ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2011-08-14 08:59 pm
ratherastory) wrote2011-08-14 08:59 pm
The Seal (3/3)
Part II
Danny’s mind reels. He can feel Steve’s tongue against his, a little curious, a little insistent and oddly diffident for all that, as though Steve expects to be rebuffed at any moment. Danny deepens the kiss, feels Steve’s hands clenching fistfuls of his shirt, as though it’s taking all of Steve’s self-control not to just lay him out right there on the floor. He pulls back, a little breathless, puts a hand out to steady himself.
"Danny, are you –are we?"
He grins, walks them back toward the bed, and Steve lets himself be steered, his expression bemused and not a little pleased. It's a heady feeling, shoving around a man who's got at least six inches on him, maybe more (definitely more, but Danny's not going to start counting now, it'll just depress him), knowing that he's got all the power here because Steve is willing to give it to him. Steve stumbles a little when the backs of his knees meet Danny's sofa bed, and it's only Danny's grip on his shirt that keeps him from falling backward. Danny lets him down slowly, their lips still locked, pushes him backward and climbs over until he's straddling Steve's thighs, more than a little gratified by the effect he's having on him. Steve is hard against Danny's thigh, and the spandex should make this ridiculous except that somehow it just makes it even hotter, along with the way he's kissing Danny like he's trying to make him come just with the combined touches of their tongues.
"Come on, babe," Danny murmurs, moving along Steve's jaw to bite at his neck just below the ear, enjoying the way Steve jerks under him with a quiet gasp.
He tugs at Steve's mask, fumbling with clumsy fingers to unfasten it behind Steve's head. For a moment he thinks Steve is going to resist, pull away even, but after a moment he goes still and even reaches up to help Danny with the knot.
"Don't get me wrong, babe," Danny says into his ear, breath hot against Steve's skin, savouring the way it makes Steve shudder. "The mask is mysterious and all, which is kind of hot, but I want to be able to look into your eyes."
Steve huffs a laugh, does something with his hips that almost makes Danny cream his shorts like a teenager right then and there. "I knew you were a romantic."
"See how romantic you feel when I still can't get you out of this ridiculous spandex thing."
"For the last time: It's. Not. Spandex!" Steve growls, and Danny decides he really must be a Ninja or something, because the next thing he knows Steve has flipped him onto his back without his quite realizing how he got there. More importantly, the costume has vanished, leaving well over six feet of very naked Seal sitting on his hips and plunging his tongue into Danny's mouth like it's his last day on earth and this is the very last thing he's ever going to taste.
As fast as he was with his own costume, Steve takes his time peeling away layer after layer of Danny's clothes, popping one button after the other using nothing except his teeth, and it might very well be the hottest thing Danny's ever seen. Steve trails kisses and licks and nips down his chest, works open the buttons of his fly and tugs his slacks free swiftly and smoothly, and Danny almost sobs with relief when Steve removes his boxers and the last of the confining material is gone. He's hard and straining now, pre-come leaking freely from the slit, and he can't bite back a moan when Steve carefully applies his tongue to the head of his cock, licking delicately around the crown.
"Steve..." he manages, but whatever else he was going to say is lost when Steve swallows him down entirely and without hesitation, like this is what he's been waiting for this whole time. Within a few seconds Danny is writhing, fists clenched around handfuls of his bedsheets in his struggle not to simply thrust up into the perfect, wet heat of Steve's mouth. He has just enough presence of mind left to know that that would be unconscionably rude, and while it's not exactly something he would discuss with his mother, the good woman raised him better than to be quite that selfish in the sack. Then Steve's tongue curls just the right way, and all of Danny's thought processes go right through the window. He barely has the wherewithal to utter a strangled warning before he's coming, but it seems like enough, because Steve pulls off at the very last moment, finishing him with an expert twist of one hand.
For a few minutes Danny's pretty sure he's never going to remember how to speak ever again, and that's fine by him. When he starts coming back to himself he realizes Steve's been moving around the room on his own and has come back, all without his noticing. When he's sure he has Danny's attention he waggles a familiar-looking foil packet at him, his expression comically unsure.
"Uh. Can I?"
Danny throws his head back with a chuckle, still feeling boneless and sated from his orgasm. "Yes, Steven, you may," he says, adding a flourish with his right hand. "Seriously, you have to ask? Get over here, you giant goof."
Steve grins, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment, and it really shouldn't be that cute, except that it's positively goddamn adorable, and all that Danny wants right now is for Steve to get on with it and screw him until he can't see straight. For a second Steve is all thumbs, trying to open up the condom packet, which is kind of reassuring —even Ninjas get nervous sometimes, it seems— and Danny ends up plucking it from his hands and putting it on for him, which gets an appreciative roll of Steve's hips. Steve didn't have any trouble locating the lube Danny keeps in the top drawer of his night table, and Danny licks his lips involuntary as he watches him spread it liberally over his fingers and hand.
"Ready?" Steve lays a hand, warm and steadying on his hip.
"God, yes," Danny tugs at his wrist, urging him on. "C'mon, Steve."
For a split-second he almost regrets the decision. The lube is cold, and it's been a very long time since he's had sex with anyone, let alone another guy, and he'd forgotten how very cold and very uncomfortable this part of it could be, even if he's already loose and relaxed from before. Steve is surprisingly gentle, though, and stops immediately when he feels Danny tense up, rubs circles on his hips with the thumb of his other hand.
"Easy, Danny," he murmurs. "Relax, okay? I got you, I promise..."
Danny pulls in a shuddering breath, closes his eyes, forces himself to relax, his muscles to unclench, and Steve eases his finger in just past the first knuckle, twisting a little and rubbing, letting the lube warm to body temperature and letting Danny adjust, little by little. After a moment the intrusion becomes less uncomfortable, starts teetering just on the edge of being pleasurable again, and Danny lets out a quiet moan, shifts his hips to get a little more friction, which Steve takes as an invitation to add another finger. Danny jerks, hips almost coming off the bed, but Steve keeps his hand splayed over his hip, pinning him in place, keeps working his fingers in short thrusts, crooks them until he finds Danny's prostate.
"Oh God," Danny moans louder this time, as Steve hits the same spot over and over again until he's seeing stars.
By the time Steve's ready, positioned above him on arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up, Danny's hard and leaking again, breathing raggedly. Steve is looking at him expectantly, eyes questioning, and Danny nods, tacitly giving permission. His eyes slam shut as he feels Steve's cock nudge at him, then slowly thrust in. He feels Steve pause, letting him adjust, realizes he's been holding his breath so long that he feels a little light-headed and his chest actually hurts. He lets out a careful breath, moves his hands until he's clasping Steve's wrists where he's holding onto Danny's hips.
"Go on," he urges him. "Move. Please."
He can still feel Steve's hesitation, cants his hips in order to encourage him, sets up a slow rhythm that's got to be even more frustrating for Steve than for him. Finally Steve seems to get with the program, moving forward to meet each of Danny's thrusts with one of his own, then to Danny's surprise he reaches down and simply hauls Danny up into his lap without so much as breaking his stride, as though this is something he does all the time. Danny's curse of surprise is immediately muffled by the talented application of Steve's mouth, kissing him for all he's worth even as he urges him on with short, sharp thrusts.
After that it's like a switch has been thrown. There's no question now of going slowly or gently, and Steve is all hands and lips and tongue, making Danny wonder dimly just how many arms he has in order to be able to touch him in so many places at once in ways that make him feel like his skin is being set on fire. He's pretty sure he's babbling, has no idea what sort of nonsense is coming out of his mouth, but he can't even begin to care, just so long as Steve doesn't stop what he's doing. It's a hot and fast and frantic few moments of breathing each other's air, of not being sure where he ends and Steve begins, until Steve jerks convulsively under him and comes with a hoarse yell while Danny keeps riding him through the aftershocks. Steve rests his forehead onto Danny's shoulder, retaining enough presence of mind to bring his hand between them and grasp Danny's dick, tipping him right over the edge for the second time with a few well-timed jerks.
Still breathing hard, Danny lets Steve ease them both back onto the bed, pulling out carefully and rolling off the bed to dispose of the condom. Danny decides he's too tired to move, even though Steve left him lying spattered in his own come, and so he's doubly pleased when Steve reappears almost like magic a moment later with a wet washcloth and carefully wipes him down.
"A regular gentleman," he murmurs, and Steve laughs, collapsing onto the bed next to him, making the springs groan. The washcloth falls with a wet splatting sound to the floor, but Danny can't bring himself to care.
Steve settles closer, flings an arm over his waist. "I like to get up early, just so you know."
"Should have known you were a cuddler," Danny answers instead, shifting so that they fit together better. "Get up at whatever time you want, so long as you don't expect me to get up at the same time. And don't hog the covers."
"Next time, we're doing this at my place. Your sofa-bed is really uncomfortable."
Danny snorts. "Cocky. Assuming there's going to be a next time."
Steve just pulls him even closer, already halfway asleep, and Danny sees no reason not to follow his example for once.
~*~
The lack of leads in the case is quite possibly the most frustrating thing Danny has ever had to deal with in his entire life, possibly up to and including his acrimonious and messy divorce. Not that Danny is unofficially investigating the case while he's on forced leave or anything, because that would go against regulations and everything he's been taught about being a good cop. So he's definitely not investigating on his own. Not to mention that it's like fulfilling every single bad TV cop cliché that Danny has grown to loathe over the years. He doesn't watch television anymore except for football and baseball, because every police procedural that the local stations inflict on him is worse than the last, and he ends up throwing a sofa cushion at the screen in frustration.
"You realize it's fiction, right Danny?" Steve asks one night when he's come over, ostensibly to discuss the case that Danny is totally not investigating.
Of course, they ended up tangled in each other on Danny's admittedly uncomfortable sofa-bed rather than really discussing anything, but Danny can't bring himself to mind. Right now, though, Steve is hunkered over the tiny table that Danny sometimes uses when he brings home work, while Danny mutters mutinously under his breath about David Caruso and the whole CSI: Miami team's tendency to wear white pant suits to extraordinarily grimy crime scenes.
He switches off the television in disgust. "I know, but you'd think these writers would at least make a minimal effort at realism. Next thing you know they'll be taking photographs of the crime scenes with their damned iPhones instead of letting the forensics guys do it with their professional equipment."
"You don't take crime scene photos with your iPhone?"
"Of course not! You can't expect―" Danny sputters to a stop the minute he realizes, slightly too late, that Steve was trying to get a rise out of him. "Oh, shut up. What do you know about proper procedure anyway? Your idea of reading someone their rights is to swoop out of the night, tie them up and then string them up from a lamp post."
"That was one time!" Steve protests. "And he had it coming, anyway."
