, at this particular moment, Mattie’s tense shoulders should be
credited to the two US Marshals sitting next to him, or to something else
entirely.
 
The overhead pings.  “In just a minute, we’ll be coming through the cabin one
last time for any trash you wish to discard,” comes the flight attendants. 
“Anything you don’t intend to take with you once we land in Albuquerque should
be given to the flight attendants now.”
 
Danny busies himself with collecting the cumulated trash from Abby and Katie’s
lunch rampage, and tries not to think to hard about – 
 
Albuquerque, New Mexico.
 
* * *
 
Danny’s month starts off like this -  
 
“Danny,” someone’s saying urgently.  “Danny, get up.”
 
He blinks the final dregs of sleep blearily from his eyes to see – what else? –
his dad standing over him, shaking his shoulder, a sawed-off shotgun in one
hand.  
 
It’s dark, the only light in Danny’s small bedroom coming from the glow of his
alarm clock and the scant few rays of moonlight managing to sneak past the
closed blinds.  He can barely make out his father’s face, but he looks scared,
grab-the-Molotov-cocktails scared.  The expression makes Danny’s skin crawl,
sets his stomach roiling.
 
“Get Mattie and your sisters up to the attic,” his father instructs
frantically.  “Don’t make a sound, and don’t come down until I say so.  Pull
the stairs up, don’t put them down for anybody but me.”
 
Danny lies motionless, his groggy brain straining to process the situation. 
His father gives him a jolting shake, half-yanking him up out of the bed.
 
“Go, Danny, now,” he urges.  Danny scrambles out of bed, gingerly, like he’s
unsure of where to place his feet.  “Now,” his dad snaps again.
 
Danny hurries out the door.  His heart has finally woken up, and it’s pounding
a mile a minute under his grey tee shirt, even as he hears his father rush back
downstairs, shotgun in hand.  
 
He shoves into Mattie’s room without really using the doorknob.  His brother
shocks awake at the loud noise, sitting up with his too-long hair sticking out
in every direction.  
 
“Danny?” he slurs.  “What the hell, what – “
 
“Mattie,” says Danny, and something in his voice, or in the half-wild
expression he knows he must be wearing, makes Mattie close his mouth.  “Take
Abby, get up to the attic.  Something’s happening.”
 
Danny herds Mattie out into the dark hallway, his eyes fear-blown and trying to
focus on everything at once.  At the other end of the hall, Abby starts to inch
tentatively out of her room, tiny in her Hello Kitty pajamas.
 
Danny takes off running for the far side of the house, where Katie’s room is
located – in the other direction from the attic.  Behind him, he hears Mattie
pull the stairs to the attic down, rushing Abby up them even as she starts to
sniffle.
 
Downstairs, there’s a commotion, a loud crashing.  Men’s voices shout harshly
through the floor, and Danny can barely make out his father’s in the mêlée,
fighting to be heard against deeper baritones.  
 
Not wanting to scare his sister, Danny tries to open the pink-painted door to
her room as quietly as possible.  She wakes up anyways – or maybe she was
already awake, woken by his passage down the hallway.
 
Katie’s sitting up in bed, clutching her triceratops, her eyes watery. 
“Danno,” she says, her lip quivering, and Danny wants to hug her and tell her
everything’s okay, because she’s his baby sister, six years old and sweeter
than anything.
 
“Come on, monkey,” he lifts her out of bed.  She burrows her face into his
shoulder, and he feels his shirt dampen.
 
He manages to cut his foot open on a Barbie doll, but then he’s jogging back
down the hall and Katie’s clinging to him, and the volume of voices from
downstairs is rising dangerously.  Danny thinks he hears his mother, her
cadence of voice different from the others but still distressed.
 
“Danno,” Katie whines against him.
 
“Shh, monkey, you’ve got to be quiet, okay?”
 
He hurries up the left-open steps to the attic.  In the small, dark space he
spots Abby and Mattie’s pale white faces, and hurries over to hand Katie off to
his brother.  Mattie’s shivering in the cool air, his shorts barely sufficient
insulation.
 
Danny strains to pull the stairs back up, closing them in.  He leaves the rope
usually used to access the attic from downstairs stuck in between the floor and
the door, disallowing entry from below.
 
For a moment it’s deathly quiet, Katie and Abby’s quiet crying the only sound
in the room.  Danny doesn’t know if the yelling has stopped, or if the attic
door has served to cut them off from the noise.
 
Two floors down, a gunshot.  Danny flinches violently, and a woman screams,
loud enough to hurt his ears.
 
Katie starts crying more loudly, her face buried in her triceratops, sandwiched
in between Mattie and Abby, curled in the corner.
 
There’s movement below them, Danny thinks – someone in the upstairs hallway,
maybe.  He looks back to his siblings, signaling them with a finger to his
lips. Slowly, Mattie presses a hand gently over Katie’s mouth, muffling her
sobbing.  
 
Danny looks around him for something to use to defend them, if it comes to
that, but doesn’t dare move from his spot right above the folded stairs, for
fear that the floor will creak under his feet.
 
He starts to stretch out, eyes on a heavy brass clock, broken and discarded up
here with their other unused heirlooms.
 
Before he can reach it, there’s another gunshot, this time from right under
them.  
 
The boom of it makes Danny’s eardrums pop.  He lurches forward the last couple
of inches and closes his hand around the clock, even as he has the sinking
thought that the intruders, whoever they are, could start shooting through the
floor, if they knew they were up here – 
 
“Danny,” his dad’s voice calls.  “It’s safe, now, Danny, you can come down.”
 
Danny looks over at Mattie, Katie, and Abby, at their frightened faces and
shaking hands.  Even Mattie’s face is tear-streaked, shining in the limited
light.
 
“Mattie,” he says quietly, so that they can hear him but their father can’t. 
“Wait up here until the police get here, okay?”
 
Abby hugs around Katie, squishing them both into Mattie’s side.  “Dad won’t
call the police,” Mattie says, mirroring Danny’s lowered voice.  
 
“No,” Danny agrees.  “Probably not.  But the neighbors will have heard.”
 
* * *
 
The interior of the US Marshals’ office in Newark is painted beige, which Danny
knows was a valiant attempt on the part of the administration to make it feel
more homey.  He almost wishes they’d stuck to grey though, wishes they’d just
given up and admitted to being a government building like any other, slave to
the day-in and day-out of the bureaucracy.
 
“I can’t believe this,” says Mattie, scowling.  
 
Danny gives him his best glare across the ovular conference table.  This is
just what he needs right now – Mattie’s teenage moodiness rearing its ugly head
where it’s not wanted, while Katie and Abby sit, obviously upset even though
the Marshal across from them is trying to explain everything gently.
 
Marshal Kalakaua looks unsure of what to say to placate Mattie.  She tucks a
strand of red hair behind her ear, and Danny gets the impression that she
doesn’t deal with kids very often.
 
“Mattie,” Danny tries, like a warning.  He wants to say something to contradict
him, something reassuring, like – we’ll be fine, don’t whine about it, it’ll be
nice for a change of pace.  Every option that runs through his head sounds
hollow, insincere, and if he can’t believe any of it himself how can he
convince Mattie to?
 
“You’ll – ah – be staying in a federal safe house just outside the city
limits,” Kalakaua continues, as if trying to get the attention of the meeting
back on track.  “It’s a nice place.  You’ll each have your own room, and
there’s a pool out back.”
 
Abby gasps, a quiet, ill-contained sound.  Danny pulls an excited face down at
her, and she giggles – she’s always liked to swim, a fixation that Danny never
really understood, himself.
 
“You’ll go to school at the local public school,” Kalakaua says, “ten minutes
away in Albuquerque.  You’ll all have to try to keep a low profile, so no
running for the student government, and we’ll have to be careful about school
sports.”
 
Danny’s heart falls a little, but he doesn’t let it show on his face.  He plays
baseball – has played baseball since he was barely four feet tall and fostered
an intense loyalty to his little league team – and he would’ve liked to
continue, if only because it provides a sort of escape for him.  And that
would’ve been valuable – and escape from this messed-up life he’s living now.
 
“When will mommy come?” 
 
Danny looks down at Katie, her chair pushed so close to his that the tail of
her triceratops is brushing his arm.  She hasn’t let go of the damned thing
since that night two weeks ago, when everything really started going to shit.
 
“She’ll be joining you in six months,” Kalakaua answers, “just as soon as she’s
done testifying.  We’ll try and schedule weekly video chats as well, if we
can.”
 
Danny tries to look grateful, if only for utter lack of his siblings’ expressed
gratitude.  It’s true that they’re tearing up their lives to go into witness
protection, and it’s true that these people are just doing their job, helping
them, but they’re being cautious about it, making sure there aren’t too many
jarring surprises.
 
Still, the whole thing is a little much to manage, even for Danny.
 
“Your flight leaves tomorrow at ten,” says Marshal Kalakaua.  “Your protective
detail will take you to the airport, where myself and my partner, Marshal
Kelly, will meet you.  We’ll be serving as your legal guardians for the next
six months, until your mother gets situated in Albuquerque, so we’ll be seeing
quite a lot of each-other, I imagine.”
 
She seems nice, Danny thinks.  Six months – it’ll seem like nothing.
 
* * *
 
Danny’s month ends like this – 
 
It turns out to be a nice house, the one they’re staying in, but it’s pueblo
style and it’s like full-on desert life, wham-bam-in-your-face, and none of
them have been given any time to acclimatize.  
 
They’ve been wheels-down in Albuquerque for going on five hours, and despite
the time difference, Mattie and the girls have already turned in for the night,
exhausted by the trip out.  Danny sits up in the kitchen, his brain still
scrambling to keep up, because it’s all happening too fast.
 
He’s past tired, more exhausted than he can ever remember being before in his
seventeen short years of life, except maybe during finals freshman year, when
he put off studying and had to pull all-nighters for a solid week.  The
freshly-made bed in the smallest room upstairs – which he’d drawn by default –
is calling to him, but he’s got this feeling in his gut like the second he goes
to sleep, something bad will happen – the mobsters gunning for his father will
show up, Mattie will decide that it’s a good idea to sneak out in a strange
city, Katie will wake up after a bad dream and forget where she is.
 
Logically, he knows that Marshal Kelly is keeping watch a few feet away, seated
vigilantly in the next room just in case someone managed to follow them all the
way here from New Jersey.  He’s been on edge for the past few weeks, though,
and he hasn’t known either of the marshals long enough to feel comfortable
trusting them with the safety of his family.
 
Danny takes a long drink from his glass of water and wishes he’d brought some
shorts to sleep in – it’s hot here, hotter than he expected coming from twenty-
degree November weather on the east coast.
 
There’s a noise from the hall.  Danny looks up just as Marshal Kalakaua appears
in the doorway, looking terribly out of her element in a pair of USMS
sweatpants and a white undershirt, her hair pulled back from her face.  
 
“You should get some sleep,” she tells him.  “You’re going to need your rest
this week.”
 
Danny nods, takes another gulp of water.  “I will in a minute,” he says, and
his lips twitch but he doesn’t really have it in him to smile.
 
Kalakaua crosses her arms over her chest, perhaps feeling just as out of place
as she appears, and fixes him with a knowing look.  “You’re safe here, Daniel,”
she says.  “We’re federal Marshals – anything happens, we’ll deal with it.”
 
Danny looks at her wearily.  “With all due respect, Marshal Kalakaua,” he says,
“I hope you’ll forgive me when I say that I don’t trust you quite yet.”
 
Kalakaua smiles.  “I don’t blame you,” she replies softly.  “You’ve been
through a lot of shit lately.  I wouldn’t trust me either.”
 
Danny isn’t really sure what to say to that, so he settles for finishing off
his water, setting the empty glass beside the sink with the left-over dishes
from dinner.
 
“But you’re going to have to sleep eventually,” Kalakaua continues.  “And we
haven’t given you any reason not to trust us yet, have we?”
 
She understands how he thinks, apparently.  Danny looks at her once more, like
if she were bluffing she’d have a tell.  
 
“Okay,” he concedes.  He’ll probably lie awake and stare at the ceiling until
morning, but that kind of counts as rest as well, in his book.  “I’ll see you
in the morning, Marshal Kalakaua.”
 
He starts to move past her out of the kitchen, but she stops him with a hand on
his shoulder.  “Call me Aunt Jill, Daniel,” she says.  “Even at the house, so
you get used to it.”
 