"And that right there is why you should never get officially involve with law enforcement. Whether or not a perp 'has it coming' has nothing to do with how a good police officer conducts himself, am I clear?"
"Crystal. Speaking of which, I got you something."
Danny glances up, surprised. "You did? Is it something that's going to blow up my apartment?"
Steve makes Kicked Puppy Face, which never fails to make Danny feel guilty about every single mean thing he's said to everyone for his whole entire life. "No, it's a present. And it was one grenade and it never even came close to your apartment."
"No, you just kept it in the trunk of my car without telling me. While I'm on forced leave from my job, which could result in me losing my badge forever."
"You're forgetting the part where I got you a present," Steve thrusts a small blue box at him, his expression hopeful.
"You're not going to propose, are you?" Danny takes the box, eyeing him askance. Steve rolls his eyes, so he very carefully pops open the box, revealing a sleek little silver tie pin. It's surprisingly tasteful and unostentatious. Danny was sure that Steve's taste in jewellery would be just as eye-searing as his costume choices. "I thought you didn't approve of my ties."
"They're not appropriate island wear. You just look out of place with a shirt and tie."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to look like a professional."
"A professional what?"
"Ha-ha. Funny. You got me a tie pin, so that automatically invalidates everything you've ever said about my ties."
"Look, I just wanted you to have something useful, okay? So long as you're wearing really impractical clothing, it may as well serve some purpose. Check it out," Steve reaches for the tie pin, grinning in a way that immediately has Danny extremely worried. "It's hollow, so if you press this little indentation at the tip of the pin, it actually serves as a miniature knife."
"You gave me a knife disguised as a tie pin." Danny gives Steve a flat look.
"Well, yeah. You never know when it'll come in handy."
"You, my friend, need serious help. Remind me to give you the card of a very good therapist I know."
Steve grins, drops onto the sofa and makes an elaborate show of crossing his legs and resting his feet on the coffee table ―which he knows drives Danny nuts, damn him. "I have better things to do with my time, Danno."
Danny arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? Like what."
Steve smirks. "Come here, and I'll show you."
Danny heaves a sigh, can't quite help the smile that spreads over his face, and decides that, just this once, he's going to let himself get distracted.
~*~
It's Kono and Chin Ho Kelly who provide an unexpected break in the case. After spending nearly three days in Danny's company, Steve abruptly disappears, with no explanation whatsoever save that he's 'looking into something.' The only reason Danny knows not to suspect foul play is that he occasionally gets cryptic text messages which he's pretty sure Steve thinks are perfectly obvious.
So are you in actual danger of being killed right at this moment? He texts back at one point, thoroughly exasperated.
The reply is equally exasperating. No, why?
Never mind.
The whole process makes his head ache, and truth be told he's going a little stir-crazy in his tiny apartment with nothing to take his mind off the fact that Meka's killer is still out there. Rachel has whisked Grace off on an impromptu vacation, and while Danny misses his little girl like a limb that's been chopped off, he can't bring himself to resent her absence this time. Not when he knows it's the only thing keeping her safe from enemies who seem perennially out of his reach.
So he's grateful when his cell phone rings, and Kono's cheerful tones come over the line. "Hi Danny! So, I was wondering, you been jewellery shopping lately?"
He blinks. "Uh, no. Why would I be jewellery shopping?"
"Oh, you know, you never know what could happen," Kono says. "You meet all sorts of interesting people, with all sorts of interesting things to say. I hear that there are some interesting sales going on, too. So, you know, if you were looking for a watch, now would be a pretty good time to check them out. You catch my drift, brah?"
"You're about as subtle as a speeding freight train," Danny assures her. "A new watch, you say?"
"Or earrings, if that's more your thing. I like diamonds, for the record. Silver backing. Definitely earrings, it's always a safe bet. "
"Duly noted," Danny keeps shaking his head long after he's hung up the phone.
Chin Ho Kelly doesn't look in the least bit surprised when Danny shows up at the store. "What can I do for you, Detective?"
Danny leans on the counter. "You may as well call me Danny. At the rate I'm going I won't have a badge this time next week. Doesn't anyone else work in this place? I never seem to see anyone else here."
Chin shrugs and smiles in a way that suggests he is at one with the ways of the universe and embraced all its inexplicable weirdness. "The other employees are feeling a little nervous about being here, so the owner asked me to fill in."
"Aren't you security?"
"Yup. And now I get commissions, too. So, are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Apparently I'm supposed to get diamond earrings for a good friend. You got any recommendations?"
That gets him a slight raise of Chin's eyebrow, which is quite possibly the first time Danny has seen him emote anything beyond 'enigmatic.' "Well, our own inventory is pretty depleted since the robbery, but I have an address for you. I think you'll find what you're looking for there, if you hurry. It turns out that particular kind of jewellery is in demand."
"Lots of weddings all of a sudden?"
Chin is busy carefully printing the address on a piece of paper, and so Danny can't see his expression. "A mutual friend of ours told me there are some very practical applications for it, actually, although I have to say it's nothing I'd ever heard of before. You should get going, if you don't want to miss the boat on this. I hear there's an important shipping deadline coming up."
Danny glances at the address, which predictably enough is by the docks. "Thanks Chin, I owe you one. Or is it two now?"
"Might be three, but I'll let it go for two. Try to keep our mutual friend out of trouble, all right? You and Kono are the only ones who know about this address, because if I leave it up to him he'll go in firing every cannon he has at his disposal and probably get himself killed, and God help me but I like the crazy man and I'd hate it if he met an untimely end."
"Wow. I think that's the most I've heard you say in all the times we've spoken put together."
"What can I say? I like to practice economy in all things. You should get going, Danny."
"Right," Danny reaches across the counter to shake Chin's hand. "Again, thank you."
"Anytime, brah."
~*~
The address turns out to be a warehouse less than a quarter of a mile from where Meka was murdered. Danny isn't much of one for hunches ―he doesn't like anything that can't be backed up by good old-fashioned police work― but his gut tells him that if he digs into the paperwork on all these warehouses, he's going to find some surprising similarities. Danny has always been a homicide detective, but he wonders if it might not be worth asking for a transfer to Organized Crime. It'll get him out from the disapproving stares of the rest of his precinct, and he gets the feeling that it might prove a lot more rewarding in the long run. Goodness knows that Hawaii seems to be rife with corruption at many levels, and there's something viscerally satisfying about the idea of cleaning up the place that's made his life miserable for the last year.
The warehouse yard is deserted as he makes his way to the side door, and a quick look around reveals no visible security camera. The door is locked, but since Danny's here unofficially he doesn't feel too bad about picking the lock and letting himself in. Lock picking isn't exactly a usual skill for a police officer to have, but Danny's found it useful enough in the past. He just doesn't advertise it much, lest it give the wrong idea to his colleagues. Forty-five seconds later and he's slipping through the door,wishing it wouldn't creak quite so much on its hinges, and finds himself in a small office filled with what look like rolls of blueprints. He pauses in order to unroll one of the blueprints, stares at it long enough to realize that he has no idea what it is. He's not exactly an engineer or anything, but he's never seen anything like this. It looks maybe a little like a cannon, but much, much bigger —how big he can't really tell, which is a little annoying. Finally he gives up on deciphering it, figuring that they can always get experts to look at it later, when he brings all of the wrath of HPD down on this place, along with the requisite warrants, of course. Right now, he tells himself as he eases open the inner door that leads to the warehouse and carefully pokes his head through, he has an ongoing crime to investigate.
His jaw drops.
All around, the warehouse is bustling with activity. Danny figures there must be some sort of sound proofing on the outer walls, because there was no sign whatsoever from the outside of all these goings-on. Whatever has been happening here, it seems to be drawing to a close. There are stacks of crates all being moved swiftly and efficiently out through the back and onto the docks, from where they're being loaded onto a boat large enough to make Danny wonder just how they managed to sneak it in past the coast guard. It's a huge operation, with at least two dozen men working to move the crates and at least as many others moving about efficiently in order to lend a hand wherever it's needed.
Apart from the foreman barking orders, there's no visble sign of anyone being in charge of the operation. Keeping as low as possible, Danny creeps forward, pulling out his iPhone in order to start recording what he's seeing ―more than keenly aware of the irony, given his little rant to Steve about how to collect evidence the other day― and finds what he hopes is a pretty good vantage point behind a pile of rusted equipment that's been shoved to the side to make room for the new operation. It provides pretty good cover, keeping him out of sight of anyone who's not actively searching for him. At least, that's what he thinks until he feels cold metal pressed up to the back of his neck, accompanied by the distinctive click of the hammer being pulled back on a pistol.
Crap.
"What do we have here?" a voice asks. He doesn't recognize it, but the accent sounds like it originates from somewhere in Britain ―Ireland, maybe― which means only one thing.
"Victor Hesse, I take it?"
"You're not in a position to be asking questions, Detective Williams. I could have sworn you'd been removed from this investigation. I would have thought your partner's example would have sufficed to convince you to keep your distance from my employer."
Danny feels a hot surge of anger at that, and has to force himself to keep still. He has no illusions that Hesse wouldn't put a bullet in the back of his head with little to no provocation. "Yeah, well, it's difficult to deter me, especially when you murder my partner in cold blood. I'm planning on making you regret that for the rest of your life, just so you know."
"Right. Well, that's going to be a little difficult, seeing as how this time tomorrow you'll be dead. The only reason you're not already dead is that my boss has other plans for you first."
Danny doesn't have time so much as to open his mouth to inquire about said plans before something very hard –and annoyingly reminiscent of the butt of someone's pistol– collides with the back of his head, making him see multi-coloured stars. Then everything goes dark.
~*~
When Danny comes to, he’s sitting upright in a rolling office chair of all things, his hands zip-tied to the arms, his legs pulled back in order for his ankles to be zip-tied to the wheel supports, which is pretty damned uncomfortable, thank you very much. His head feels as though a whole regimental marching band has taken up residence in there, complete with kettledrums. He licks his lips, finds his mouth drier than the Sahara, and coughs a little bit. There’s no way of telling how long he’s been here, but he thinks it must be several hours at least. He looks around, trying to get his bearings, but there are no windows in the room, which is entirely bare, save for himself and the chair he is quickly beginning to hate.
The walls are unremarkable, just whitewashed drywall, and he twists awkwardly in his seat in order to take a look at the door. It's made of thick metal with no visible hinges or even a keyhole, though there is a sliding panel which tells him that it's been designed as a cell. Wherever this is, it's definitely not an improvised holding cell, but one made specifically for this purpose. Great.
It's too uncomfortable to keep craning his neck like that, so he subsides in his chair, trying to figure out if there's any way he can get out of here. First thing, of course, is to get untied. He flexes wrists and ankles, but the zip-ties are securely in place, which is a bit of a bitch. Even if he had anything in his pockets with which to cut through them, it's not like he can reach them. Then Danny grins, remembering his tie pin. Of course, getting to the damn tie pin is another story. It's too far down to grab even with his teeth, and Danny huffs in frustration. Okay, time for another plan.