“Alright,” Danny says.  “Goodnight, then, Aunt Jill.”
 
* * * 
 
When Danny wakes up at four the next morning, the rest of the house is still
asleep.  Even Marshal Kelly has turned in for the night, apparently satisfied
that the coast was clear, that none of them were in imminent danger.  
 
Danny pours himself a cup of orange juice and takes note of the fully-stocked
fridge, the shelves probably stacked by government Marshals of some sort.
 
His stomach is growling, body not yet used to the four hour time shift, and
he’s just sitting down with a breakfast burrito when he hears a strange noise
at the front door, like something’s scratching at the other side.
 
Danny sets down his burrito slowly and rises from the kitchen table.  He’s
still groggy, but he feels suddenly alert, like the threat of an intruder is
helping him focus through the haze of it all, the haze of the two hours of
sleep he caught last night and the countless others spend squinting out his
bedroom window at the street, the desert landscape so very alien to him.  
 
He creeps towards the door, something in the back of his mind screaming that he
should wake Kalakaua and Kelly.  Instead he just picks up what looks like a
very heavy vase from the mantle piece and stalks up to the window, drawing the
curtain back to peer outside.
 
There’s a lanky figure crouched on the front doorstep, working at the lock with
what looks like a bobby pin.  He’s a teenager – he can’t be any older than
Danny himself, with his face hidden by a shaggy head of curls, wearing what
appears to be a pair of swim trunks.  He doesn’t look dangerous at all.
 
Danny steps over, unlocks the door, and yanks it open in one swift movement. 
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
 
The guy looks up.  “Oh,” he says, “sorry.”
 
Danny tilts his head and fixes the guy with a look.  “Sorry? You’re trying to
break into my house, buddy – sorry isn’t going to cut it.”
 
The guy straightens – and whoa, okay, he’s definitely a lot taller than Danny. 
He’s pretty tanned, too – his entire front’s exposed by the complete lack of a
shirt, not that he really has any need for one, with those abs.
 
“I didn’t think anyone lived here,” he says, defensively.  “I’ve been coming
here for a while, to use the pool – ”
 
“You’re breaking into my house to use the pool?” Danny asks incredulously. 
“Really? What, there are no public pools in this city?”
 
“None that are open at four in the morning,” the guy shoots back, his eyebrows
drawn in a sharp v, like he’s offended.  “Look, you don’t have to hit me with a
vase, I’ll go – again, I’m sorry – ”
 
“Hold up, buddy,” says Danny, brandishing the vase.  “Give me one good reason I
shouldn’t call the cops on you, huh? That was breaking and entering, what you
were just doing with that little hairpin.”
 
The guy smiles lopsidedly.  “I’m a minor,” he supplies.  “I’d be out in time
for school today.  It’s not worth the trouble.”
 
Danny lets the hand holding the vase fall to his side, the glass-blown object
bouncing against his leg.  “You must be some kind of crazy person, huh?” he
asks, the fight not yet gone from his voice.
 
“Well,” the guy says, slightly flustered, “I just wanted to go for a swim, and
I haven’t got a pool at my place, so – I mean, I live pretty close to here, and
there’s never been anybody here when I’ve come before, there’re no cars out
front – “
 
“Yeah, because they’re in the garage, doofus,” Danny snaps.  “You haven’t got
much of a brain on you, do you?”
 
“Hey,” the guy says, “that’s a little uncalled for – ”
 
“Daniel?” says a voice from beside him.  “Who’s this?”
 
Danny turns, and there’s Marshal Kelly, still in his slacks and button-down
from yesterday, rumpled enough that Danny knows he actually went to bed, at
least for a couple of hours.  
 
“Uh, Uncle Dave,” he says.  “This is just our friendly neighborhood juvenile
delinquent, whose name I have yet to learn – “
 
The guy steps forward, offering his hand to Kelly.  “Steve McGarrett, sir,” he
says.  He doesn’t offer any explanation, like it’s perfectly normal for random
strangers to show up on people’s doorsteps half-naked when the sun has still
not risen over the horizon, when the entire neighborhood is silent, inactive.
 
Kelly shakes his hand tentatively.  “David Williams,” he says, supplying the
alias last name that their entire hodgepodge group will be using.  “Can I ask
what business you have with Danny here?”
 
“Business?” Danny says.  “No business, no – he was just trying to pick the lock
on the front door is all, to use our pool, of all things – “
 
“I apologized already, sir,” says Steve, directly to Kelly.  “I was under the
impression that this house was vacant, is all.”
 
Marshal Kelly looks Steve up and down warily, his muscles tense, but seems to
come to the same conclusion Danny did – adolescent dingbat in a pair of swim
trunks equals slim chance of an actual threat.  
 
“I’m sure we can forget the incident, Mister McGarrett,” says Kelly, but
something in his smile says you’re going on my watch list.  “From now on, if
you want to use our pool, just knock – and only during sane hours, okay?”
 
Steve nods, and he might be a bit sheepish, but Danny can’t tell because he’s
busy being appalled by how terrible his hair is, all ratty and uncombed, down
around his ears.  
 
“I appreciate it, Mister Williams,” says Steve.  “I won’t bother you again. 
And, uh, welcome to the neighborhood.”
 
He smiles again, that goofy lopsided grin that seems a smidge too big for his
face, and starts off down the road, barefoot in his dry swim trunks.  
 
* * *
 
“I know you’re nervous, but you’re gonna be fine, monkey.”
 
Katie’s arms are in a vice-like grip around his neck, anchoring him to the
sidewalk outside Albuquerque Public School.  He’s not optimistic for either of
them making the first bell, judging by the two hours it took to get her to
release the death-grip on her triceratops this morning.
 
“Can you come with me, Danno?” she asks.
 
He rubs a hand over her back soothingly, and wants to say yes, because she’s in
kindergarten and how hard must this be – being relocated after not even a full
year in school?  
 
“I can’t, monkey, I’ve gotta go to my class,” he answers.  “But you’re gonna
have so much fun, okay? And I’ll be here to pick you up at the end of the day.”
 
He detaches her slowly from his neck and holds her out at arm’s length, smiling
encouragingly even as he spots tears staining her cheeks.  “It’s all gonna be
fine, Katie, you’ll see.  You’ll see Abby at lunch, okay? And if you need
anything, if you get scared, you can always call Aunt Jill, she’ll come right
over.”
 
Katie nods slowly, her fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the straps of her
purple backpack.  Danny ruffles her hair, and she wrinkles her nose.  
 
“I’ll be fine, Danno,” she says, like she’s the one who’s been trying to
reassure her this whole time.
 
Danny’s grin widens, genuine.  “I’ll see you at the end of the day, monkey.”
 
He gives her head one last pat, and she skips off the sidewalk towards the
school doors, where the school administrator is waiting just inside the
doorway, already talking to Abby.  
 
Danny straightens out of his crouch, squares his shoulders, and walks of
towards the high school, Mattie – who’s been standing behind him this whole
time – falling into step next to him.
 
“We’re gonna be late,” Mattie says, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  His
backpack’s too small to fit all his books, but Danny didn’t really feel like
arguing with him this morning, not when there were a million other things to
do.
 
“I know,” Danny says.  “I’m sure they won’t mind.”
 
They don’t mind – the high school administrator takes Mattie off one way after
pointing Danny in the direction of his first class, armed only with a schedule
and a room number.  
 
He finds the room – room number sixty-three, apparently home to his advanced
American history class – and opens the door cautiously, poking his head inside.
 
 
The perky young teacher at the front of the class turns at the sound of the
door opening, trailing off mid-sentence with her finger pointed at the
whiteboard.  She smiles at Danny as he slips inside, moving her hands to smooth
her cardigan over her stomach.
 
“You must be Danny Williams,” she says.  “Come on in, have a seat.  We were
just discussing the Articles of Confederation.”
 
Danny shuffles towards the back of the class, where the empty seats always seem
to be, receiving a couple muttered greetings from several of his more inspired
classmates – and who’s there in the back corner but his friendly neighborhood
juvenile delinquent himself.
 
Steve McGarrett.  
 
“Danny,” says Steve, smiling when he sees him.  The teacher starts prattling on
again about the weaknesses of the Articles, and Danny slips into the sole empty
desk in the entire back row, which just so happens to be next to this maniac –
and isn’t that just Danny’s luck.  “Good to see you again, brah.”
 
* * *
 
It becomes apparent by lunchtime that the rest of the school does not share
Danny’s well-founded opinion that Steve is a dingbat.  
 
That is, except for Steve’s friend Catherine Rollins, who seems to be able to
call Steve on his shit pretty well, and has no qualms about doing it.
 
“I told you three months ago when you started breaking into that place that
people lived there, Steve,” she says across the lunch table.  “If the house was
for sale there would’ve been signs, real estate Marshals going in and out, the
works.”
 
“The housing market isn’t exactly booming, Cath, if you haven’t noticed,” Steve
retorts.  “Just because there was no activity doesn’t mean the place wasn’t up
for grabs, here.”
 
Danny’s somehow managed to end up sitting between Steve and a little
bespectacled guy called Max Bergman – don’t ask him how, but Steve has sort of
become his impromptu guide to the high school, at least for the day.  He’s
already put down his pulled pork and beans, but is taking his time on his fruit
cup, because it is his house they’re arguing about, kind of, and he doesn’t
want to be asked to explain its status.  
 
“Danny,” says Catherine, despite Danny’s mouthful of fruit, “did your aunt and
uncle buy the house recently, or have they had it for a while?”
 
Danny swallows.  “They’ve had it for a while, I think,” he answers, carefully. 
“They’ve just been out of town, visiting family.”
 
Catherine turns to Steve, a smug smirk on her lips.  “See, Steve?” she says. 
“You’re luck you haven’t been arrested, what with how you’ve been breaking in
there five days a week.”
 
Steve sighs and leans back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. 
Danny nearly gets a faceful of elbow, but he manages to lean out of the way,
over into Max’s personal space – Max doesn’t say anything, which seems to be
something of a trend with him.  
 
“What’s done is done, Cath,” says Steve.  “Obviously I’ll stop now, since there
are people living there – ”
 
“Come on, it’s not like you’re not just going to find another empty house with
a pool,” Catherine interrupts, sharing an exasperated look with the girl
sitting next to her, Lori Weston.  “None of us want to bail you out of juvy
again.”
 
Danny is, after eight hours of knowing Steve, unsurprised by this new tidbit of
information, but he does have another question, actually.  He leans over
towards Steve – Steve sort of cants his head sideways, to listen – 
 
“How did you get past the alarm system?” Danny asks quietly.  “You didn’t have
the key code, I take it.”
 
Steve grins a little half-smile that pulls up one side of his mouth.  “Cut the
yellow wire,” he says, conspiratorially.  “Don’t worry, though, I put it back
together before I left, every time – if you cut it on an angle, you can twist
the copper strands back together so they work the same.”
 
Danny nods, and stashes the information away to give to the marshals later. 
“You didn’t electrocute yourself? What with the pool water, and all.”
 
“I did the first time,” Steve admits, perhaps a little ashamedly.  “But after
that, I brought latex gloves.  Figured better safe than sorry, right?”
 
Catherine’s giving them an odd look from across the table, one with squinty
eyes and a side-tilted head, and Danny doesn’t really know what to make of it,
so he’s glad for the distraction when Jenna speaks.
 
“So, Danny,” she says, “where are you from?”
 
Danny’s mind goes New Jersey automatically, and he scrambles for a moment
before he manages to remember, “Virginia.  Just outside Richmond.”
 
“Wow, east coast,” Jenna says.  “What brings you all the way out here?”
 
“Me and my brother Mattie, and my little sisters are staying with our aunt and
uncle for a while, while mom and dad work out some stuff.”  
 
A small portion of that is true, Danny supposes, but he still feels like he’s
lying to these people, saying it, pulling some sort of long con – but it’s for
the protection of his family, and that’s what this all is, isn’t it – witness
protection.  
 
* * *
 
Danny falls into a sort of single-parent routine, and Marshals Kalakaua and
Kelly, though he can tell that they want to help, step aside and let him.  
 