He doesn't have time to so much as begin to formulate said new plan, though, before the door behind him swings open, scraping on the cement floor.
"Detective Williams," a sardonic voice bounces off the walls, which is quite a feat, given how small this cell is. "I am so glad you have decided to join us."
Wo Fat is a little taller in person than Danny imagined from the photograph he saw in a couple of files to which he was hastily denied access, but dressed exactly the same as he always is, in an impeccably tailored white suit, complete with a black domino that appears to be more for show than any real attempt at disguising his features. Danny swallows a groan, wonders just how hard he hit his head, comes to the conclusion that not only was it really hard, but that he was also very likely drugged. Peachy.
"You’re a lot uglier in person," he manages weakly. "You’re The Shark, I presume?"
Wo Fat’s features twist into something perilously close to a smirk. "It’s good to know that my reputation has not diminished, in those circles that still count."
"I don’t know whether to be flattered or to let you know that you’re pretty deluded if you think I count for anything where I come from."
"Don’t sell yourself short, Detective Williams. You’ve become quite the thorn in our side, hasn’t he, Victor?"
Danny must be really out of it, he thinks, because he never even noticed Victor Hesse come in behind Wo Fat. Now he's standing off to the side, casually cleaning under his fingernails with the biggest Bowie knife Danny has ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Crap.
"I think this is the part where I tell you you're not going to get away with this."
Wo Fat throws back his head with what can only be described as a maniacal laugh. "Oh, bless you, Detective, I have already gotten away with it. I've been getting away with these things for nigh on thirty years. What I am doing today, Detective Williams, is tying up loose ends."
Danny swallows in spite of himself. "Loose ends?"
"Indeed. You, my dear Detective, are very little more than a means to an end. I have everything in place for my plan of world domination—"
"Oh my God, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were planning that," Danny lets his head drop in despair, because, really? World domination?
"Our friend, The Seal? No, he wasn't. He isn't a man prone to exaggeration, although he is prone to making quasi-suicidal leaps into whatever struggle he believes is right. It's most inconvenient that he manages to survive every single time. Which is why you're here, incidentally."
Danny's heart skips a beat. "You're trying to use me as bait."
"Got it in one," Hesse smirks from behind Wo Fat. "All our reports indicate you and our costumed friend enjoy a very close relationship. But even if those reports are wrong, The Seal has never been one to let an innocent die or even be harmed because of him. He'll be along before long, see if he isn't, and we'll be waiting for him."
"You really think he's that stupid?"
Wo Fat clasps his hands behind his back. "The Seal is something of a sentimentalist. It plays havoc with his judgment. Besides, he has a serious dislike of doomsday weapons. I think you caught a glimpse of mine while you were in the warehouse, yes?"
"The blueprints. The cannon." Suddenly things start clicking together in Danny's mind. None of it makes sense, except that if he flips it all on its head and pretends that normal-people logic doesn't apply (like everything else in his life since Steve first dropped in on him), then it actually does make a weird kind of sense. "The diamonds, the silver, you needed all of it for whatever you're building. Like, components or something. You murdered Meka because he was too close, because he came across your operation. I bet you anything you had set up shop in that warehouse where your flunky here murdered him." He directs a glare at Hesse. "I am personally going to rip your spleen out past your tonsils for that, by the way."
For a moment Hesse doesn't so much as flinch. Then he takes a slow step forward and deliberately kicks Danny hard in the chest, knocking him back and tipping the chair over. Danny falls awkwardly, his head, shoulder and knee smacking painfully on the concrete floor. He swears, tries to catch his breath enough to speak again, eyes screwed shut against the sudden pain.
"You are far too clever for your own good, Detective," Wo Fat bends over him, hands still clasped behind his back. "One of these days, it will get you killed. In fact, if all goes to plan, that day has come. I will leave you to think about that, while we await your already-doomed rescue. Good day," Wo Fat inclines his head briefly before he motions to Hesse, and the two of them leave him entirely alone.
~*~
Sitting by himself and stewing in his own juices is not Danny's idea of a good time, but he's even less thrilled at the idea that Steve is going to make some sort of suicidally noble attempt to come save him. It never occurs to him that Steve won't come, because he's pretty sure that it wouldn't occur to Steve not to come, damn him. So he's not even remotely surprised when, less than thirty minutes later, the door scrapes open again.
"You know it's a trap, right?" he greets Steve.
Steve grins at him, teeth very white under his mask. Danny has to remind himself that this is a very bad time to be admiring Steve's chiseled physique under his costume. "Of course it's a trap. But don't worry, Danno, I've taken care of all of the guards and disabled the security camera feed to this section of the compound."
"Compound?"
"This is The Shark's secret lair. In fact, it's a pretty good thing you got yourself kidnapped, because that meant I was able to follow you all the way here and find it. Otherwise it might have taken me years to find its location. I will hand it to him, he has a flair for the dramatic."
Danny snorts. "Unlike you?"
Steve crouches next to him, neatly severing one of the zip-ties with a knife. "At least my secret base isn't under a volcano. I have a very nice beach house which just happens to have a large underground addition to it."
"Why couldn't I fall for a guy who understands that an addition to a house is a garage or a playroom for the kids?" Danny laments as Steve frees his other hand, rubbing his wrist gingerly and trying to make the blood start circulating again.
"Aw, Danno, that's touching."
"Seriously, don't call me that —ow," Danny's legs threaten to buckle when Steve hauls him upright, and he stamps both feet hard on the ground, trying to rid himself of the pins and needles in his feet, grateful for Steve's steadying presence, keeping him standing. Even under the mask he can see that Steve's expression is anxious, and he's oddly touched by the concern even as Steve briskly checks him over for hidden injuries.
"Okay, well, it looks like you have a mild concussion, and I'm guessing you were drugged," he says, rubbing his thumb gently over a pin-prick mark in the crook of Danny's elbow, confirming Danny's earlier suspicions. "But that looks to be about it. You think you can walk?"
"I can even run if needs be. You got a plan for getting out of here? Wait," he stops as what Steve said earlier finally registers. "Did you say volcano?"
"Yup!" Steve agrees cheerfully. "But don't worry. As soon as we've disabled the Death Ray, I have an escape route all planned out."
"Death Ray?"
Steve gives him an incredulous look. "You didn't know The Shark was planning to enact his plan of world domination by using his doomsday device?"
Danny scrubs at his face. "Yeah, okay, he mentioned it, but he never said Death Ray, all right? Cut me some slack, here. I've been drugged and knocked around, and up until a few weeks ago there was no such thing as superheroes or Death Rays or plans for world domination, all right?"
"I'll cut you some slack later. Right now we have to disable the device and get out of here. You with me?"
Danny flaps both hands exasperatedly. "Do I have a choice?" He motions toward the door with a flourish. "Lead the way, since I have no idea where we are. How did you find me, anyway?"
"Oh, I put a tracking chip in your shoe."
Danny almost stops in his tracks. "What? Oh my God, you —you don't even know how many things are wrong with that statement, do you? Okay, leaving aside the creepy, stalkerish aspect of putting a tracking chip in my shoe, how could you even know which pair to put it in? It's not like I just have the one. Oh, God," he doesn't even let Steve speak before realization dawns. "You bugged all my shoes, didn't you? Even my sandals?"
"How else was I supposed to keep track of you and keep you safe?"
"There are so many things wrong with you, I don't know where to begin," Danny mutters. "Fine, let's go disable this Death Ray and get the hell out of here—" A sudden noise off to the side makes him look up in time to see Victor Hesse bearing down on them at full tilt, and he barely has time to begin shouting a warning before there's a sharp pain in his neck and it feels like all his muscles have locked up. Then, for the second time in as many days, everything goes dark.
~*~
The next time Danny comes to, he's been zip-tied back to the damned chair, which is really just an indication of how much his life sucks some days. Not only that, but the spill he took earlier when his chair was knocked over has taken its toll his pants are torn, several shirt buttons are missing, and his tie has landed over his right shoulder, not to mention the brand-new collection of scrapes and bruises, and what feels like a mild electrical burn on his neck to go with the impressive egg forming on the back of his skull from where Victor Hesse cold-cocked him the first time. Knocked out, drugged, and now Tasered. This day just keeps getting better. He's still thirsty, too, which is annoying, but he puts aside the thoughts of his physical discomfort in order to try to his surroundings, which have changed considerably from the tiny cell from which Steve helped him escaped before.
The room he’s in is very large, but his chair has been turned so that he’s facing the closest wall, making it all but impossible to see the rest of the room without painfully twisting his neck. The next thing he spots is another figure, similarly bound to a chair, seated a few yards away to his left, and his heart lodges in his throat, because he was really hoping Steve had managed to elude capture. He’d recognize that green spandex anywhere, and it's not as though the mask can conceal what he already knows is under there. Not that Danny isn't perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he'd sort of been counting on Steve to help him get out of there once it was obvious he'd made it in.
"Hey St–" He bites his tongue, stops just short of revealing Steve’s real name to his enemies. "Uh, Seal!" He feels stupid, but presses on anyway, swallowing in an attempt to moisten his mouth a bit. "You okay?"
Steve doesn’t stir, and Danny feels his chest tighten with anxiety when he spots a trail of congealed blood running from his temple all the way down his neck.
"Ah, Detective Williams, so good of you to join us once more. I was beginning to think that Victor here had been a trifle overzealous with the application of blunt force trauma. He's loyal to a fault, but can occasionally be too exuberant in his enthusiasm for his work. I suppose one can only admire his work ethic, but still, I will confess it's sometimes inconvenient."
He blinks a little stupidly, looks around until he finds the owner of the voice. Wo Fat is standing off to one side, flanked as usual by Victor Hesse, still playing with his Bowie knife.
"You know, watching you play with that thing, anyone else might think you were trying to compensate for something."
Wo Fat gives Hesse a quelling look, effectively pre-empting his doing anything stupid at Danny's provocation, so Danny takes another tack.
"What have you done to The Seal?"
"Oh, our mutual friend Steven, here?" Wo Fat grins evilly at Danny’s evident surprise. "Don’t look so startled, Detective Williams, I am well acquainted with the McGarrett clan. We go back a very long way, although it’s my hope that today will mark the end of the very long and very tiresome game of cat and mouse that I have played with them for so many years. Victor, I think our guest has slept long enough, don’t you?"
Hesse glances up at The Shark, nods once in acknowledgement, then steps forward and delivers a vicious backhand to Steve’s face, rocking him backward in his chair. Steve groans audibly, head lolling, but his eyelashes flutter and he seems to come to, a little at least. Danny’s never been so happy in his life to see anyone wake up.
"Steve! You okay?"
He gets a weak cough and a nod. Apparently he's a little too out of it to notice or care that Danny used his real name. "M’fine, Danny. You?"
"I’m super. You, uh, got a plan up your sleeve to get us out of here? Because right now is when that vaunted Seal resourcefulness would come in handy."
"Workin’ on it."
"That’s not very reassuring!"
"Enough!" Wo Fat drives the back of his hand against Danny’s face so hard Danny’s pretty sure he’ll have whiplash from the blow. "You are here simply as insurance, Detective Williams, to ensure that The Seal doesn’t attempt any more of his ridiculous heroics in an attempt to save humanity."
"You won’t get away with this, Wo Fat!" Steve spits, but his tone lacks his usual conviction.
"I already covered that part of the exchange," Danny points out, but they're not listening to him.
"Oh, I think you’ll find that I will. Victor?" At a gesture from Wo Fat, Hesse hits Steve again, almost casually, and blood blossoms on his upper lip, trickling from his nose.
"Hey, pudding-for-brains! Why don’t you try picking on someone who’s not tied up?" Danny yells. "See how tough you are then, when you’re not ambushing people from behind or murdering old men in their homes?"
Wo Fat clucks his tongue. "I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head, Detective, or I shall be forced to have Victor cut it out with that very large knife of his. If it’s any consolation, I am given to understand that he keeps it very sharp. I would hate to have my tongue cut out with a dull knife, wouldn’t you?"
He walks over slowly to Steve, hands clasped behind his back, and gives him a long, hard look. "Let’s get on with this, shall we?"
Not for the first time, Danny starts to get a very bad feeling about the whole situation.
~*~
"Well, I have been waiting a very long time for this, I won’t deny it," Wo Fat says. "I think, also, that I should cut to the chase, don’t you? I imagine you’ve been trying to figure out my endgame this entire time, yes?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," Steve admits, looking curious in spite of himself. "I know about the Death Ray, but that's the extent of it."
Wo Fat, it appears, is not immune to the arch villain’s traditional predilection for monologuing. This, as far as Danny is concerned, is all to the good. So long as his attention is on revealing just how clever he was so that Steve can admire him or whatever, that means Danny is free to work in relative peace, so long as he keeps an eye on Hesse. Right now, though everyone’s attention is focused on Steve. Danny catches his eye, nods, tries to keep as still as possible, as though all the fight was beaten out of him with that last set of blows. His tie is still flung over one shoulder, though, and that means the tie clip that Steve gave him as a present is right there, inches away. It's a step in the right direction, at least.
"It’s taken years of painstaking planning to get to this final stage," Wo Fat is saying to Steve, "but I think you’ll agree that the end result will be quite breathtaking."
Slowly, excruciatingly, Danny uses his teeth to drag at his tie, the fabric dry against his tongue, until his teeth scrape over the metal of the tie clip, his neck twisting painfully in the process. He hears the fabric tear a little bit as he pulls the clip free, curses the loss of his second-best tie, but he can’t help but feel a moment of triumph when he not only obtains his tie clip, but manages to drop it directly into his hand. The tricky part now will be to cut through the zip tie without attracting attention, and without lacerating his hand in the process.
Luckily, Wo Fat is too busy pointing Steve in the direction of his masterpiece, or whatever. Danny’s mostly tuning him out by now, but suddenly his head snaps up.
"Whoa! Wait a second. You're actually going to use the Death Ray?"
Wo Fat smiles evilly (and there really isn’t another word for it). "Do try to keep up, Detective. I realize it’s difficult for someone of your inferior intellect, but I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. See for yourself." He gestures expansively with one arm to something that lies just beyond Danny’s shoulder.
The next thing Danny knows Hesse has grabbed his chair by the back and dragged it around one hundred and eighty degrees, giving him a perfect view of a giant contraption that’s far too phallic-looking for its own good. It doesn't really look like the blueprints Danny saw, but then, he thinks that nothing ever looks like its blueprints to people who don't know what they're looking at. Looking at the thing now, Danny figures that if he ever would have wanted to design his very own Death Ray, that’s definitely what it would look like.
"I don’t believe it. You’ve actually filled almost every cliché in the book. Is there like a super villain Bingo card you all get issued? Underground lair underneath a volcano? Check. Grandiose plan to rule the world? Check. Morally bankrupt and murderous henchman? Check. All you need is a fluffy white cat, some flashy rings, and you’ll be all set. The only way you could make this better is if you were an albino. Uh, where exactly is that thing pointing, anyway?"
Danny’s babbling, he realizes this, but he can’t quite help himself, because he’s got a pretty good idea exactly where that thing is pointing, and the thought that there is absolutely nothing he can do to warn Rachel, to get Grace to safety, makes the blood run cold in his veins even as he works furiously to free himself without getting noticed.
"Why, straight at the heart of Honolulu, of course. I think that obliterating a small island ought to attract enough attention, don’t you?" Wo Fat lets out a laugh that sends chills down Danny’s spine, and punches a code into a keypad on the side of the device. "Once they see what I’m capable of, no one will be able to stand in my way!"
"There’s nearly a million people on that island!" Steve yells indignantly, and both Wo Fat and Hesse turn to him just as Danny feels the zip tie on his right hand give way. "You'll be murdering innocent women and children, you craven snake!"
Danny can tell Steve has realized what he’s doing, is raising a fuss to keep their attention away from him, which means he has to move fast. He wipes his hand quickly on his pants to make sure he won’t drop the pin at the wrong moment, and now that his hand is free he’s able to make short work of the zip tie on his left wrist, folds at the waist to try to free his legs, adrenaline making his heart race and blood roar in his ears. One ankle comes free, and Danny knows his luck has run out when there’s a yell of outrage from Victor Hesse.
He barely has time to stagger to his feet, hampered by the chair to which he’s still attached by one leg as Hesse lunges at him with the Bowie knife. He manages to twist out of the way, uses Hesse’s momentum against him in order to grab the arm wielding the knife and twists as hard as he can. Danny may not have all of Steve’s abilities, but he hasn’t been a cop for fifteen years for nothing, and he’s learned to fight dirty. Hesse’s hold on the knife loosens, although he doesn’t let go, and that’s the opening Danny was waiting for. He steps in, uses his hips as a pivot point, and drives his elbow hard into the henchman’s temple, watching in satisfaction as Hesse staggers, Bowie knife slipping from his grasp. Danny snatches up the knife, slices neatly through the remaining zip tie on his ankle, and rounds on Hesse again, hoping he hasn't left him enough time to recover. Hesse is still shaking his head to rid himself of the stars he's no doubt seeing, and Danny lunges at him, bearing him to the ground. For a second he finds himself with the man responsible for his partner's murder lying prone beneath him, the Bowie knife used in God knows how many murders right there in his hand. It would be so easy, he thinks.
"Danny! No!" Steve yells, and that's enough to snap him out of it. Hesse is staring at him, terror in his eyes, and Danny looks at him contemptuously and cracks his head against the floor just hard enough to knock him senseless.
Confident that Hesse is out of the game Danny rounds on Wo Fat, half-expecting him to be holding Steve hostage in return for Danny’s surrender. Steve, however, hasn’t been idle in the intervening seconds. He’s managed to tip over his chair, taking Wo Fat by surprise and knocking him to the ground. Wo Fat is still scrambling to his feet, giving Danny just enough time to dart over and cut Steve’s right hand loose, dropping the Bowie knife in his lap so he can do the rest of the work. He then launches himself in a bull rush at the still-prone Wo Fat, knocking him back to the floor and dealing him the hardest punch he can muster.
"That’s for threatening my daughter!"
"Danny!" Steve’s voice once again cuts through the red haze that seems to have descended over everything. "The device!"
He delivers one last punch to Wo Fat for good measure, scrambles to his feet and back toward the Death Ray, though he has no idea how to even begin deactivating it. It's huge and gleaming, sparkling in the artificial light of the enormous room. He can't even see the end of it, which is presumably sticking out of the side of the volcano somewhere. Instead he's faced with an indecipherable control panel, all touch screens and buttons and keypads.
"Steve, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
Steve is already locking horns with Wo Fat, who has recovered from the initial shock and is now giving as good as he’s getting. It’s probably a good thing Steve got him away from the man, Danny thinks a little numbly, watching the two opponents trade blows, because otherwise he’d probably be dead of a broken neck. Steve ducks a particularly vicious roundhouse kick, his cape swirling impressively now that he’s loose from his bonds, dances back out of reach just long enough to shout back.
"You can’t deactivate it, try the self-destruct sequence!"
Danny swears under his breath. "It’s not like there’s an instruction manual, Steven!"
"It’s a number sequence! Try using the most significant dates in the files!"
"Are you kidding me?" Danny yells, then takes a breath, flicks a switch that looks like it probably acts like a safety lock. "Okay, okay," he mutters, starts punching in as many of the dates as he can remember, all the while cursing superheroes with eidetic memories who can probably do this in their sleep. A moment later, though, there’s a whining sound from the machine and an alarm begins to blare somewhere overhead while a computerized female voice warns them that the self-destruct has been activated. Danny lets out a whoop of triumph.
"That’s what I’m talking about!"
"Danny, come on!"
Steve is dragging him away by the elbow and through the closest door into an exit tunnel, even as Wo Fat throws himself with a cry of desperation at the Death Ray, frantically punching numbers into the keypad in a futile attempt to deactivate the self-destruct sequence. The computer informs them confidently that they now have two minutes to vacate the premises.
There’s no time to look back, no time to see whether Wo Fat is dogging their heels or still trying to save his precious machine. No time to stay and make sure that he won’t manage to deactivate the self-destruct sequence, either. Danny puts his head down and sprints all-out after Steve, trying to keep up with his partner’s longer strides, trusting him to know what he’s doing and where he’s going. A moment later he spots light up ahead, puts on a burst of speed just as a deafening roar makes itself heard right behind them. There’s a blast of hot air and Danny is propelled forward, landing so hard on the ground that he sees stars, his ears ringing. Dimly he’s aware of hands grabbing him, pulling him up and half-dragging him forward until both he and Steve collapse on the sandy ground outside Wo Fat’s secret underground refuge.
For a few minutes they can do nothing but lie where they fell, sucking in great gulps of air. Finally, when Danny’s caught his breath, he rolls over and pats Steve’s chest a little awkwardly.
"My hero."
Steve coughs and laughs. "And don’t you forget it."
"You got a plan for getting back home?"
"Working on it."
"So that’s a no on the plan, then."
Steve smirks at him. "I was thinking I would kiss you senseless first, and then we’d worry about getting rescued."
Danny thinks about that for a second. "Yeah, okay."