His day starts at five thirty every morning, at which point he drags himself
out of bed to the screech of his alarm clock, takes a quick shower to wake up,
and works his way down stairs.  Then it’s time for Abby and Katie’s lunches –
ham and cheese on Tuesday and Thursday, PB&J on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,
with a juice box – grape for Abby and apple for Katie.  
 
Then Abby and Mattie wake up, and he sets to work scrambling eggs and pouring
cereal and telling Mattie that really, he’s old enough to make his own
breakfast, Danny shouldn’t be doing this for him.  But then he sets their
plates down and they tuck in and he knows he’ll do it again tomorrow, because
this is what their mom used to do for them, and Danny can’t break that routine.
 
Six thirty and it’s time to wake Katie, so he works his way upstairs and pads
into her room, wakes her up slowly because she’s not very good at mornings –
none of them are.  He sets out her school clothes for her, makes sure she
brushes her teeth, and comes back downstairs in time to help Abby with the
three pages of math homework she forgot to do the night before.
 
Then it’s seven o’clock and they’re out the door, piling into Kalakaua’s
minivan as the marshal herself staggers out the door with a cup of coffee, and
really, Danny always thought federal law enforcement Marshals were supposed to
be always-alert, ever-ready.  
 
They pile out at the bus stop ten minutes before the first bell, and Mattie
heads off to the high school while Danny escorts his sisters across the street,
carrying Katie with one arm while Abby has a grip on his other hand.  Abby will
run off to her friends and Danny will give Katie her daily before-school pep
talk, ruffling her hair because that’s what gets her to feel like a big girl,
like I can do this.
 
By the time that’s done he’s got two minutes, so he runs back across the street
and through the halls just in time to slip into his American history class, out
of breath and already tired, the whole day left ahead of him.  
 
“Cutting it a little close there, Danno, don’t you think?” 
 
Danny glares half-heartedly at Steve, and that’s something he’ll never
understand – how, in the midst of all this craziness, Steve has managed to
become a constant fixture in Danny’s life.  
 
“Look who’s talking, Steven,” Danny shoots back.
 
“I’m very punctual,” Steve argues.
 
“Your definition of punctual does not match normal people’s definition of
punctual,” Danny says.  “You know – punctual, on time, in places you’re
supposed to be, when you’re supposed to be there.”
 
Steve smiles.  “I’m always here for the important stuff, aren’t I?”
 
Then the bell rings, and roll is called, and Danny’s off to physics, English,
lunch, math, Spanish, phys ed where he can keep up with Steve, usually, and
then the bell rings again, and – 
 
Steve has gotten in the habit of walking with him to collect Katie and Abby,
and most of the time he doesn’t really mind it, except when he’s had a bad day
and has a feeling that Steve will only make it worse, in which case the shaggy-
haired maniac notices pretty quickly and runs off to do something else.  
 
So Abby will run out the front doors and tell Steve all about her day, and
Katie will come out slower behind her and hug Danny around the neck for a solid
three minutes, because she’s still not used to this – to having just Danny, to
losing him for eight hours a day.  
 
Danny will herd them all into the minivan, Steve will head off walking who-
knows-where.  Marshal Kelly will give Danny this look over the center console,
and say something along the lines of, “You shouldn’t be getting so close to
some guy that was trying to break into our house two weeks ago.”
 
“I’m not,” Danny will answer.  “I just don’t know a whole lot of people, is
all.”
 
They get home, and Mattie disappears into his room because he’s becoming more
of a teenager with every passing day, brooding and sulking and too-cool-to-
talk-to-you-once-you’ve-given-me-food.  Danny sits at the kitchen table with
Abby and Katie and somehow they work together to get both girls’ homework done
while having a snack – usually apple slices and Cheez-Its.  
 
Then Danny retrieves Katie’s triceratops from her room and sets her up watching
Nick Jr. while Abby tucks into the armchair she’s claimed as hers alone with
one of the Magic Treehouse books.  He tries to check on Mattie and only gets a
stoic volume-rise of some heavy metal in response, then slides into his room to
rush through his own homework in the half-hour before dinner.
 
Six o’clock and Kalakaua gets home with pizza or some other takeout, because
Danny doesn’t usually have time to cook, and apparently that’s something the
USMS doesn’t teach you.  Danny comes down to eat with the rest of them, making
sure Abby and Katie wash their hands even though he doesn’t bother with Mattie
anymore, a ruin of half-finished homework left on his bed.
 
They’re done dinner by seven, and Danny takes Katie up to bed, leaving Abby
with a half-hour warning because he knows she always adds an extra half-hour to
any bedtime he gives her.  By the time he convinces Katie that he’s not trying
to give her mint toothpaste, helps her brush her teeth with the berry-blast
flavor that she favors, and tucks her in, Abby’s onto a new Magic Treehouse
book.
 
He tries Mattie’s door again, but he’s barricaded himself back in after
emerging to be fed.  So Danny’s given fifteen minutes to scramble through some
Shakespeare, at which point Abby realizes that she’s supposed to be in bed, and
so decides to stall with a snack.  Only she’s forgotten where they keep the
juice boxes – Danny knows she’s being stubborn, refusing to get used to their
new house – so he runs down to get her one, then herds her up to bed.
 
Kalakaua or Kelly – both of whom have actual work to get done, having been
transferred to the Albuquerque office for the duration of their stay – will
come to check on him, and he’ll reassure them that everything’s going fine. 
They’ll disappear back into their rooms by eight thirty.
 
Danny will go collect some homework from upstairs and clear himself some space
at the kitchen table, to lie in wait for when Mattie inevitably emerges to get
himself a Hot Pocket.  He’ll ask his brother how his day was and get a terse
fine in response, which will serve as his cue to move upstairs.
 
The homework he’s willing to finish will be done by ten, when Danny will settle
in for a restless night, catching something like four hours of sleep at most
before he’s up the next morning, five thirty on the dot.
 
* * *
 
December finds Steve floating in Danny’s pool, impervious to the sun even as
Danny’s buried under three layers of Banana Boat, worried as to whether or not
dipping his feet over the edge into the water has rendered them vulnerable to
sunburn.  
 
Marshal Kelly has moved on from his distrust of Steve, and though he’s still
wary around him, careful in a way Danny has slowly been forgetting to be, he
does allow Steve to use their pool, if only out of fear for the safety of the
other houses on the block.
 
Danny watches him silently, swishing his feet in the water so that they make
tiny waves against the side wall, a gentle lapping sound to fill the silence. 
Steve doesn’t seem to mind Danny’s vigil, a small smile on his mouth like he’s
content simply to feel the water between his fingers.  
 
Danny feels this strange sense of camaraderie with Steve, like they’re both
stuck in lives they don’t want to be living, horribly out of place in
Albuquerque, New Mexico.  Like Steve’s meant to be doing something bigger than
this, making a difference, and maybe Danny wants to watch while he does – if he
doesn’t get himself killed in the process.  
 
“Where are you from?” he asks, apparently breaking Steve’s resting state.
 
He lets himself fall under the water before starting to tread, his hair now wet
and plastered to his face.  “Honolulu,” he answers, and okay – Danny wasn’t
expecting that.
 
“Hawaii?” he asks incredulously.  
 
“No, Kansas,” says Steve dryly.  “Yes, Hawaii.”
 
“Well,” says Danny, slightly confused because that seems like a hell of a step
down, “that explains why you like the water so much.  What are you doing in the
desert, though?”
 
Steve swims over to the side of the pool in one long stroke, propelling himself
forward through the water with muscles that Danny doesn’t think he himself
possesses.  He props himself up with his forearms on the edge of the pool and
kicks his legs out behind him.  Danny gets the sense that he’s stalling,
doesn’t want to answer the question.  
 
“My dad’s a cop,” Steve starts.  “My mom – uh.  She died.  Car crash.”
 
Danny doesn’t say anything, and, for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to offer
any sort of condolences – he’s always been terrible at it, anyways.
 
Steve doesn’t look like he expects Danny to say anything, either.  “My dad had
to deal with some things, I guess, so he sent me and my sister Mary to stay
with family on the mainland – different family, though.  Mary’s in Seattle,
with my grandmother, while I’m stuck here with my mom’s brother.”
 
Danny nods.  “That sucks,” he says, and Steve looks up at him sharply.  “Being
separated from your sister, I mean,” Danny elaborates.  “I don’t know what we
would’ve done if we’d been split up.”
 
“It’s fine,” Steve says, but his face is stony, closed off like Danny’s never
seen it.  He has only known Steve a short time, though, even if it feels like
he’s spent years keeping the delinquent out of trouble.  “We get by.”
 
Danny moves his feet in one more circle through the pool water before pushing
himself to his feet.  “I know,” he says.  “Sometimes just getting by isn’t
enough, though, Steve.”
 
* * *
 
The nightmares don’t start until Danny starts getting more than four hours of
sleep a night, which really sucks because Danny was looking forward to being
well-rested, for the first time in a while.  
 
It’s always after the attic.  
 
Danny’s coming down the stairs slowly, every muscle in his body spent and
quivering, a cold sweat drying on his body even though he’s barely done any
physical exercise tonight.  
 
He steps down onto the hall rug, and something squelches between his toes, warm
and sticky.  He looks down, and the floor is stained crimson under his feet.
 
There’s a body on the floor, one side of the head blown off, brain matter
sprayed perpendicular to the torso.  Nausea curls in Danny’s stomach, but he
fights it down, biting the inside of his cheek.  
 
The stairs behind him start retracting into the ceiling, and Danny catches a
glimpse of Mattie’s hand before the door to the attic is sealed off, the rope
to pull the stairs down from this side pinned up and inaccessible.
 
“What’re they doing?”
 
Danny turns, and there’s his father, still holding the sawed-off shotgun, his
face splattered with blood, shirt torn in one spot.  “They’re safe,” his father
says.  “They can come down now, it’s safe.”
 
Danny stares at him openly.  “There’s a dead fucking body on the floor, dad,”
he says, furiously.  “They’re just kids, they don’t need to see that.”  He’s
just a kid too, maybe – but it’s too late, here he is.  He fights back another
bout of nausea.
 
His father glares at him, a sort of empty anger, and Danny wishes he would put
the gun down.  “I think I’m the one who gets to decide that, Daniel,” he
snarls.  “I’m their father – ”
 
“Yeah, well, you’re a pretty shitty one,” Danny says viciously.  “For
Chrissakes, there are fucking mobsters in our house, dad, what the fuck are you
into – ”
 
His father surges across the hall, backing Danny up against the wall.  “I’m
trying to be a good father!” he bellows.  “I’m trying to provide for my family,
Danno!”
 
Danny shoves him away.  He staggers back, leaving footprints in the bloody
rug.  “Our house is a goddamn crime scene, dad!” he shouts.  “You think this is
good for the kids, huh? For Abby? For Katie? For Mattie?”
 
Danny’s mother comes rushing up the stairs, her cheeks tearstained.  There are
sirens in the distance, quiet but getting louder.  
 
“The police are on their way,” Danny’s mother says, her voice quiet.  “We
should get our stories straight now, while we have time.”
 
Danny looks incredulously between the two of them, like their faces will offer
some sort of explanations for everything – his mother, her hands trembling,
still in her dressing gown, blood on the toes of her slippers, and his father,
an illegal weapon clutched in both hands like it’s a lifeline, his eyes blown,
crazed.
 
“No,” Danny says, with a strength of voice that surprises him.  “No stories. 
Tell the cops the truth.  Now’s your chance to get out – testify about what
you’ve been doing for the mob, dad – we can all get out.”
 
“Danny – ” his dad starts to say, but then there’s a loud knocking at the door.
 
Newark PD, open up! is the shout, and Danny’s rushing downstairs ahead of his
mom because he’s got a family of idiots, apparently, who don’t like to comply
with the legal authorities – 
 
It’s like walking into a bloodbath downstairs, guts splattering the walls and
two bodies on the floor, faceless men who nevertheless don’t fail to haunt
Danny – he doubles over and vomits into his mother’s potted plant, heaving
until the police knock again, threatening to enter – 
 
Danny somehow manages to stagger over and open the door, with his father
yelling down the stairs at him, “Don’t you dare open that door, Daniel –
Danny!” – and he’s momentarily blinded by the roving lights – 
 
He blinks lethargically, gasping – 
 
– and sits up in bed, one side held down by the twisted, sweaty sheets.  He’s
off balance, but manages to catch himself on the headboard, his fingers jammed
between the bed and the wall.  
 