After all, as Steve’s plans go, this one isn’t half bad.
~END~
Danny’s mind reels. He can feel Steve’s tongue against his, a little curious, a little insistent and oddly diffident for all that, as though Steve expects to be rebuffed at any moment. Danny deepens the kiss, feels Steve’s hands clenching fistfuls of his shirt, as though it’s taking all of Steve’s self-control not to just lay him out right there on the floor. He pulls back, a little breathless, puts a hand out to steady himself.
"Danny, are you –are we?"
He grins, walks them back toward the bed, and Steve lets himself be steered, his expression bemused and not a little pleased. It's a heady feeling, shoving around a man who's got at least six inches on him, maybe more (definitely more, but Danny's not going to start counting now, it'll just depress him), knowing that he's got all the power here because Steve is willing to give it to him. Steve stumbles a little when the backs of his knees meet Danny's sofa bed, and it's only Danny's grip on his shirt that keeps him from falling backward. Danny lets him down slowly, their lips still locked, pushes him backward and climbs over until he's straddling Steve's thighs, more than a little gratified by the effect he's having on him. Steve is hard against Danny's thigh, and the spandex should make this ridiculous except that somehow it just makes it even hotter, along with the way he's kissing Danny like he's trying to make him come just with the combined touches of their tongues.
"Come on, babe," Danny murmurs, moving along Steve's jaw to bite at his neck just below the ear, enjoying the way Steve jerks under him with a quiet gasp.
He tugs at Steve's mask, fumbling with clumsy fingers to unfasten it behind Steve's head. For a moment he thinks Steve is going to resist, pull away even, but after a moment he goes still and even reaches up to help Danny with the knot.
"Don't get me wrong, babe," Danny says into his ear, breath hot against Steve's skin, savouring the way it makes Steve shudder. "The mask is mysterious and all, which is kind of hot, but I want to be able to look into your eyes."
Steve huffs a laugh, does something with his hips that almost makes Danny cream his shorts like a teenager right then and there. "I knew you were a romantic."
"See how romantic you feel when I still can't get you out of this ridiculous spandex thing."
"For the last time: It's. Not. Spandex!" Steve growls, and Danny decides he really must be a Ninja or something, because the next thing he knows Steve has flipped him onto his back without his quite realizing how he got there. More importantly, the costume has vanished, leaving well over six feet of very naked Seal sitting on his hips and plunging his tongue into Danny's mouth like it's his last day on earth and this is the very last thing he's ever going to taste.
As fast as he was with his own costume, Steve takes his time peeling away layer after layer of Danny's clothes, popping one button after the other using nothing except his teeth, and it might very well be the hottest thing Danny's ever seen. Steve trails kisses and licks and nips down his chest, works open the buttons of his fly and tugs his slacks free swiftly and smoothly, and Danny almost sobs with relief when Steve removes his boxers and the last of the confining material is gone. He's hard and straining now, pre-come leaking freely from the slit, and he can't bite back a moan when Steve carefully applies his tongue to the head of his cock, licking delicately around the crown.
"Steve..." he manages, but whatever else he was going to say is lost when Steve swallows him down entirely and without hesitation, like this is what he's been waiting for this whole time. Within a few seconds Danny is writhing, fists clenched around handfuls of his bedsheets in his struggle not to simply thrust up into the perfect, wet heat of Steve's mouth. He has just enough presence of mind left to know that that would be unconscionably rude, and while it's not exactly something he would discuss with his mother, the good woman raised him better than to be quite that selfish in the sack. Then Steve's tongue curls just the right way, and all of Danny's thought processes go right through the window. He barely has the wherewithal to utter a strangled warning before he's coming, but it seems like enough, because Steve pulls off at the very last moment, finishing him with an expert twist of one hand.
For a few minutes Danny's pretty sure he's never going to remember how to speak ever again, and that's fine by him. When he starts coming back to himself he realizes Steve's been moving around the room on his own and has come back, all without his noticing. When he's sure he has Danny's attention he waggles a familiar-looking foil packet at him, his expression comically unsure.
"Uh. Can I?"
Danny throws his head back with a chuckle, still feeling boneless and sated from his orgasm. "Yes, Steven, you may," he says, adding a flourish with his right hand. "Seriously, you have to ask? Get over here, you giant goof."
Steve grins, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment, and it really shouldn't be that cute, except that it's positively goddamn adorable, and all that Danny wants right now is for Steve to get on with it and screw him until he can't see straight. For a second Steve is all thumbs, trying to open up the condom packet, which is kind of reassuring —even Ninjas get nervous sometimes, it seems— and Danny ends up plucking it from his hands and putting it on for him, which gets an appreciative roll of Steve's hips. Steve didn't have any trouble locating the lube Danny keeps in the top drawer of his night table, and Danny licks his lips involuntary as he watches him spread it liberally over his fingers and hand.
"Ready?" Steve lays a hand, warm and steadying on his hip.
"God, yes," Danny tugs at his wrist, urging him on. "C'mon, Steve."
For a split-second he almost regrets the decision. The lube is cold, and it's been a very long time since he's had sex with anyone, let alone another guy, and he'd forgotten how very cold and very uncomfortable this part of it could be, even if he's already loose and relaxed from before. Steve is surprisingly gentle, though, and stops immediately when he feels Danny tense up, rubs circles on his hips with the thumb of his other hand.
"Easy, Danny," he murmurs. "Relax, okay? I got you, I promise..."
Danny pulls in a shuddering breath, closes his eyes, forces himself to relax, his muscles to unclench, and Steve eases his finger in just past the first knuckle, twisting a little and rubbing, letting the lube warm to body temperature and letting Danny adjust, little by little. After a moment the intrusion becomes less uncomfortable, starts teetering just on the edge of being pleasurable again, and Danny lets out a quiet moan, shifts his hips to get a little more friction, which Steve takes as an invitation to add another finger. Danny jerks, hips almost coming off the bed, but Steve keeps his hand splayed over his hip, pinning him in place, keeps working his fingers in short thrusts, crooks them until he finds Danny's prostate.
"Oh God," Danny moans louder this time, as Steve hits the same spot over and over again until he's seeing stars.
By the time Steve's ready, positioned above him on arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up, Danny's hard and leaking again, breathing raggedly. Steve is looking at him expectantly, eyes questioning, and Danny nods, tacitly giving permission. His eyes slam shut as he feels Steve's cock nudge at him, then slowly thrust in. He feels Steve pause, letting him adjust, realizes he's been holding his breath so long that he feels a little light-headed and his chest actually hurts. He lets out a careful breath, moves his hands until he's clasping Steve's wrists where he's holding onto Danny's hips.
"Go on," he urges him. "Move. Please."
He can still feel Steve's hesitation, cants his hips in order to encourage him, sets up a slow rhythm that's got to be even more frustrating for Steve than for him. Finally Steve seems to get with the program, moving forward to meet each of Danny's thrusts with one of his own, then to Danny's surprise he reaches down and simply hauls Danny up into his lap without so much as breaking his stride, as though this is something he does all the time. Danny's curse of surprise is immediately muffled by the talented application of Steve's mouth, kissing him for all he's worth even as he urges him on with short, sharp thrusts.
After that it's like a switch has been thrown. There's no question now of going slowly or gently, and Steve is all hands and lips and tongue, making Danny wonder dimly just how many arms he has in order to be able to touch him in so many places at once in ways that make him feel like his skin is being set on fire. He's pretty sure he's babbling, has no idea what sort of nonsense is coming out of his mouth, but he can't even begin to care, just so long as Steve doesn't stop what he's doing. It's a hot and fast and frantic few moments of breathing each other's air, of not being sure where he ends and Steve begins, until Steve jerks convulsively under him and comes with a hoarse yell while Danny keeps riding him through the aftershocks. Steve rests his forehead onto Danny's shoulder, retaining enough presence of mind to bring his hand between them and grasp Danny's dick, tipping him right over the edge for the second time with a few well-timed jerks.
Still breathing hard, Danny lets Steve ease them both back onto the bed, pulling out carefully and rolling off the bed to dispose of the condom. Danny decides he's too tired to move, even though Steve left him lying spattered in his own come, and so he's doubly pleased when Steve reappears almost like magic a moment later with a wet washcloth and carefully wipes him down.
"A regular gentleman," he murmurs, and Steve laughs, collapsing onto the bed next to him, making the springs groan. The washcloth falls with a wet splatting sound to the floor, but Danny can't bring himself to care.
Steve settles closer, flings an arm over his waist. "I like to get up early, just so you know."
"Should have known you were a cuddler," Danny answers instead, shifting so that they fit together better. "Get up at whatever time you want, so long as you don't expect me to get up at the same time. And don't hog the covers."
"Next time, we're doing this at my place. Your sofa-bed is really uncomfortable."
Danny snorts. "Cocky. Assuming there's going to be a next time."
Steve just pulls him even closer, already halfway asleep, and Danny sees no reason not to follow his example for once.
~*~
The lack of leads in the case is quite possibly the most frustrating thing Danny has ever had to deal with in his entire life, possibly up to and including his acrimonious and messy divorce. Not that Danny is unofficially investigating the case while he's on forced leave or anything, because that would go against regulations and everything he's been taught about being a good cop. So he's definitely not investigating on his own. Not to mention that it's like fulfilling every single bad TV cop cliché that Danny has grown to loathe over the years. He doesn't watch television anymore except for football and baseball, because every police procedural that the local stations inflict on him is worse than the last, and he ends up throwing a sofa cushion at the screen in frustration.
"You realize it's fiction, right Danny?" Steve asks one night when he's come over, ostensibly to discuss the case that Danny is totally not investigating.
Of course, they ended up tangled in each other on Danny's admittedly uncomfortable sofa-bed rather than really discussing anything, but Danny can't bring himself to mind. Right now, though, Steve is hunkered over the tiny table that Danny sometimes uses when he brings home work, while Danny mutters mutinously under his breath about David Caruso and the whole CSI: Miami team's tendency to wear white pant suits to extraordinarily grimy crime scenes.
He switches off the television in disgust. "I know, but you'd think these writers would at least make a minimal effort at realism. Next thing you know they'll be taking photographs of the crime scenes with their damned iPhones instead of letting the forensics guys do it with their professional equipment."
"You don't take crime scene photos with your iPhone?"
"Of course not! You can't expect―" Danny sputters to a stop the minute he realizes, slightly too late, that Steve was trying to get a rise out of him. "Oh, shut up. What do you know about proper procedure anyway? Your idea of reading someone their rights is to swoop out of the night, tie them up and then string them up from a lamp post."
"That was one time!" Steve protests. "And he had it coming, anyway."
"And that right there is why you should never get officially involve with law enforcement. Whether or not a perp 'has it coming' has nothing to do with how a good police officer conducts himself, am I clear?"
"Crystal. Speaking of which, I got you something."
Danny glances up, surprised. "You did? Is it something that's going to blow up my apartment?"
Steve makes Kicked Puppy Face, which never fails to make Danny feel guilty about every single mean thing he's said to everyone for his whole entire life. "No, it's a present. And it was one grenade and it never even came close to your apartment."
"No, you just kept it in the trunk of my car without telling me. While I'm on forced leave from my job, which could result in me losing my badge forever."
"You're forgetting the part where I got you a present," Steve thrusts a small blue box at him, his expression hopeful.
"You're not going to propose, are you?" Danny takes the box, eyeing him askance. Steve rolls his eyes, so he very carefully pops open the box, revealing a sleek little silver tie pin. It's surprisingly tasteful and unostentatious. Danny was sure that Steve's taste in jewellery would be just as eye-searing as his costume choices. "I thought you didn't approve of my ties."
"They're not appropriate island wear. You just look out of place with a shirt and tie."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to look like a professional."
"A professional what?"
"Ha-ha. Funny. You got me a tie pin, so that automatically invalidates everything you've ever said about my ties."
"Look, I just wanted you to have something useful, okay? So long as you're wearing really impractical clothing, it may as well serve some purpose. Check it out," Steve reaches for the tie pin, grinning in a way that immediately has Danny extremely worried. "It's hollow, so if you press this little indentation at the tip of the pin, it actually serves as a miniature knife."
"You gave me a knife disguised as a tie pin." Danny gives Steve a flat look.
"Well, yeah. You never know when it'll come in handy."
"You, my friend, need serious help. Remind me to give you the card of a very good therapist I know."
Steve grins, drops onto the sofa and makes an elaborate show of crossing his legs and resting his feet on the coffee table ―which he knows drives Danny nuts, damn him. "I have better things to do with my time, Danno."
Danny arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? Like what."
Steve smirks. "Come here, and I'll show you."
Danny heaves a sigh, can't quite help the smile that spreads over his face, and decides that, just this once, he's going to let himself get distracted.
~*~
It's Kono and Chin Ho Kelly who provide an unexpected break in the case. After spending nearly three days in Danny's company, Steve abruptly disappears, with no explanation whatsoever save that he's 'looking into something.' The only reason Danny knows not to suspect foul play is that he occasionally gets cryptic text messages which he's pretty sure Steve thinks are perfectly obvious.
So are you in actual danger of being killed right at this moment? He texts back at one point, thoroughly exasperated.
The reply is equally exasperating. No, why?
Never mind.
The whole process makes his head ache, and truth be told he's going a little stir-crazy in his tiny apartment with nothing to take his mind off the fact that Meka's killer is still out there. Rachel has whisked Grace off on an impromptu vacation, and while Danny misses his little girl like a limb that's been chopped off, he can't bring himself to resent her absence this time. Not when he knows it's the only thing keeping her safe from enemies who seem perennially out of his reach.
So he's grateful when his cell phone rings, and Kono's cheerful tones come over the line. "Hi Danny! So, I was wondering, you been jewellery shopping lately?"
He blinks. "Uh, no. Why would I be jewellery shopping?"
"Oh, you know, you never know what could happen," Kono says. "You meet all sorts of interesting people, with all sorts of interesting things to say. I hear that there are some interesting sales going on, too. So, you know, if you were looking for a watch, now would be a pretty good time to check them out. You catch my drift, brah?"
"You're about as subtle as a speeding freight train," Danny assures her. "A new watch, you say?"
"Or earrings, if that's more your thing. I like diamonds, for the record. Silver backing. Definitely earrings, it's always a safe bet. "
"Duly noted," Danny keeps shaking his head long after he's hung up the phone.
Chin Ho Kelly doesn't look in the least bit surprised when Danny shows up at the store. "What can I do for you, Detective?"
Danny leans on the counter. "You may as well call me Danny. At the rate I'm going I won't have a badge this time next week. Doesn't anyone else work in this place? I never seem to see anyone else here."
Chin shrugs and smiles in a way that suggests he is at one with the ways of the universe and embraced all its inexplicable weirdness. "The other employees are feeling a little nervous about being here, so the owner asked me to fill in."
"Aren't you security?"
"Yup. And now I get commissions, too. So, are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Apparently I'm supposed to get diamond earrings for a good friend. You got any recommendations?"
That gets him a slight raise of Chin's eyebrow, which is quite possibly the first time Danny has seen him emote anything beyond 'enigmatic.' "Well, our own inventory is pretty depleted since the robbery, but I have an address for you. I think you'll find what you're looking for there, if you hurry. It turns out that particular kind of jewellery is in demand."
"Lots of weddings all of a sudden?"
Chin is busy carefully printing the address on a piece of paper, and so Danny can't see his expression. "A mutual friend of ours told me there are some very practical applications for it, actually, although I have to say it's nothing I'd ever heard of before. You should get going, if you don't want to miss the boat on this. I hear there's an important shipping deadline coming up."
Danny glances at the address, which predictably enough is by the docks. "Thanks Chin, I owe you one. Or is it two now?"
"Might be three, but I'll let it go for two. Try to keep our mutual friend out of trouble, all right? You and Kono are the only ones who know about this address, because if I leave it up to him he'll go in firing every cannon he has at his disposal and probably get himself killed, and God help me but I like the crazy man and I'd hate it if he met an untimely end."
"Wow. I think that's the most I've heard you say in all the times we've spoken put together."
"What can I say? I like to practice economy in all things. You should get going, Danny."
"Right," Danny reaches across the counter to shake Chin's hand. "Again, thank you."
"Anytime, brah."
~*~
The address turns out to be a warehouse less than a quarter of a mile from where Meka was murdered. Danny isn't much of one for hunches ―he doesn't like anything that can't be backed up by good old-fashioned police work― but his gut tells him that if he digs into the paperwork on all these warehouses, he's going to find some surprising similarities. Danny has always been a homicide detective, but he wonders if it might not be worth asking for a transfer to Organized Crime. It'll get him out from the disapproving stares of the rest of his precinct, and he gets the feeling that it might prove a lot more rewarding in the long run. Goodness knows that Hawaii seems to be rife with corruption at many levels, and there's something viscerally satisfying about the idea of cleaning up the place that's made his life miserable for the last year.
The warehouse yard is deserted as he makes his way to the side door, and a quick look around reveals no visible security camera. The door is locked, but since Danny's here unofficially he doesn't feel too bad about picking the lock and letting himself in. Lock picking isn't exactly a usual skill for a police officer to have, but Danny's found it useful enough in the past. He just doesn't advertise it much, lest it give the wrong idea to his colleagues. Forty-five seconds later and he's slipping through the door,wishing it wouldn't creak quite so much on its hinges, and finds himself in a small office filled with what look like rolls of blueprints. He pauses in order to unroll one of the blueprints, stares at it long enough to realize that he has no idea what it is. He's not exactly an engineer or anything, but he's never seen anything like this. It looks maybe a little like a cannon, but much, much bigger —how big he can't really tell, which is a little annoying. Finally he gives up on deciphering it, figuring that they can always get experts to look at it later, when he brings all of the wrath of HPD down on this place, along with the requisite warrants, of course. Right now, he tells himself as he eases open the inner door that leads to the warehouse and carefully pokes his head through, he has an ongoing crime to investigate.
His jaw drops.
All around, the warehouse is bustling with activity. Danny figures there must be some sort of sound proofing on the outer walls, because there was no sign whatsoever from the outside of all these goings-on. Whatever has been happening here, it seems to be drawing to a close. There are stacks of crates all being moved swiftly and efficiently out through the back and onto the docks, from where they're being loaded onto a boat large enough to make Danny wonder just how they managed to sneak it in past the coast guard. It's a huge operation, with at least two dozen men working to move the crates and at least as many others moving about efficiently in order to lend a hand wherever it's needed.
Apart from the foreman barking orders, there's no visble sign of anyone being in charge of the operation. Keeping as low as possible, Danny creeps forward, pulling out his iPhone in order to start recording what he's seeing ―more than keenly aware of the irony, given his little rant to Steve about how to collect evidence the other day― and finds what he hopes is a pretty good vantage point behind a pile of rusted equipment that's been shoved to the side to make room for the new operation. It provides pretty good cover, keeping him out of sight of anyone who's not actively searching for him. At least, that's what he thinks until he feels cold metal pressed up to the back of his neck, accompanied by the distinctive click of the hammer being pulled back on a pistol.
Crap.
"What do we have here?" a voice asks. He doesn't recognize it, but the accent sounds like it originates from somewhere in Britain ―Ireland, maybe― which means only one thing.
"Victor Hesse, I take it?"
"You're not in a position to be asking questions, Detective Williams. I could have sworn you'd been removed from this investigation. I would have thought your partner's example would have sufficed to convince you to keep your distance from my employer."
Danny feels a hot surge of anger at that, and has to force himself to keep still. He has no illusions that Hesse wouldn't put a bullet in the back of his head with little to no provocation. "Yeah, well, it's difficult to deter me, especially when you murder my partner in cold blood. I'm planning on making you regret that for the rest of your life, just so you know."
"Right. Well, that's going to be a little difficult, seeing as how this time tomorrow you'll be dead. The only reason you're not already dead is that my boss has other plans for you first."
Danny doesn't have time so much as to open his mouth to inquire about said plans before something very hard –and annoyingly reminiscent of the butt of someone's pistol– collides with the back of his head, making him see multi-coloured stars. Then everything goes dark.
~*~
When Danny comes to, he’s sitting upright in a rolling office chair of all things, his hands zip-tied to the arms, his legs pulled back in order for his ankles to be zip-tied to the wheel supports, which is pretty damned uncomfortable, thank you very much. His head feels as though a whole regimental marching band has taken up residence in there, complete with kettledrums. He licks his lips, finds his mouth drier than the Sahara, and coughs a little bit. There’s no way of telling how long he’s been here, but he thinks it must be several hours at least. He looks around, trying to get his bearings, but there are no windows in the room, which is entirely bare, save for himself and the chair he is quickly beginning to hate.
The walls are unremarkable, just whitewashed drywall, and he twists awkwardly in his seat in order to take a look at the door. It's made of thick metal with no visible hinges or even a keyhole, though there is a sliding panel which tells him that it's been designed as a cell. Wherever this is, it's definitely not an improvised holding cell, but one made specifically for this purpose. Great.
It's too uncomfortable to keep craning his neck like that, so he subsides in his chair, trying to figure out if there's any way he can get out of here. First thing, of course, is to get untied. He flexes wrists and ankles, but the zip-ties are securely in place, which is a bit of a bitch. Even if he had anything in his pockets with which to cut through them, it's not like he can reach them. Then Danny grins, remembering his tie pin. Of course, getting to the damn tie pin is another story. It's too far down to grab even with his teeth, and Danny huffs in frustration. Okay, time for another plan.