Nightmare perhaps isn’t the best word to use.  Memory might be better.
 
* * *
 
There’s a day right before Christmas break where Danny and Catherine are the
first to the lunch table.  It’s a rare occurrence for anyone to beat Steve
there, what with his never-ending stomach, constant state of hunger, and sneaky
way of bypassing the entire lunch line.  
 
It starts off with small talk – Catherine asks him if he saw the game, he says
no, even though he does like the idea of the game being baseball, instead of
football.  He asks her what she’s doing over break, she says she’s visiting her
grandparents in Wisconsin, not looking forward to the cold weather, et cetera.
 
 
When it’s her turn to contribute to the furtherance of the conversation,
Catherine drops the small talk completely.
 
“I’ve never seen Steve attach himself to anyone as quickly as he did to you,”
she says, without so much as batting an eye.
 
“If trying to break into my house on my first day in the city counts as
attachment, then yeah – ” 
 
Catherine swats at him, not really trying to hit him.  “I’m serious, Danny. 
Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean.”  Except, really – he has no
idea what she means, does he?  
 
“He’s usually much more closed off,” Catherine continues.  Danny snorts in
disbelief.  “Really,” Catherine says.  “He talks to people, but he doesn’t
really say anything, usually.  At least, not what he means.
 
“You seem closed off, still, though,” Catherine isn’t so much looking at him as
through him, Danny feels, and it’s cliché, sure, but that’s what it feels
like.  “Like, you talk a mile a minute, but you won’t let anyone find out too
much about you.”
 
She’s spot on.  Danny’s not comfortable having this conversation in a cafeteria
– it’s a little too personal to be sharing with the group of bottle blonde
cheerleaders sitting at the next table over.
 
Catherine doesn’t seem to share Danny’s reservations about their potential
audience.  “I just want you both to be careful, Danny.  Steve’s a close friend
of mine, and you’re starting to become one as well.  I don’t want to see either
of you get hurt.”
 
Danny doesn’t realize that he’s just gotten the break-his-heart-and-I-break-
your-neck talk until a week later, two days before Christmas, when Steve shows
up on his doorstep holding a pineapple with a bow on it, wearing a thousand-
watt smile and a pair of swim trunks with holly leaves printed on them.
 
* * *
 
This, unsurprisingly, is not the first year Danny has had to play Santa.  He
does have some help this time, though – Kalakaua offers invaluable insight into
the minds of little girls, having a couple of nieces herself, and Kelly, having
once been a moody teenage boy himself, helps Danny choose things for Mattie
that he’ll like but won’t find too offensive or overbearing.
 
“This stupid hat,” Danny says.  “It’s a baseball cap, but the brim is flat. 
Dumbest looking thing I’ve seen in my life, but apparently the kids love them.”
 
“Danno, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” says Steve lowly, like he’s telling a
secret, “but we are kids.”  
 
They’re holed up in Steve’s basement watching Magnum PI reruns, slumped across
Steve’s uncle’s overstuffed La-Z-Boy beanbag, which is gigantic enough to fit
both of them.  Danny has found himself with an inordinate amount of free time
during winter break, and with his siblings off doing their own things most of
the time, both marshals in tow, he’s taken to spending it with Steve, and
sometimes their other friends as well – Catherine or Jenna or Max or Gabrielle
Asano, who Danny had somehow managed to avoid meeting for several weeks.
 
“You know what I mean,” says Danny, raising his voice to talk over Magnum PI
even though he doesn’t need to.  “Not us kids, those stupid punk kids with the
floppy haircuts and those shoes with wheels in them.  Those kids.”
 
“Those kids?” Steve teases.  “You mean the majority-of-kids-in-America kids?”
 
Danny huffs.  “It’s stupid to make a baseball cap flat, is all I’m saying.  And
some of the toys little girls are playing with today,” he makes an exasperated
little sound, “those dolls are like dominatrix Barbie, I swear.  If Abby grows
up to be some sort of underwear model – ”
 
“They make a lot of money,” Steve interjects.
 
Danny shoots him a look.  “What?”
 
“Underwear models,” Steve explains.  “They make a lot of money.  Especially
Victoria’s Secret models, you know.  There used to be a lot of photo shoots on
the south shore, I knew some of the girls – ”
 
“Wait, wait, wait,” Danny says, making a slow-down motion with his hands.  “You
knew Victoria’s Secret models?”  
 
Steve gives him a blank look.  “Yeah,” he says, in a what’s-the-big-deal tone
of voice, “a couple.”
 
Danny sits back to process that information, and Magnum pulls himself up out of
the ocean, moving stealthily along the beach as if whoever’s watching won’t
have just seen him emerge three seconds ago.
 
“This reminds me a lot of home,” Steve says without warning.  
 
Danny smiles a little.  “You get shot at a lot at home?” he asks, and it’s a
real question, because he wouldn’t put it past Steve.
 
Steve’s mouth curls up in a little grin, but he doesn’t answer, just changes
the channel two-three-four past Star Wars – who goes past Star Wars, really –
until he’s settled on something that’s apparently sufficient.  Danny looks
over, and what is it but Boardwalk Empire, and – 
 
“Not this,” he instructs.  “This reminds me of home.”
 
Steve squints at him sideways.  “I thought you were from Virginia.”
 
Danny knows he should be panicking at the slip-up, but he isn’t – because, if
Steve knew, would it really be that terrible? Still, he fumbles for a lame
excuse, and comes up with, “Yeah.  East coast, you know.”
 
Steve doesn’t quite looks like he believes him, but he doesn’t press.  “Okay,”
he says, and continues flipping, “I guess we’ll just have to find something set
in the Midwest, then.”  
 
“Or Europe,” Danny supplies.  “Or Asia – the world is a big place, Steven. 
Plus, you know, science fiction…”
 
* * *
 
Every fiber of Danny's being protests his five thirty a.m. wake up routine
during the week school starts back up again.  In only two weeks he's gotten
accustomed to rolling out of bed a few minutes after eight, still somehow the
first one awake in the house, even though Kelly and Kalakaua supposedly still
have work.
 
By Wednesday afternoon, Danny's beat, having slept something like five hours
total over the last couple of nights, kept up by homework and the occasional
nightmare - which have become increasingly worrying, especially after he'd
woken up one night  to find Kalakaua watching him warily from the door.  
 
The back of his neck is sunburnt, because he can't quite wrap his head around
having to wear sunscreen in January, and he has a pounding headache, not helped
at all by the fact that he's wearing non-UV-protectant sunglasses, since Steve
stole his good pair off his dresser.
 
He's working on loading everyone into Kelly' minivan, and Steve is mysteriously
absent - Danny hasn't seen him since phys ed fifteen minutes ago, and he's not
saying he's worried, but anyone who knows Steve knows that there's a lot that
Steve can get up to in fifteen minutes when he's left unsupervised.  
 
Danny's strapping Katie into her booster seat, trying to work around a bag of
goldfish, all of which seem to have the single-minded goal of swimming into
Katie's mouth, with no heed to where or where not Danny's face might be.  
 
Abby and Mattie are arguing over the headrest of Abby's seat, something about
whether or not Abby is entitled to time playing on Mattie's X-Box, which he'd
been sent by their mother for Christmas.  Danny is too tired to do anything
more than shush them halfheartedly, even once he has successfully pinned Katie
down long enough to fasten her seat belt.
 
He extracts himself from the back seat, stumbling out onto the school drive,
and some idiot blasts past him in a silver Camaro.  Danny swears to God the
dumbass gets close enough that his knuckles skim his paintjob - shame it wasn't
his nails so he could scratch it to hell.  
 
The mistreated Camaro screeches up to the curb in front of Kelly' minivan;
Danny's just about to head up there and give that idiot a piece of his mind
when the driver's side door swings open, and who else but Steve clambers out,
too-long curly hair all around his stupid head.  
 
He smiles a thousand-watt smile at Danny, proud of himself for some reason. 
Danny can't have that, not when his fingers are still tingling from their brush
with death.  "Are you crazy?" he says.  "You nearly ran me over, Steve, Jesus
Christ - "
 
Steve's waving his hands, like that could ever appease Danny.  "You were like a
foot away, Danno, you were fine, I would never run you over - "
 
"I was not fine, Steve, I came within an inch of my life just now - which, why
do you even have a Camaro, anyways.  You don't own a Camaro.  Did you steal a
car, Steven? Did you steal a very expensive car?"
 
Kelly is watching them with a faint look of bemusement from the driver's seat
of the minivan.  He rolls down the window, the door to the back seat already
closed.  "You coming with us, Danny?" he asks.  "The argument in the back seat
is about to go nuclear."  
 
"Yeah, just a minute," Danny says, at the same time that Steve takes it upon
himself to butt in, "Nah, Mister Williams, I'll give him a ride back to the
house."
 
Kelly looks back and forth from Danny to Steve, then back again.  He shrugs to
Danny.  "Take a night off, kid," he says.  Danny has a moment to appreciate how
very chill Marshal Kelly is, and how lucky they were to land a non-control-
freak US Marshal as their stand-in uncle.  "It'll do you some good."
 
"But - "
 
"Everything will be fine without you," Kelly interrupts before Danny can
protest.  "I think your aunt and I can handle the kids for one night."
 
Danny looks in the back seat - at Katie, preoccupied with her goldfish,
swinging her feet happily from her booster seat, and Abby and Mattie, swatting
playfully at each other over the seat.  
 
He looks over at Steve, who's grinning tentatively at him, like he's expecting
Danny to snap at him - but instead, Danny can feel his high-strung strings
snapping in his chest, aided by the gleam of the Camaro in the afternoon
sunlight and the gentle sway of the palm trees along the school's sidewalk.  
 
"Okay," he says.  "A day off.  How hard can it be, right?"
 
Steve's smile goes full brightness, and he steers Danny towards the car, which
he still probably stole, by the way, because there's no way he can afford a
car, calling over his shoulder, "I'll have him back by midnight, Mister
Williams!"
 
Danny feels like there's something there he should argue with, but he's not
quite sure what.
 
* * *
 
"Isn't there somewhere inside city limits that we can do this? You know, so
when we inevitably fall and break all four of our legs, someone will actually
be able to come rescue us."
 
He's struggling to keep up with Steve on the thin path, uphill in borrowed
hiking boots - which, who even knows why Steve had hiking boots in Danny's
size, because Steve's feet are abnormally large.  The sun is in the process of
setting, nearing the horizon, because the drive out here was something like two
hours - Danny isn't exactly sure of the time, because he slept through a large
portion of it, once Steve started talking about his favorite wrecks to dive
back in Hawaii, overtaken by exhaustion and boredom.  
 
"The views are better out here," Steve answers, barely out of breath.  "You
can't see the stars from within the city limits.  Besides, you're not going to
fall.  If you do, I'll catch you."
 
"Yeah? You'll catch me? And who will catch you?"  They're a good way up the
cliff face, surrounded by trails cut into the rock by runoff, the desert
stretching unimpeded for miles around them.  It really figures that Steve's
favorite passtime has become hiking, not something safe and reasonable like
knitting, or scrapbooking.  
 
"I'll catch myself," Steve says flippantly.  "Come on, quit whining, we're
almost there."
 
They are, indeed, almost there.  Forty more yards up the mountain - "It's a
hill, Danno," Steve had insisted - and the ground levels out in a sort of
plateau, so Danny can regain some leverage and catch up with Steve.  
 
"Just so you know," Danny huffs, standing further back from the edge than
Steve, "working up a sweat in the middle of nowhere is not my idea of a day
off."
 
"Really?" says Steve, whip-quick.  "I'd have figured it would depend on howyou
were working up a sweat."
 
Danny's too shell-shocked by that to offer any response other than a sudden
laugh.  The sun has finally sunken under the horizon, leaving only a pale
purple glow of light in the sky, and Steve looks out over the desert landscape,
while Danny can't seem to look anywhere but Steve's face, relaxed and happy in
the twilight.
 
Danny breathes deeply through his nose, the cool high-altitude air cooling the
sweat on his face.  He tears his gaze away from Steve's face, and moves to sit
down, tiny pebbles crunching under his weight.  After a moment, Steve joins
him, moving slightly back from the precipice.  
 
It's near-silent all the way up here; they left the noises of the city behind
miles ago.
 
"My mom used to love hiking," Steve says, without preamble.  "It was one of her
favorite things about the island.  She'd take me and Mary with her on the
weekends, and we'd go somewhere new almost every time."
 
There's something deep in the back of Danny's brain that wants to tell Steve
everything, that thinks everything would just be fine if he'd get this
invasive, impossible weight off his chest.  But Steve looks so light, like
maybe he's finally gotten rid of his own cares, and Danny has a family to think
about, so the best he can come up with is, "We don't have anything like this,
back home."
 
Steve smiles briefly.  "You should come out to Honolulu sometime," he says,
casually, like 2,467 miles is nothing at all.  "You'd love it.  Sunshine, waves
- "
 
"Yes," says Danny sarcastically, "really, Steven, you know how the sunshine
loves me, it loves me to death, honestly, and I'm not a big swimmer, either,
now that you mention it."
 
Steve's watching him with a look like he could listen to Danny ramble forever. 
Danny's struck with an urge to kiss his stupid face, and - wow, that's a new
feeling, squished up in a contradiction and forced into a Steve-shaped body, in
an old Tommy Bahama tee shirt and Danny's Maui Jims.  
 
"I'll teach you to dive," Steve goes on, like Danny hasn't spoken.  "My dad has
a boat - he doesn't let me use it, but I borrow it all the time anyways - "
 
Danny raises his eyebrows.  "Yeah, borrow, right," he says.  "Just like you
borrowed that Camaro, huh?"
 
"I didborrow that Camaro," Steve protests, "I borrowed it from my uncle, he
gave me the keys."
 
"Leaving something where you can take it does not equal givingit to you, Steve,
how many times do I have to go over this with you."  Danny reaches over the
small distance between them and snatches the sunglasses from Steve's collar. 
"Thanks for these, by the way, I missed them during school today."
 
Steve has the good will to look sheepish, but it's not like he's jumping at the
opportunity to apologize.  "Let's not pretend you didn't steal my hat last
month, Danno."
 
"What hat? I remember no hat - "
 
"Sure you do.  The Navy SEALs hat."
 
"Well, yeah, okay, but I asked politely, like a civilized person."
 
"And I have yet to see it back," Steve says, all dramatic, like woe-is-Steve-
McGarrett.  "That hat was my one true love in life, Danny - "
 
Danny feels like he's bursting out of his skin, and that's dumb, isn't it, that
he chooses now of all times and places to have an existential crisis, on top of
a mountain with this idiot, who'd just as soon swan dive off a bridge as into
Danny's life, finding the spaces where Danny thought there weren't any.
 
"Fuck it," he says.  He barely has time to register Steve's confused
expression, because he's grabbing him by the side of his head, smashing his
mouth against Steve's - Steve freezes, and something in the dormant depths of
Danny's mind flutters worriedly, but he's never had time for gay panic, even
though he's got time for just about every other kind of panic.
 
But then Steve makes a soft surprised sound in the back of his throat, and that
seems to be that, because his hands come up in the back of Danny's wind-messed
hair, and he heaves him closer, squeezing into those nonexistent spaces.  He
kisses like he's got a point to prove, which - maybe he does, Danny doesn't
know his life, not really, but it doesn't matter.  
 
They separate for a fraction of a second, and Steve mumbles something - if
Danny were listening, he'd hear, "Until this" - and then they're back full-
force, hands and teeth and sweat-stained tee shirts, one of Danny's knees
between Steve's legs, Steve's arms wrapped around Danny as far as they'll go. 
Danny's heart swoops, and flies, and there's nothing else but Steve's face
pressed against his, Steve's breath in the wide-open nothingness, Steve's
abdomen clenching under Danny's fingers.  
 
Steve gasps, his mouth wide-open and soft under Danny's - 
 
Danny's cell phone rings in his back pocket, loud and startling in the hush. 
He sits back abruptly, half on Steve's foot, half on his own, his head
spinning; Steve watches him with a shell-shocked expression on his face, lips
bruised bright red, cargo shorts straining, and Danny would love to attend to
that, honest he would.
 
He fumbles his phone out of his back pocket with clumsy fingers.  It's an
unknown number, but he slides his finger across the screen anyways and answers.
 
 
"Hello?"
 
"Danny?"it's Mattie, his voice shaky and tentative.  
 
"Mattie?" Danny snaps, brain still struggling to refocus.  "What the hell?
Where are you calling from?"
 
"I'm in real trouble,"Mattie says.  "Can you come pick me up? Like, now?"
 
Danny wants to pummel him - he wants to strangle him, and yell at him, and ask
him why he's so goddamn naïvestill, after all they've been through - but he
wants to do it in the safety of their own home.  "Where are you?"
 
* * *
 
They run back through the park full-tilt, hiking boots pounding on the loose
stone ground, shorts still uncomfortably tight.  Danny hasn't gone this fast
since baseball, but apparently all the fun has gone out of sprinting like he's
running away from something.  His lungs burn, but he keeps up with Steve,
mostly, keeping track of the dingbat by the reflective bits on the back of his
shoes, the awkward but somehow coordinated flailing of his gangly limbs.  
 
Steve unlocks the Camaro from fifty meters away, and they get in too quickly
for Danny to protest the fact that Steve's driving before they're pulling out
of the park parking lot.  There's no one else on the road, so Steve blasts the
speedometer up until it's pushing eighty; Danny prays to God there are no park
rangers out.
 
Danny's wound tight enough that he'd snap like a karate-chopped board if Steve
so much as attempted conversation, and Steve seems to pick up on that pretty
well, because he's quiet the whole ride back inside city limits.  Danny's blood
is still pumping a mile a minute, and he thinks that Steve's probably is too,
rigid in his seat with hands shaking slightly against the steering wheel,
adrenaline-fueled.
 
"He's fine, Danno," Steve says, daring to break the tense silence only once.
 
Danny just glances at him briefly before going back to watching the Arizona
landscape roll by outside.
 
The Camaro rolls to a stop outside a seedy-looking Walgreen's stuffed in under
a three-storey rise of brick apartments.  The street isn't deserted - there are
a few juvenile delinquent asshats lurking a ways down the sidewalk, eyeing the
shiny silver paint job on Steve's car.
 
Mattie's hunched over against the closed door of the Walgreens, in the small
circle of light cast by the store's dimmed external lights, well within view of
the shop's security camera.  He's nursing a shiner with a sweating bottle of
water, blood still seeping from a cut in his eyebrow.
 
He rushes into the backseat the second he sees the car.  His shoulders are
hunched, like he's trying to make himself less of a target.  Danny watches him
in the rearview mirror as Steve pulls away.
 
"How fucking stupid are you, Mattie?" he says.  
 
Mattie's wearing the dumb flat-brimmed hat he got for Christmas, the Arizona
Diamondbacks logo on it.  "It's no big deal, man, some guys just got pissed at
us - "
 
"Yeah? For doing what?"
 
Mattie mumbles something.  
 
"What, Mattie?"  Steve looks surprised at the flat, serious tone of Danny's
voice; he looks sideways at him for longer than is safe when driving, but Danny
has more important things to deal with.
 
"I'm not ratting," Mattie says, louder.  "They're my friends."
 
Danny drags his hands over his face, and tugs on his hair.  His headache is
back and better than ever, tiny little mobsters slamming away at the inside of
his head with tiny little sawed-off shotguns.  
 
* * *
 
Steve follows them inside the house, lagging from a safe distance.  It's the
first time Danny's seen him enter the house in any way other than blasting in
like he's a tropical storm in hurricane season, needing to be everywhere at
once - patting Abby on the head and fist-bumping Katie and slinging an arm
around Danny's shoulders at the kitchen counter to drag him into whatever
conspiracy he's planning with Max the whiz-kid.  
 
Mattie blasts ahead of Danny up the stairs to his room.  Danny doesn't have
enough energy to deal with the inevitable fallout were he to go up there and
kick Mattie's door down, so he drifts into the kitchen, Steve closing the front
door behind them.
 
Kalakaua and Kelly are spread out on the kitchen table.  The kitchen looks like
the goddamn situation room; Danny feels so very lucky that Abby and Katie are
already asleep, oblivious to Mattie's fiasco, especially what with Danny being
gone.
 
Kalakaua looks up as he enters, her hair frazzled around her head.  She looks
like that wacky teacher on one of those shows Katie watches, the one with the
schoolbus.  "You found him?" she demands.
 
Danny sighs, nodding.  "He called me."
 
Kelly straightens from his perch hunched over the table.  "You should have
called us immediately, Danny," he admonishes.  "This a major security threat -
who knows who he was with - we have to deal with this accordingly - "
 
Danny's strung out.  He's exhausted, he's homesick, he can't even wear his Mets
jersey - the oversized jersey his dad got him for his ninth birthday, the one
he had to leave back in Newark - he feels paranoia in his bones, like the
Marshals are just waiting for him to slip up, so they can swoop in, like one
misstep can have immeasurable cost.
 
"I can take care of my own fucking family," Danny snaps.  "We were doing just
goddamn fine before all of this, and it's not like ma and pop were any help - "
 
"Yeah?" Kelly interrupts.  "You can take care of your family? What happens when
guys show up who aren't afraid to use AKs and Molotov cocktails, Danny? Can you
take care of them then?"
 
Danny feels sick.  He can feel Steve's eyes on him like a tether - one that's
going to dissolve and float away the second he turns around, he's sure - but he
can't for the life of him come up with an answer.  He's shaking; it feels like
a year ago that they were up on that mountain, like maybe it was just a pipe
dream, never happened at all.
 
He swallows.  He thinks he feels Steve's hand touch his shoulder briefly, but
it falls away.  
 
Kalakaua takes a small step forward around the table.  "Go get some sleep,
Danny," she says.  She's good cop tonight, then.  "We're going to stay up and
do damage control - " Danny shoots her a look - "if there isany damage to
control."  She purses her lips.  "No school in the morning.  I don't want to
risk it."
 
Steve's hand lands on Danny's shoulder and latches on.  Danny'd like to say he
doesn't at all sway back into Steve's touch, but he'd be lying through his
teeth, wouldn't he? He nods slowly, like he's under water.
 
Steve follows him to the stairs, a soothing, looming presence at Danny's back. 
Anyone else, Danny would expect to be running for the hills by now, screaming
Jesus Christ and praying for deliverance, which - that's a little dramatic, but
Danny's really fucking done.  He thinks Steve probably has most of it figured
out by now, but he's still not saying anything.
 
They pause outside Danny's door - it's the first at the top of the stairs,
entirely by design.  Steve squeezes Danny's shoulder once, nods like some sort
of military signal that Danny's supposed to understand, and disappears inside.
 
 
Danny goes to Katie and Abby's room, opening the door slightly to peek inside. 
They're both tucked in peacefully, Katie with a grip on her triceratops and
Abby with a Magic Treehouse book open on her chest, a frog nightlight glowing
in the corner.  
 
He tiptoes inside, goes over to press a kiss to Abby's forehead.  She shifts
slightly, but doesn't stir.  He steps on a Barbie doll on his way over to
Katie's side of the room, but he barely registers the shallow pain.  He kisses
Katie's forehead.
 
"Love you, monkey," he whispers.  Katie's hold tightens on her triceratops.  
 
Danny's glad there's not a lock on the door to the bathroom he and Mattie
share, even though Steve would probably be more than happy to hop out here with
a paperclip and pick it from him.  He opens it without knocking.
 
Mattie's working on his smushed face with a wet washcloth, dabbing at the bead
of blood on his eyebrow.  Danny's had worse after a baseball game, but this is
his little brother, so it's different.
 
"Lemme help you," Danny says, even though he knows it's a lost cause.  
 
Mattie glares at him.  "No way.  I can do it myself."  
 
Danny crosses his arms across his chest and leans back against the door frame. 
"You're a stubborn bitch, you know that?" he's never so snippy with his
siblings, but in this case it's warranted.  
 
"Fuck you, Danny - "
 
"Look, Mattie, I get it," Danny cuts him off, his voice low, so as not to wake
the girls, "you've got a lot of teenage angst right now, you have an
uncontrollable inclination to do stupid shit, for who-knows-why.  Fine,
whatever.  The thing is, we've got a special situation here.  You slip up, tell
the wrong people the wrong things, and we could be dead."
 