He doesn't have time to so much as begin to formulate said new plan, though, before the door behind him swings open, scraping on the cement floor.
"Detective Williams," a sardonic voice bounces off the walls, which is quite a feat, given how small this cell is. "I am so glad you have decided to join us."
Wo Fat is a little taller in person than Danny imagined from the photograph he saw in a couple of files to which he was hastily denied access, but dressed exactly the same as he always is, in an impeccably tailored white suit, complete with a black domino that appears to be more for show than any real attempt at disguising his features. Danny swallows a groan, wonders just how hard he hit his head, comes to the conclusion that not only was it really hard, but that he was also very likely drugged. Peachy.
"You’re a lot uglier in person," he manages weakly. "You’re The Shark, I presume?"
Wo Fat’s features twist into something perilously close to a smirk. "It’s good to know that my reputation has not diminished, in those circles that still count."
"I don’t know whether to be flattered or to let you know that you’re pretty deluded if you think I count for anything where I come from."
"Don’t sell yourself short, Detective Williams. You’ve become quite the thorn in our side, hasn’t he, Victor?"
Danny must be really out of it, he thinks, because he never even noticed Victor Hesse come in behind Wo Fat. Now he's standing off to the side, casually cleaning under his fingernails with the biggest Bowie knife Danny has ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Crap.
"I think this is the part where I tell you you're not going to get away with this."
Wo Fat throws back his head with what can only be described as a maniacal laugh. "Oh, bless you, Detective, I have already gotten away with it. I've been getting away with these things for nigh on thirty years. What I am doing today, Detective Williams, is tying up loose ends."
Danny swallows in spite of himself. "Loose ends?"
"Indeed. You, my dear Detective, are very little more than a means to an end. I have everything in place for my plan of world domination—"
"Oh my God, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were planning that," Danny lets his head drop in despair, because, really? World domination?
"Our friend, The Seal? No, he wasn't. He isn't a man prone to exaggeration, although he is prone to making quasi-suicidal leaps into whatever struggle he believes is right. It's most inconvenient that he manages to survive every single time. Which is why you're here, incidentally."
Danny's heart skips a beat. "You're trying to use me as bait."
"Got it in one," Hesse smirks from behind Wo Fat. "All our reports indicate you and our costumed friend enjoy a very close relationship. But even if those reports are wrong, The Seal has never been one to let an innocent die or even be harmed because of him. He'll be along before long, see if he isn't, and we'll be waiting for him."
"You really think he's that stupid?"
Wo Fat clasps his hands behind his back. "The Seal is something of a sentimentalist. It plays havoc with his judgment. Besides, he has a serious dislike of doomsday weapons. I think you caught a glimpse of mine while you were in the warehouse, yes?"
"The blueprints. The cannon." Suddenly things start clicking together in Danny's mind. None of it makes sense, except that if he flips it all on its head and pretends that normal-people logic doesn't apply (like everything else in his life since Steve first dropped in on him), then it actually does make a weird kind of sense. "The diamonds, the silver, you needed all of it for whatever you're building. Like, components or something. You murdered Meka because he was too close, because he came across your operation. I bet you anything you had set up shop in that warehouse where your flunky here murdered him." He directs a glare at Hesse. "I am personally going to rip your spleen out past your tonsils for that, by the way."
For a moment Hesse doesn't so much as flinch. Then he takes a slow step forward and deliberately kicks Danny hard in the chest, knocking him back and tipping the chair over. Danny falls awkwardly, his head, shoulder and knee smacking painfully on the concrete floor. He swears, tries to catch his breath enough to speak again, eyes screwed shut against the sudden pain.
"You are far too clever for your own good, Detective," Wo Fat bends over him, hands still clasped behind his back. "One of these days, it will get you killed. In fact, if all goes to plan, that day has come. I will leave you to think about that, while we await your already-doomed rescue. Good day," Wo Fat inclines his head briefly before he motions to Hesse, and the two of them leave him entirely alone.
~*~
Sitting by himself and stewing in his own juices is not Danny's idea of a good time, but he's even less thrilled at the idea that Steve is going to make some sort of suicidally noble attempt to come save him. It never occurs to him that Steve won't come, because he's pretty sure that it wouldn't occur to Steve not to come, damn him. So he's not even remotely surprised when, less than thirty minutes later, the door scrapes open again.
"You know it's a trap, right?" he greets Steve.
Steve grins at him, teeth very white under his mask. Danny has to remind himself that this is a very bad time to be admiring Steve's chiseled physique under his costume. "Of course it's a trap. But don't worry, Danno, I've taken care of all of the guards and disabled the security camera feed to this section of the compound."
"Compound?"
"This is The Shark's secret lair. In fact, it's a pretty good thing you got yourself kidnapped, because that meant I was able to follow you all the way here and find it. Otherwise it might have taken me years to find its location. I will hand it to him, he has a flair for the dramatic."
Danny snorts. "Unlike you?"
Steve crouches next to him, neatly severing one of the zip-ties with a knife. "At least my secret base isn't under a volcano. I have a very nice beach house which just happens to have a large underground addition to it."
"Why couldn't I fall for a guy who understands that an addition to a house is a garage or a playroom for the kids?" Danny laments as Steve frees his other hand, rubbing his wrist gingerly and trying to make the blood start circulating again.
"Aw, Danno, that's touching."
"Seriously, don't call me that —ow," Danny's legs threaten to buckle when Steve hauls him upright, and he stamps both feet hard on the ground, trying to rid himself of the pins and needles in his feet, grateful for Steve's steadying presence, keeping him standing. Even under the mask he can see that Steve's expression is anxious, and he's oddly touched by the concern even as Steve briskly checks him over for hidden injuries.
"Okay, well, it looks like you have a mild concussion, and I'm guessing you were drugged," he says, rubbing his thumb gently over a pin-prick mark in the crook of Danny's elbow, confirming Danny's earlier suspicions. "But that looks to be about it. You think you can walk?"
"I can even run if needs be. You got a plan for getting out of here? Wait," he stops as what Steve said earlier finally registers. "Did you say volcano?"
"Yup!" Steve agrees cheerfully. "But don't worry. As soon as we've disabled the Death Ray, I have an escape route all planned out."
"Death Ray?"
Steve gives him an incredulous look. "You didn't know The Shark was planning to enact his plan of world domination by using his doomsday device?"
Danny scrubs at his face. "Yeah, okay, he mentioned it, but he never said Death Ray, all right? Cut me some slack, here. I've been drugged and knocked around, and up until a few weeks ago there was no such thing as superheroes or Death Rays or plans for world domination, all right?"
"I'll cut you some slack later. Right now we have to disable the device and get out of here. You with me?"
Danny flaps both hands exasperatedly. "Do I have a choice?" He motions toward the door with a flourish. "Lead the way, since I have no idea where we are. How did you find me, anyway?"
"Oh, I put a tracking chip in your shoe."
Danny almost stops in his tracks. "What? Oh my God, you —you don't even know how many things are wrong with that statement, do you? Okay, leaving aside the creepy, stalkerish aspect of putting a tracking chip in my shoe, how could you even know which pair to put it in? It's not like I just have the one. Oh, God," he doesn't even let Steve speak before realization dawns. "You bugged all my shoes, didn't you? Even my sandals?"
"How else was I supposed to keep track of you and keep you safe?"
"There are so many things wrong with you, I don't know where to begin," Danny mutters. "Fine, let's go disable this Death Ray and get the hell out of here—" A sudden noise off to the side makes him look up in time to see Victor Hesse bearing down on them at full tilt, and he barely has time to begin shouting a warning before there's a sharp pain in his neck and it feels like all his muscles have locked up. Then, for the second time in as many days, everything goes dark.
~*~
The next time Danny comes to, he's been zip-tied back to the damned chair, which is really just an indication of how much his life sucks some days. Not only that, but the spill he took earlier when his chair was knocked over has taken its toll his pants are torn, several shirt buttons are missing, and his tie has landed over his right shoulder, not to mention the brand-new collection of scrapes and bruises, and what feels like a mild electrical burn on his neck to go with the impressive egg forming on the back of his skull from where Victor Hesse cold-cocked him the first time. Knocked out, drugged, and now Tasered. This day just keeps getting better. He's still thirsty, too, which is annoying, but he puts aside the thoughts of his physical discomfort in order to try to his surroundings, which have changed considerably from the tiny cell from which Steve helped him escaped before.
The room he’s in is very large, but his chair has been turned so that he’s facing the closest wall, making it all but impossible to see the rest of the room without painfully twisting his neck. The next thing he spots is another figure, similarly bound to a chair, seated a few yards away to his left, and his heart lodges in his throat, because he was really hoping Steve had managed to elude capture. He’d recognize that green spandex anywhere, and it's not as though the mask can conceal what he already knows is under there. Not that Danny isn't perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he'd sort of been counting on Steve to help him get out of there once it was obvious he'd made it in.
"Hey St–" He bites his tongue, stops just short of revealing Steve’s real name to his enemies. "Uh, Seal!" He feels stupid, but presses on anyway, swallowing in an attempt to moisten his mouth a bit. "You okay?"
Steve doesn’t stir, and Danny feels his chest tighten with anxiety when he spots a trail of congealed blood running from his temple all the way down his neck.
"Ah, Detective Williams, so good of you to join us once more. I was beginning to think that Victor here had been a trifle overzealous with the application of blunt force trauma. He's loyal to a fault, but can occasionally be too exuberant in his enthusiasm for his work. I suppose one can only admire his work ethic, but still, I will confess it's sometimes inconvenient."
He blinks a little stupidly, looks around until he finds the owner of the voice. Wo Fat is standing off to one side, flanked as usual by Victor Hesse, still playing with his Bowie knife.
"You know, watching you play with that thing, anyone else might think you were trying to compensate for something."
Wo Fat gives Hesse a quelling look, effectively pre-empting his doing anything stupid at Danny's provocation, so Danny takes another tack.
"What have you done to The Seal?"
"Oh, our mutual friend Steven, here?" Wo Fat grins evilly at Danny’s evident surprise. "Don’t look so startled, Detective Williams, I am well acquainted with the McGarrett clan. We go back a very long way, although it’s my hope that today will mark the end of the very long and very tiresome game of cat and mouse that I have played with them for so many years. Victor, I think our guest has slept long enough, don’t you?"
Hesse glances up at The Shark, nods once in acknowledgement, then steps forward and delivers a vicious backhand to Steve’s face, rocking him backward in his chair. Steve groans audibly, head lolling, but his eyelashes flutter and he seems to come to, a little at least. Danny’s never been so happy in his life to see anyone wake up.