He lets that sink in - and it looks like it's sinking deep, hopefully.  Mattie
looks unsure of himself, looks like he's reconsidering all that yipee-ki-yay
false bravado he was brandishing a couple seconds ago.
 
"So," Danny continues, while he has his attention, "you're going to go
downstairs, right now, and you're going to tell Kalakaua and Kelly everything. 
Everyone you've talked to, all the juvenile delinquency you've been up to, all
of it."
 
"Are you coming?"
 
Danny considers for a moment.  "No," he says.  "You won't talk if I'm there,
because for some reason you think I'm the bad guy.  Plus, I'm beat - so I'm
going to go to bed, and sleep for twenty-four hours."
 
It takes a minute for Mattie to nod in acquiescence, but he does.
 
Danny steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and goes back
down the short upstairs hallway.
 
Steve has burrowed into Danny's double bed, both pillows curled under his head,
because - of course - it figures that Steve would be a blanket hogger, that's
just Danny's luck.  He looks like he's already dozing, but the line of his back
is still rigid, muscles tense around his spine, the veins in his forearms
standing out against the skin in the dim light from the hallway.
 
Danny kicks off his borrowed hiking boots, thunking them against the wall next
to the door.  Steve watches him with his eyes half-open, and Jesushis
eyelashes, because Danny can see them from all the way over here, in the dark,
no binoculars or anything.
 
Danny collapses into bed, in the less-than-half space that Steve has deigned to
leave him.  He nudges Steve's head off the pillows so he has room and then
melts back against Steve's chest as Steve wraps his lanky arms around Danny's
middle, grip tighter than is strictly comfortable.
 
He squashes his face against the back of Danny's head, his nose in Danny's
hair, one of his thumbs stroking back and forth against Danny's hipbone.  Both
of them are still in their clothes from the day, probably getting that sandy
orange dirt stuff all over Danny's sheets, but Danny couldn't care less right
now.  
 
"Whatever it is," Steve murmurs, "we can handle it."
 
Danny laughs, "Not unless you really are a Navy SEAL, Steven," twisting in bed
to face him.  The blankets twist around his legs and waist, trapping Steve's
hand against his skin, which is good - skin is good, as much skin as he can get
until they've got no edges left.  He's about to say something - something
crazy, some lie that might somehow serve to snap Steve's rubberband perception
of him back into place - but then Steve kisses him.
 
He's gentle, insistent, everything Danny could ever possibly need, more than he
ever thought he might get a chance to have, and Danny can't do anything but
hold on and pray from the bottom of his heart that Steve's not the first one to
let go.
 
Steve moves on to suck kisses into Danny's neck, settling his weight over Danny
on the bed, lips niggling at the underside of Danny's jaw, and oh, this is what
Danny would call stress relief, none of that hiking nonsense.  He bites his lip
to stifle a groan, but Steve's hands are working up Danny's shirt, and a small
whimper of noise escapes.
 
He kicks the blankets down around Danny's feet so that he can settle his weight
in between Danny's legs, and that's fine, that's great, who even needs blankets
anyways when it's eighty degrees outside? Danny rolls his hips up, and Steve
gasps like Danny punched him in the gut, sucking in hard against the hollow of
Danny's collar bone.  
 
He holds Steve by the back of the neck and does it again, Steve's dick hard
against his through both of their shorts, zippers rubbing slightly
uncomfortably.  Danny reaches down to undo Steve's fly, Steve still mouthing
his neck, and he knows the second he gets his hands on Steve's bare skin that
it's going to be over too quick, with the way Steve shudders against him, arms
barely supporting him.
 
He kisses Danny hard, long eyelashes brushing against Danny's cheeks.  Danny
palms his dick, and Steve bites hard on Danny's lip.  He can feel Steve's
fingers struggling to undo his own fly, and he bucks up a little, painfully
hard inside his underwear.  
 
Steve finally manages to work out how his fly works - genius, Danny tells you -
and when he wraps his hand around Danny it's the best he's ever felt, probably,
better than hitting a home run, better than sweeping the whole room at poker.  
 
They're frantic, like they're racing with nowhere to go, because they've both
got points to prove.  Everything narrows down to Steve - Steve's breath hot
against Danny's lips, Steve's knees dipping the mattress inside Danny's thighs,
Steve's nose sliding against his, Steve's dick heavy in his hand, Steve's
weight pressing down on him, Steve's voice cracking as he says, "Fuck, Danny, I
- "
 
Danny comes harder than he ever has in his life, vision white, hand stuttering
on Steve before squeezing, and then Steve's gone, too, slumping over Danny,
fingers digging into Danny's shoulders.  
 
* * *
 
They get up while the rest of the house is still asleep, because Danny doesn't
want to have to answer questions about why Steve slept over last night.  Steve
zaps a Hot Pocket for breakfast, but Danny makes him take an orange and a cup
of coffee too.  Last minute, he slaps the Navy SEAL hat on Steve's head, sends
him out the door with a kiss-cut-too-short.
 
Kelly comes stumbling out from his first-storey room not five minutes later,
still in his pajamas, hopefully cooled down considerably from their argument
last night, even though it's been barely ten hours.  
 
Danny sits at the kitchen counter and sips at his own cup of coffee while Kelly
shuffles around the kitchen assembling his breakfast of some nasty herbal tea
and yogurt with granola.  He eats in silence, and when he's finished and
deposited his bowl in the sink, he turns and fixes Danny with a look that says
serious conversation time.  
 
"It looks like the people Mattie was with are okay," he says.  "Just some local
kids, nothing too serious.  He's going to stay away, just to be safe."
 
Danny snorts.  "Good luck with that, Uncle Dave."
 
"Meanwhile," Kelly continues, like he hasn't heard Danny's aside, "we've been
getting too relaxed here.  We need to cut back, get careful again.  Minimize
possibilities for collateral damage."
 
Danny feels something like a stone drop in his gut, like that cold feeling he
had when he had to roll out of bed this morning, Steve's fingers still clinging
sleepily to his shirt, curled around the dent Danny left in the mattress. 
 
"Right," he says, flatly.  "You're right.  Whatever's safest."  
 
Abby and Katie are understandably ecstatic that they've been allowed to stay
home from school, and they immediately demand from Danny the type of pancake
breakfast that used to accompany a snow day back in New Jersey.  Danny obliges
them, whipped cream smilie faces included, because the way his heart is tearing
a little with every beat is his fault mostly, and they shouldn't have to feel
any effects.  They should be able to go on smiling, counting down excitedly to
when their mother will be joining them, now that she has a court date.  
 
Mattie deigns to descend from his room only long enough to retrieve a cup of
coffee and a noogie from Danny, his head tilted under a baseball cap so that
the younger kids won't see the black eye he's sporting.  
 
He pauses next to Danny on his way back upstairs, while Danny's flipping the
second batch of pancakes, which Kalakaua and Kelly will devour the moment
they're done with their morning work out routine.  "Tell, uh," Mattie says
quietly, "tell Steve thanks for his help last night."
 
He runs off before Danny can do something irreparably embarrassing to him, like
hug him - god forbid.  Danny flips the last pancake on the griddle and reaches
to turn off the stove, judging the pile of pancakes to be sufficiently high.
 
He turns back around with his own plate, to find Abby watching him
inquisitively from the kitchen counter.  "Steve was here last night?" she
asks.  Christ, these kids have ears like hawks.
 
"Yeah," Danny answers easily.  "He gave me and Mattie a ride home from the
city."
 
Abby stabs her fork into her pancake.  "Why'd he go? Is he coming back?"
 
Danny shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth to stall, sans whipped cream,
plus syrup and butter.  "I don't think so," he says, after thinking about how
to explain it to an eight-year-old.  "He's probably gonna be hanging out with
his other friends for a while."
 
"But you'rehis best friend, Danno," Abby insists.  "Why would he - "
 
"He has other friends too, Ab," Danny gestures with his fork.  "He can't just
be with me all the time."
 
Katie has a confused little look on her face, staring down at her pancakes in
discontent.  Her triceratops sits next to her on the counter, with his own fake
plate and tiny sliver of pancake for breakfast.  "But Steve is ohana, Danno,"
she says.
 
Abby speaks up with an air of I-know-everything, "Ohanameans family, Danno."
 
"I know," says Danny.  His pancake breakfast suddenly looks a whole lot less
appetizing.  "Yeah, I know, monkey."
 
* * *
Danny tries to ignore Steve's texts, but in reality he reads every one,
sometimes more than once.  It's part of his brand-spanking awful new initiative
to distance himself from Steve, since he's pretty far gone over him, and really
he can'tlet Steve get caught up in all of this, get hurt.  
 
It takes him all of ten minutes to pop over to Steve's house in Kelly' minivan,
while Steve's at school, and drop off the borrowed hiking boots on the porch. 
Steve has left his out, and they're surrounded by a ring of sandy orange dirt.
 
They're back in school a day later, with extra US Marshals from the Albuquerque
office patrolling campus discreetly, dressed as school security guards.  Kids
immediately seem to notice the increased security, and speculation runs rampant
as to why there are extra guards on duty; Danny figures there's a more discreet
way to do this, probably, without tipping off the entire school to the fact
that something is going down, but then he's not a cop.  Not even close.
 
Abby and Katie still have no idea that anything has happened, so they go along
easily enough to class, Katie lingering only long enough for her customary pep
talk, and for Danny to put her hair in pigtails.  
 
He notices that Mattie walks maybe a little closer to him than he usually does
on their way over to the high school, but he doesn't attempt conversation, and
Danny doesn't push it.
 
He swaps seats with Lori Weston in American history, but if Steve notices he
doesn't say anything.  What he does do is watch Danny out of the corner of his
eye the whole class; Danny can feel his gaze on the back of his neck, and it
makes him think about Steve's hands in the same place, tugging him down on top
of a warm body, which - this is really not the opportune time for those sorts
of thoughts.  
 
He eats lunch out by the baseball diamond, kicking his sneakers in the thick
sod, footprints trailing behind him as he walks the bases.  He'd love to have a
bat in his hand, to be able to smash a baseball as far as he could, out towards
the desert horizon and away into the stratosphere.  Instead he kicks, and his
toe connects with home plate - it sends a small twinge of pain up through his
foot.
 
There's a Marshal watching him from the back door of the main building of the
school, his hands clasped in front of him.  He appears impervious to the
blaring sunlight in his thick security uniform and aviators.
 
Danny's phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out with one hand, the
other occupied by half a grilled cheese sandwich.  It's a text from Steve:
where r u? 
 
Danny knows he should just stick the damn thing back in his pocket.  Instead,
he types out a quick reply: busy.
 
The phone buzzes less than a minute later: not what i asked.  
 
Danny sighs, because he was hoping there wouldn't be a confrontation, since,
you know, he likes his feelings where they are - trapped in a TNT-armed box and
held down under a comically-large boulder, like something out of Looney Toons.
 
emergency exit staircase. north side.
 
The Marshal's eyes follow him back towards the building as he stuffs the rest
of his sandwich down in one bite.  Danny has the urge to flip him off, but
instead he just offers a nod in acknowledgement, which the man doesn't deign to
return, since he's supposed to be on the down-low and all that.  
 
The north side emergency exit is in a sort of half-alcove built into the corner
of the main high school building, out of view of the front of the school; kids
come out here to hook up, light up, and just about everything else, but
thankfully there's no one there when Danny comes cruising around the corner.  
 
He knocks twice on the door, and Steve opens it from the inside, emergency
alarm deactivated, since apparently that's something they teach you in Hawaii.
 
 
Steve looks worried, and the back of his polo's collar is popped up -  it's
nothing unusual, Danny and Catherine have to fix it for him all the time,
because he's stubborn - Danny's Maui Jims hanging from his shirt collar.
 
"Hey," says Danny.  His voice sounds strange, and it catches a bit on that one
tiny word.  "Look, I uh - "
 
Steve yanks him inside by the arm, swinging the door closed deftly behind
them.  He's kissing him before Danny registers what's happening, pressing him
back against the door, flush from chests to knees, his hands warm on Danny's
waist through his shirt.  Danny's mouth falls open of its own accord, and his
breath whooshes out of his lungs, his hands curled lightly into the hem of
Steve's shirt.
 
Steve's lips disappear from Danny's, and then reappear under Danny's jawline,
gentling at his skin, and is Steve lightning-quick or is Danny operating on
some sort of visual-sensory delay?  
 
He gets his wits about him long enough to say weakly, "Hey, doofus, I ah -
I gotta talk to you."
 
Steve hums against his neck, and then - oh God - there's his tongue, on the
soft underside of Danny's chin.  "Fuck," Danny says eloquently.  "Fuck, Steve,
c'mon.  Talking, buddy."
 
"You go right ahead and talk all you want, Danno," Steve murmurs.  He's moved
up to Danny's earlobe, worrying it between his teeth and that shouldn't be good
but geez.  
 
Though it pains him to do so, Danny grabs Steve by the head and pulls him back
far enough to look him straight in the face - well, he's looking up a bit,
actually, but he always seems to be looking up, since he's all of five foot
five.  Steve looks at him with an expression on his face like he's about to
argue, so Danny kisses him once, hard, on the mouth, to shut him up, and tells
himself it's not at all because of the dumb way Steve's hair is stuck up in the
back.
 
Danny smooths his thumbs over Steve's cheeks, like he can pet him into
submission.  "Alright, Steve, I've got some issues," he starts.  "You know,
family stuff, family shit."
 
There's the sound of a door opening somewhere above them, echoing down the
stairwell.  They fall silent, backing up out of view, if anyone were to glance
downwards, but sharp footsteps on the stairs continue for only a few seconds,
before another door opens and closes, and whoever it was is gone.
 
"I told you," Steve jumps on the opportunity that the silence provides. 
"Whatever it is, we can deal with it, okay?"
 
Danny forces himself to let his hands fall from Steve's face; they almost catch
on his shoulders, but somehow he gets them all the way down to his sides. 
"Yeah, I can deal with it," he says.  "But I have to deal with it alone, 'cause
ah - " because it's dangerous, life-threatening, so stressful he could cry,
sometimes - "it's really a family thing, Steve."
 
Steve's face falls, and Danny hears Katie at the kitchen counter yesterday
morning, saying ohana.  
 
* * *
 
Steve starts giving Danny space, little by little.
 
First he stops getting good morning, sunshinetexts, and updates about surf
conditions on the north shore on Oahu.  Steve stops stealing his Shakespeare
notes - he takes Catherine's instead - and Danny finds his sunglasses sitting
in his locker on top of a stack of textbooks.  Danny still sits with the gang
at lunch, but he finds a spot across from Steve, tucked in next to Gabrielle
Asano at the end of the table; he steers clear of the senior bonfires, and he
hears secondhand that Steve's doing the same.
 
Danny's got a weird feeling, like a phantom limb; he keeps turning over his
shoulder to talk to someone who isn't there, leaning sideways in his chair only
to find Gabrielle looking at him funny.  
 
The nightmares get worse, Steve's face gets thrown into the mix, his body
riddled with bullets and the light gone out of his eyes, the crazy smile gone
from his face.  Danny wakes up screaming into his pillow one night, the sound
muffled somewhat, and when he turns over, breathing heavy to keep his lungs
from going out of control, Kalakaua is standing in the door with her sidearm
drawn.  
 
She doesn't leave right away, lingering in the hall outside his room.
 
Danny croaks, "Do they stop, eventually?"
 
Kalakaua smiles a small, knowing smile.  "No," she says.  "But you learn how to
handle them.  How to slay your demons before they slay you." 
 
He doesn't see Steve for a week after that night.  It's not that he avoids him
- Steve just seems to disappear from every room Danny's in, answers his texts
with monosyllabic abreviations, puts the kind of distance between them that
feels like New Jersey-Hawaiidistance.  Danny thinks Steve probably has it
figured out - the fact that Danny's in WITSEC and he's a walking timebomb,
bound to go off from cabin fever or external violence.
 
Most of their friends skirt him too, until it's a Friday in the end of February
and Catherine corners him in the men's room, with a complete disregard for the
mental wellbeing of the poor kid taking a piss in the corner. 
 
She comes right up to him at the sink and crosses her arms over her chest,
squishing her boobs up out of her respectable black tank top.  She's got a look
like she's on a warpath, which Danny knows from experience can never mean
anything good.  "Alright," she says, "what the hell did you do?"
 
Danny grabs a few paper towels and starts drying his hands off, failing to make
eye contact with her even though he knows it's a sure tell that he's lying. 
"Huh?"
 
The kid taking a piss runs for the hills.  Catherine barely glances in his
direction.  "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Danny," she snaps.  "You
broke Steve."   
 
Danny rolls up the sodden papertowels and pegs them at the trash can hard, like
he's throwing a pitch.  "Steve's fine, Cath."
 
Catherine raises a singular eyebrow that indicates she does not agree.  "No,
Danny, he's not fine," she says.  "He's three times as reckless as he usually
is, and he's sulking."  Danny drags a hand over his face, turning away from
Catherine to face the far wall of the bathroom.  "I already gave you the break
his heart I'll break your neckspeech, so I think you've had fair warning."
 
"Trust me, he's better off as far away from me as he can get."
 
"Come on, Danny," she shoots back incredulously, "really?"
 
Danny points a finger at her, like he can zap her away.  "You have no idea - "
 
"He's in lovewith you, Danny!" Catherine exclaims.  Her arms uncross, and she
gestures wildly, bookbag swinging from her shoulder.  "He just wants to spend
as much time with you as he can before he has to leave, I don't see why you
can't give him that!"
 
Danny looks at her slowly.  Part of her rant is registering slightly in the
back of his brain, like a pinging emergency beacon on the flight deck - mayday,
mayday, we're going down.  "Wait," he says quietly.
 
Catherine has no intention of waiting for anything.  "And you love him, too,
obviously.  Christ, Danny, you're so dumb, you make each other so happy and
somehow you're still all high and mighty with your family problems - "
 
"Cath, wait," Danny barks.  She falls silent, and he capitalizes on the
opportunity, "Steve's leaving?"
 
She looks confused.  "What, you don't know?" she asks, and when Danny shakes
his head, "Steve's going back to Honolulu at the end of the school year."
 
The floor drops out of Danny's world, and he closes his eyes briefly.  When he
opens them, Catherine's watching him with a vague expression of concern, and he
manages to breeze past her out of the men's room without any trouble.
 
* * *
 
Danny's month starts out like this - 
 
Steve basically drops off the face of the earth.  Danny sees him once, in the
hallway, Catherine on one side and Lori on the other, his eyes red and wet,
collar popped because he's got no one there to smooth it down for him. 
Catherine and Lori spirit him away before Danny can do something stupid, like
go to him - go to him and leave them all at risk, to hell with it.
 
He refuses to process the fact that Steve's leaving, which - okay, Danny's read
all the self-help books, just in case there was something in there that would
help with Mattie, and he knows it's not healthy to stay in denial, but he's
always lived on the corner of stubborn and self-sacrificing, so whatever.
 
He dreams that he and Steve are in bed, dozing, feet tangled in the hems of
each other's pants, hands trapped by Danny's bedsheet across their torsos. 
Danny's arms are around Steve's waist, his face pressed into Steve's neck, and
it's probably the most peaceful he's ever felt, the draw of Steve's breath
lulling him into a content slumber.
 
Screaming wakes them, usually Katie, sometimes Abby, Mattie on really bad
nights.  Danny will shoot out of bed in two seconds flat, Steve waking up more
slowly behind him, rubbing his eyes and blinking in confusion, even though he
must already know what this is.
 
Danny barrels down the hallway, but before he can get anywhere, there are
faceless men pouring towards him, brandishing Tommy guns and screaming in
Italian, and he doesn't understand a word of it, despite his grandmother's
lessons when he was little.  The screaming has stopped, and Danny can only fear
the worst, because the worst is what he's wired for - no sunshine and roses and
glass-half-full.  
 
Steve finally comes stumbling out of the room after Danny, and the men open
fire.  The always miss Danny with every shot, and he knows it's not possible
but it feels real - when he looks down at himself there are no bullets, just
Steve's Tommy Bahama tee shirt, which is way too big for him, and - 
 
Steve falls to the ground behind him, convulsing with the force of the machine
gun fire, and Danny falls to his knees, mobsters forgotten, sobs wracking deep
in his chest before he's even realized what's happened.  
 
It can go on for what feels like hours, just that part, him holding onto
Steve's dying body, the house deathly silent, the mobsters disappeared like
smoke in the night.
 
Thank God that Danny feels a hand on his shoulder, and he comes gently awake,
his eyelids fluttering.
 
Kelly is standing over him, looking concerned.  Danny gets a cold feeling in
his gut that tells him it isn't because of his nightmare - Kelly and Kalakaua
are both well used to the fact that Danny sleeps no more than three hours most
nights.  This is something different - Kelly's in full uniform, a suit and
cheap tie, his sidearm holstered at his side, badge on his belt.
 
Danny sits up from the couch, where he'd fallen asleep watching Nickelodeon
with Katie, his back aching.  Katie's gone, her triceratops left behind by
Danny's feet.  The rest of the living area is silent as well, except for the
distant sound of Mattie's high-volume Black Sabbath drifting down the stairs.
 
"What's happening?" Danny asks.
 
Kelly looks grave.  "Kono took the girls out for ice cream an hour or so ago,"
he says.  Danny's stomach just about drops through his feet, because there's an
ice cream shop like five minutes away, and it shouldn't have taken them more
than twenty minutes to pop out and come back.  "There was reported positive ID
on the brother of one of the defendants in your mother's case."
 
Danny scrambles to stand up from the couch.  He's not quite sure where he's
going - probably to grab the baseball bat he managed to hang on to and storm
the ice cream stand, jump in front of bullets, whatever it takes - 
 
Kelly puts a steadying hand on his shoulder.  "Relax, Danny, they're fine. 
Kono got them out before the brother spotted them.  They're at the Marshal's
office now.  I just wanted you to know what was going on."  
 
Danny's mind is running at a million miles an hour through all the variables,
all the possibilities.  They might have to move again, they might be assigned
different supervising agents, their mother might be in danger, the house might
be surrounded as they speak.  "I'll get Mattie," he says.
 
He turns to leave, but Kelly grabs him by the arm to pull him back.  "We have
instructions to stay here for now," he says, his tone authoritative like he's
already planning on having to whip out the big I'm a federal agentguns. 
 
"Why on earth not?"
 
"There's nothing to indicate right now that they have any confirmation that
they've found us," Kelly explains calmly.  "Moving could notify them of our
position, if they don't know it already, or it could let them know that we're
on to them.  Right now, it's safer for everyone if we stay put."
 
Danny looks down at the triceratops sitting on the end of the sofa.  He can't
remember the last time Katie spent a night without it - not since she was an
infant, at least, before she bonded with the damn thing by putting diapers on
it and bows in its horns.
 
Kelly notices his aprehension.  "Look, Danny," he says, "your mother's court
date is in three days.  After that, we'll be able to put all these guys away
for a long time, probably forever."
 
Danny smiles slightly.  "But we won't be able to go back, ever."
 
Kelly fixes his with a skeptical eye.  "Would you really want to?"
 
Danny thinks of blood on the carpet of their Jersey house, of Steve's smile in
the Arizona halflight, of Katie and Abby bobbing around this house with Mattie
looking on disapprovingly from his post guarding his Hot Pocket in the
microwave.  "No," he says, "I guess not."
 
* * *
 
By the time Kelly goes to bed, his button down undone at the top and rolled up
at the sleeves, tie loose around his neck, Danny has a half-cocked plan forming
vaguely in his mind.  
 
He knocks quietly on Mattie's door, his knuckles rustling the homemade paper
Keep Out sign taped across it.  Mattie hasn't asked what's going on, but he
knows something's up, probably - Kalakaua and the girls haven't come home yet,
and it's approaching eleven p.m. already.  He swings the door open fairly
easily, given the usual tactics of bribery that Danny has to resort to to even
see his brother's face.
 
"I need to borrow your computer," Danny says.  
 
Mattie looks skeptical, his expression hidding somewhere in the jungle of his
uncut hair.  "Why?"
 
Danny does his best big brother stare-down.  "Homework," he says, and does not
elaborate, because he's lying quite blatantly.
 
Mattie disappears into the depths of his room and returns with his MacBook,
which is covered all over with band stickers and slogans that Danny has no idea
about, like Who is John Galt?  Danny takes it and turns to leave, but Mattie
stops him - 
 
"They're alright, right?"
 