"Steve! You okay?"
He gets a weak cough and a nod. Apparently he's a little too out of it to notice or care that Danny used his real name. "M’fine, Danny. You?"
"I’m super. You, uh, got a plan up your sleeve to get us out of here? Because right now is when that vaunted Seal resourcefulness would come in handy."
"Workin’ on it."
"That’s not very reassuring!"
"Enough!" Wo Fat drives the back of his hand against Danny’s face so hard Danny’s pretty sure he’ll have whiplash from the blow. "You are here simply as insurance, Detective Williams, to ensure that The Seal doesn’t attempt any more of his ridiculous heroics in an attempt to save humanity."
"You won’t get away with this, Wo Fat!" Steve spits, but his tone lacks his usual conviction.
"I already covered that part of the exchange," Danny points out, but they're not listening to him.
"Oh, I think you’ll find that I will. Victor?" At a gesture from Wo Fat, Hesse hits Steve again, almost casually, and blood blossoms on his upper lip, trickling from his nose.
"Hey, pudding-for-brains! Why don’t you try picking on someone who’s not tied up?" Danny yells. "See how tough you are then, when you’re not ambushing people from behind or murdering old men in their homes?"
Wo Fat clucks his tongue. "I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head, Detective, or I shall be forced to have Victor cut it out with that very large knife of his. If it’s any consolation, I am given to understand that he keeps it very sharp. I would hate to have my tongue cut out with a dull knife, wouldn’t you?"
He walks over slowly to Steve, hands clasped behind his back, and gives him a long, hard look. "Let’s get on with this, shall we?"
Not for the first time, Danny starts to get a very bad feeling about the whole situation.
~*~
"Well, I have been waiting a very long time for this, I won’t deny it," Wo Fat says. "I think, also, that I should cut to the chase, don’t you? I imagine you’ve been trying to figure out my endgame this entire time, yes?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," Steve admits, looking curious in spite of himself. "I know about the Death Ray, but that's the extent of it."
Wo Fat, it appears, is not immune to the arch villain’s traditional predilection for monologuing. This, as far as Danny is concerned, is all to the good. So long as his attention is on revealing just how clever he was so that Steve can admire him or whatever, that means Danny is free to work in relative peace, so long as he keeps an eye on Hesse. Right now, though everyone’s attention is focused on Steve. Danny catches his eye, nods, tries to keep as still as possible, as though all the fight was beaten out of him with that last set of blows. His tie is still flung over one shoulder, though, and that means the tie clip that Steve gave him as a present is right there, inches away. It's a step in the right direction, at least.
"It’s taken years of painstaking planning to get to this final stage," Wo Fat is saying to Steve, "but I think you’ll agree that the end result will be quite breathtaking."
Slowly, excruciatingly, Danny uses his teeth to drag at his tie, the fabric dry against his tongue, until his teeth scrape over the metal of the tie clip, his neck twisting painfully in the process. He hears the fabric tear a little bit as he pulls the clip free, curses the loss of his second-best tie, but he can’t help but feel a moment of triumph when he not only obtains his tie clip, but manages to drop it directly into his hand. The tricky part now will be to cut through the zip tie without attracting attention, and without lacerating his hand in the process.
Luckily, Wo Fat is too busy pointing Steve in the direction of his masterpiece, or whatever. Danny’s mostly tuning him out by now, but suddenly his head snaps up.
"Whoa! Wait a second. You're actually going to use the Death Ray?"
Wo Fat smiles evilly (and there really isn’t another word for it). "Do try to keep up, Detective. I realize it’s difficult for someone of your inferior intellect, but I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. See for yourself." He gestures expansively with one arm to something that lies just beyond Danny’s shoulder.
The next thing Danny knows Hesse has grabbed his chair by the back and dragged it around one hundred and eighty degrees, giving him a perfect view of a giant contraption that’s far too phallic-looking for its own good. It doesn't really look like the blueprints Danny saw, but then, he thinks that nothing ever looks like its blueprints to people who don't know what they're looking at. Looking at the thing now, Danny figures that if he ever would have wanted to design his very own Death Ray, that’s definitely what it would look like.
"I don’t believe it. You’ve actually filled almost every cliché in the book. Is there like a super villain Bingo card you all get issued? Underground lair underneath a volcano? Check. Grandiose plan to rule the world? Check. Morally bankrupt and murderous henchman? Check. All you need is a fluffy white cat, some flashy rings, and you’ll be all set. The only way you could make this better is if you were an albino. Uh, where exactly is that thing pointing, anyway?"
Danny’s babbling, he realizes this, but he can’t quite help himself, because he’s got a pretty good idea exactly where that thing is pointing, and the thought that there is absolutely nothing he can do to warn Rachel, to get Grace to safety, makes the blood run cold in his veins even as he works furiously to free himself without getting noticed.
"Why, straight at the heart of Honolulu, of course. I think that obliterating a small island ought to attract enough attention, don’t you?" Wo Fat lets out a laugh that sends chills down Danny’s spine, and punches a code into a keypad on the side of the device. "Once they see what I’m capable of, no one will be able to stand in my way!"
"There’s nearly a million people on that island!" Steve yells indignantly, and both Wo Fat and Hesse turn to him just as Danny feels the zip tie on his right hand give way. "You'll be murdering innocent women and children, you craven snake!"
Danny can tell Steve has realized what he’s doing, is raising a fuss to keep their attention away from him, which means he has to move fast. He wipes his hand quickly on his pants to make sure he won’t drop the pin at the wrong moment, and now that his hand is free he’s able to make short work of the zip tie on his left wrist, folds at the waist to try to free his legs, adrenaline making his heart race and blood roar in his ears. One ankle comes free, and Danny knows his luck has run out when there’s a yell of outrage from Victor Hesse.
He barely has time to stagger to his feet, hampered by the chair to which he’s still attached by one leg as Hesse lunges at him with the Bowie knife. He manages to twist out of the way, uses Hesse’s momentum against him in order to grab the arm wielding the knife and twists as hard as he can. Danny may not have all of Steve’s abilities, but he hasn’t been a cop for fifteen years for nothing, and he’s learned to fight dirty. Hesse’s hold on the knife loosens, although he doesn’t let go, and that’s the opening Danny was waiting for. He steps in, uses his hips as a pivot point, and drives his elbow hard into the henchman’s temple, watching in satisfaction as Hesse staggers, Bowie knife slipping from his grasp. Danny snatches up the knife, slices neatly through the remaining zip tie on his ankle, and rounds on Hesse again, hoping he hasn't left him enough time to recover. Hesse is still shaking his head to rid himself of the stars he's no doubt seeing, and Danny lunges at him, bearing him to the ground. For a second he finds himself with the man responsible for his partner's murder lying prone beneath him, the Bowie knife used in God knows how many murders right there in his hand. It would be so easy, he thinks.
"Danny! No!" Steve yells, and that's enough to snap him out of it. Hesse is staring at him, terror in his eyes, and Danny looks at him contemptuously and cracks his head against the floor just hard enough to knock him senseless.
Confident that Hesse is out of the game Danny rounds on Wo Fat, half-expecting him to be holding Steve hostage in return for Danny’s surrender. Steve, however, hasn’t been idle in the intervening seconds. He’s managed to tip over his chair, taking Wo Fat by surprise and knocking him to the ground. Wo Fat is still scrambling to his feet, giving Danny just enough time to dart over and cut Steve’s right hand loose, dropping the Bowie knife in his lap so he can do the rest of the work. He then launches himself in a bull rush at the still-prone Wo Fat, knocking him back to the floor and dealing him the hardest punch he can muster.
"That’s for threatening my daughter!"
"Danny!" Steve’s voice once again cuts through the red haze that seems to have descended over everything. "The device!"
He delivers one last punch to Wo Fat for good measure, scrambles to his feet and back toward the Death Ray, though he has no idea how to even begin deactivating it. It's huge and gleaming, sparkling in the artificial light of the enormous room. He can't even see the end of it, which is presumably sticking out of the side of the volcano somewhere. Instead he's faced with an indecipherable control panel, all touch screens and buttons and keypads.
"Steve, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
Steve is already locking horns with Wo Fat, who has recovered from the initial shock and is now giving as good as he’s getting. It’s probably a good thing Steve got him away from the man, Danny thinks a little numbly, watching the two opponents trade blows, because otherwise he’d probably be dead of a broken neck. Steve ducks a particularly vicious roundhouse kick, his cape swirling impressively now that he’s loose from his bonds, dances back out of reach just long enough to shout back.
"You can’t deactivate it, try the self-destruct sequence!"
Danny swears under his breath. "It’s not like there’s an instruction manual, Steven!"
"It’s a number sequence! Try using the most significant dates in the files!"
"Are you kidding me?" Danny yells, then takes a breath, flicks a switch that looks like it probably acts like a safety lock. "Okay, okay," he mutters, starts punching in as many of the dates as he can remember, all the while cursing superheroes with eidetic memories who can probably do this in their sleep. A moment later, though, there’s a whining sound from the machine and an alarm begins to blare somewhere overhead while a computerized female voice warns them that the self-destruct has been activated. Danny lets out a whoop of triumph.
"That’s what I’m talking about!"
"Danny, come on!"
Steve is dragging him away by the elbow and through the closest door into an exit tunnel, even as Wo Fat throws himself with a cry of desperation at the Death Ray, frantically punching numbers into the keypad in a futile attempt to deactivate the self-destruct sequence. The computer informs them confidently that they now have two minutes to vacate the premises.
There’s no time to look back, no time to see whether Wo Fat is dogging their heels or still trying to save his precious machine. No time to stay and make sure that he won’t manage to deactivate the self-destruct sequence, either. Danny puts his head down and sprints all-out after Steve, trying to keep up with his partner’s longer strides, trusting him to know what he’s doing and where he’s going. A moment later he spots light up ahead, puts on a burst of speed just as a deafening roar makes itself heard right behind them. There’s a blast of hot air and Danny is propelled forward, landing so hard on the ground that he sees stars, his ears ringing. Dimly he’s aware of hands grabbing him, pulling him up and half-dragging him forward until both he and Steve collapse on the sandy ground outside Wo Fat’s secret underground refuge.
For a few minutes they can do nothing but lie where they fell, sucking in great gulps of air. Finally, when Danny’s caught his breath, he rolls over and pats Steve’s chest a little awkwardly.
"My hero."
Steve coughs and laughs. "And don’t you forget it."
"You got a plan for getting back home?"
"Working on it."
"So that’s a no on the plan, then."
Steve smirks at him. "I was thinking I would kiss you senseless first, and then we’d worry about getting rescued."
Danny thinks about that for a second. "Yeah, okay."
After all, as Steve’s plans go, this one isn’t half bad.
~END~