Danny looks back, and for the first time in a couple of years he sees his
little brother, fourteen years old and scared by the world, his shoulders slim
and his voice still squeaky, not a rebellious bone in his body.  "Yeah,
Mattie," he says quietly.  "They're fine.  You're all going to be fine."
 
Back in his bedroom, he pulls up the yellow pages for the Phoenix-Scottsdale
area, and finds the address of a bar called Abadelli's.  It's downtown, not too
far, with the exact same logo as the one back in Newark that his dad used to
hang out in on the weekend, a much younger Danny sometimes swept along with
him.
 
* * *
 
Kelly really should leave the keys to the minivan somewhere Danny can't just
pick them up and leave - id est, the front table out in the entryway.  Almost
as an afterthought, he grabs Katie's triceratops, sticking it under his arm as
he jogs out into the driveway.  The night air feels cold, which is a pretty
good indication of how used to the warm climate Danny has gotten.  
 
He drives to the Marshals' office in silence, the streetlights flashing by in
his peripheral vision.  He hasn't driven on his own for a while - he doesn't
even have a driver's license in the name of Danny Williamsyet - and his hands
feel strange on the steering wheel, but at the same time he feels a little bit
free.
 
Minivan parked four blocks away, he nips in and out of the Marshals' office
lobby as fast as he can - the nightguard is thankfully absent, in the bathroom
or something - leaving the triceratops on the counter.  They'll probably screen
it for explosives or something, and if it blows up and sprays stuffing
everywhere then they'll be able to track him down in a moment with their video
records, and if that happens he'll go willingly.  
 
He makes his mind up at the last minute to loop back to Steve's house.
 
It's darkened, not a single light on inside.  Danny feels almost guilty for
coming here, disturbing Steve's peace in the middle of the night, but he feels
like he probably deserves a break by now.  He's not entirely sure why he's
there, but he knows that he has to say something, because if Steve weren't the
love of his life Danny would've forgotten him by now in favor of more
attention-demanding things, like the mob hit that's probably out on his
family's life, and the fact that his father is on the fast track to prison.
 
It starts raining as he gets out of the car, which is just about Danny's luck. 
He hightails it up to the front door, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up
around his head, minivan keys jingling in his pocket, but his phone left back
on his desk at home.
 
He's pretty sure the doorbell would wake Steve's uncle, so he pulls open the
glass door and knocks on the wooden one a few times instead.  Danny knows
Steve's room is closest to the front hallway, from the few times he's been
invited over for haphazard macaroni and cheese and a go at Wii Sports, which
Steve uses to occupy himself on lonely, rainy days.
 
Danny counts his lucky stars that Steve comes to the door.  He swings it open
and he's standing there in his boxer shorts and that same Tommy Bahama tee
shirt, his hair mussed up around his head, so Danny just wants to run his
fingers through it.  Danny shivers slightly, and Steve looks so warm.
 
Steve meets Danny's gaze warily, but there's that flash of daring in his eyes
that makes Danny's heart thwap irregularly in his chest.  "Danno," says Steve
groggily, "what - "
 
"I, uh - " Danny starts.  He bounces uncomfortably on his feet, hands stuffed
into his sweatshirt pockets, rain soaking through the shoulders of his
sweatshirt to the tee shirt underneath.  "I know this is really selfish of me
to show up like this, Steve, really I do, but I, uh, I just have to say it
once, okay?"
 
Steve takes a small step towards him, his live-on-the-edgespirit egging him
on.  He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but Danny cuts him
off before he can, words spilling out of his mouth with no control.
 
"Look, Steve, I ended up here under some pretty extraordinary circumstances,
alright? And I'm not saying that my problems are more important than yours, but
really, my problems are a heck of a lot more serious than yours, and I figured,
while I was here all of my problems would take precedent, and all that, but
then you show up.  And Steve, Christ, you're the craziest son of a bitch I've
ever met, okay, but - despite my goddamn best efforts to the contrary, because
this is really stupid, so monumentally stupid - I've kind of gone and - well, I
guess I've gone and fallen in love with you, you doofus."
 
Steve's mouth falls open, and he still looks sleepy, but he's definitely more
awake now.  Danny is attuned to every breath he takes, every little unconscious
twitch of his fingers against his bare thigh.  The rain pours hard on the
awning above their heads, staining the sand all around them dark brown, the
humidity making Steve's hair frizz up.
 
Danny doesn't wait for Steve to reply.  He knows for a fact that Steve isn't
possessed of enough brain cells in the wee hours of the morning to string
together a coherent sentence, let alone fumble through a response to Danny's
rant.  
 
Steve is pliant under Danny's hug; he wraps his arms tight around Steve's
shoulders, his cheek pressing into Steve's jaw, because while Steve's still
growing Danny's not going anywhere.  Steve's arms come up hesitantly, and then
he's hugging Danny back, giving as good as he's getting, his breathing quick
against the back of Danny's neck.  
 
They stand like that for who knows how long - no more than a couple of minutes
- swaying in the doorway to Steve's house.  Eventually, Danny pulls back, and
Steve's giving him the biggest, saddest puppydog eyes that Danny's ever seen,
like he's got the weight of worlds on his shoulders, like he can't keep
standing - but still he lets Danny leave, driving off towards the city in
Kelly's Honda Odyssey.
 
Abadelli's isn't difficult to find.  Danny's not surprised - mobsters like to
hide in plain sight, use intimidation to keep the police away instead of any
real attempts at secrecy.  There's even a neon sign out by the road, marking
the entrance to the parking lot, which contains only a few cars at this late
hour.
 
Danny feels numb.  
 
Revision: he feels nothing but Steve's breath on the back of his neck still, a
comforting presence in his decision.  
 
He sits back in the driver's seat, parked in the far side of the parking lot
from the bar entrance.  He closes his eyes, and pictures his family's faces,
smiling and happy and alive.  
 
The car door opens and closes quickly, before he can make up his mind to drive
back to the house and pretend like none of this hairbrained scheme ever popped
into his head.  He locks the keys in the car, because he doesn't need to add
grand theft auto or property damage to the list of felonies he's about to rack
up, and he doesn't want Kelly to have any extra expenses, after everything he's
done for them.  
 
A bell above the front door chimes when he enters, alerting the entire
patronage to his arrival.  A few men sitting at the bar look up at him, but go
back to their drinks quickly; Danny figures they're probably not who he's
looking for.  
 
There are a group of men seated in a booth at the back, laughing uproariously
about something and knocking back beers by what looks like the dozen, their
feet up on the table.  Danny doesn't think he recognizes anyone, but they have
the distinct devil-may-care arrogance of mobsters, and the man sitting on the
end of the booth has his suit flap open to reveal a holstered gun, some old
revolver.  
 
Danny swallows his fear of death and walks back to them.  They watch him like
predators as he approaches, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up,
because there's something like recognition in some of their eyes.
 
"What do you want, kid?" one of them demands.  Danny recongnizes a thick Jersey
accent, sure as day.
 
He clears his throat like he's got an obstruction, but really he's just
stalling, building up courage.  "I'm Danny Pietri," he says.  His voice is
strong, and for that he's impossibly glad.  "I'd like to make a deal."
 
* * *
 
Danny's month ends like this - 
 
The last thing he remembers is talking to the mobsters.  They were in the back
room of Abadelli's, sitting around a card table like they were about to play
Russian roulette, like Danny had a chance of maybe walking out of there.  
 
"My kids, they don't know anything," Danny's insisting.  "I'm the only one who
saw anything, that night.  I wouldn't let them come down until the police had
cleaned everything up."
 
One of the mobsters looks to the another one and nods.  "No tricks?" the guy
asks.  "Swear it on your family's life."
 
Danny swallows.  "No tricks.  I swear."
 
The mobsters all stand at once, jolting the card table in Danny's direction.
 
He remembers closing his eyes, and he remembers gunshots.
 
He wakes up in a bed at St. Joseph's hospital, feeling like there's an elephant
sitting on his chest.  All he can see at first is just a wash of pristine
white, intercepted by some serene landscape portraits on the walls, and by the
tall grey form of the door.
 
Someone's face swims into view.  Danny registers the blip-blip-blip-blipof a
heart monitor, and it washes out his theory of being gone for good, of
everything being resolved and everyone being safe, and maybe a little bit wiser
for it.  The face disappears again, and Danny hears as if through a the
Atlantic ocean what he later interprets as, "He's up, Steve."
 
There is what Danny is certain is a significant commotion in the hallway, and
then a familiar, lanky form comes trundling in through the door, rushing to the
side of Danny's bed.  He's almost lucid enough to make eye contact; in his
peripheral vision, there's an IV bag hanging on a pole, which is probably
what's keeping him loopy.
 
"Christ, Danny," says Steve, "and you said I was the reckless one."
 
Danny smiles a little, and laughs, which is the biggest mistake he's made in
life thus far.  Steve hurries to get him a glass of water while he's wheezing
and hacking and generally making unattractive noises, doubled over while still
laying down.  The water soothes Danny's dry throat, enough that he can say, "I
distinctly recall you skateboarding off of Max's roof, so before you go and
reprimand me - "
 
"You could've told me you were in Witness Protection, you know."
 
Danny's eyes do not so much as widen, because he'd thought Steve had it figured
out a while ago.  "No, Steven, I couldn't have.  That's kind of the point of
Witness Protection, don't you think?"
 
Steve sits down heavily in a chair next to Danny's bed.  There are three there,
all lined up in a row, one with Highlights magazine issues piled up on it, a
Magic Treehouse book the icing on the cake.  Steve looks worse than Danny's
ever seen him - worse than that one time in the hallway, worse than the one
night they got drunk at a bonfire and Steve told Danny all about his sister
Mary, living in Seattle with his grandmother.
 
Steve looks like he's going to say something profound.  Instead, the only thing
that comes out of his mouth is, "You're really stupid, Danno, you know that?"
 
Danny can't stop smiling for the life of him.  "So I've been told."
 
"You're supposed to let the professionals handle this kind of thing," Steve
continues, bull-headed and determined to get his point across.  He's somehow
gorgeous in the flourescent lighting, which is a goddamn miracle.  "I mean,
your crazy plan worked, believe it or not, by no fault of your own, but - "
 
"What happened?" Danny interjects.
 
Steve looks at him longsufferingly, like Danny's done something to deserve his
annoyance, which he hasn't, thank you very much.  "Mattie decided to go through
your search history, and your uncle came to the rescue."
 
"Thank God for Uncle Williams," Danny declares.
 
"Yeah," Steve laughs lightly, "yeah, really, thank God."
 
Steve leans over Danny's bed, and for a moment he lingers so close that Danny
could probably count the tributary scars on his old broken nose, if he were
really that interested in the finer points of Steve's medical history. 
Instead, he's more interested in the press of Steve's lips against his, the
hand in the back of his hair, the way the kiss somehow opens up his lungs
instead of making his breathing worse.
 
They break apart long enough for Steve to say, "You got shot, by the way."
 
"I guessed as much."
 
Danny puts his mouth back on Steve's, and it feels impossibly good just to have
him so close, to have Steve's heat wafting over him, Steve's tongue flat
against the roof of his mouth, grounding.  
 
Steve pulls back too quickly, looking remorseful that he can't continue
anything further, which - it's probably not a great idea to try to fuck in a
hospital cot with a gunshot wound in his chest, but Danny's willing to try new
experiences, at least in that area of study.  "Marshal Kelly went to get the
girls and Mattie," Steve says, "they were down in the cafeteria, so it
shouldn't take long."
 
Indeed, the cocophany of girls, plus Mattie, burst in through the door not a
moment later, loud and bright and bearing gifts, namely balloons and chocolate
bars that Danny's not allowed to eat.  Katie bounces up onto his lap - he
manages to hide an oof of pain - Abby tells him all about the book she's been
reading to him while he was asleep, Mattie sulks in the corner, none of them
are scared, and all is right with the world.
 
Kalakaua says to him much later, when Katie and Abby have been taken home to
sleep, and Mattie has retreated to the hallway to play on his handheld gaming
whatever, "We're going to have to move again."
 
Danny looks at Steve, dozing on the edge of Danny's bed.  "Anything in
Honolulu?" he asks.
 
End Notes
     title from the funeral by band of horses
     if anyone knows a quick and easy way to get rid of double spaces in
     between paragraphs, i'm all ears
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