Danny has always been prone to déja vu, for as far back as he can remember. Stupid, insignificant things, mostly, feeling like he’d already eaten a meal when he knew he hadn’t or thinking he recognized a new place. He’d never really given it much thought; you get used to your brain’s little quirks, Danny always figured.
Except he swears it’s gotten worse since he came to this godforsaken island, and it’s starting to make him a little nuts. It happens all the fucking time, and now he’s starting to remember the dreams his mind thinks are reality, wakes up from them feeling more tired than he was when he went to bed. It’s weird and annoying, and Danny is privately certain that there’s got to be some way it’s Steve’s fault. He’s so busy not getting killed by Hawaii’s criminal classes that he doesn’t get around to working out how, though– he has other things to think about, at least until it finally all starts getting a little too weird for Danny to ignore.
They’re driving to go bring in a suspect, Steve at the wheel, when suddenly Danny feels a gut-deep sense of dread, and it’s out of nowhere but it seizes him so completely that before he’s even given it any thought he’s barking at Steve to pull over. He does it with such urgency that Steve actually does, flicking the hazard lights on and then turning to look over at his partner.
“Danno, what gives, we’re almost–”
there, Danny mentally finishes for him, because Steve had broken off when a truck overturned getting on the ramp up ahead, the squeals of tires and crunches of metal filling the air. Danny lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and the feeling of panic is gone as soon as it had come.
“Fuck,” Steve mutters, and again for good measure, “fuck, we’d have been in that if we hadn’t stopped. We could’ve been dead.”
“You’d have taken most of the impact on your side,” Danny says, then stops, because he doesn’t know why on earth he’s so sure of that. “I mean,” he adds, “the way the truck turned...”
Steve gives him a searching look, but lets that drop. “I guess this once it’s a good thing you’re so paranoid,” Steve says, glancing in the rearview mirror to find room to pull out. “Looks like we’re taking the back roads.”
“Awesome,” Danny says, deadpan, because he knows this will not be good for his blood pressure, “I love the back roads. Which, by the way, I still maintain are not actually roads.”
“Better than being under a truck,” Steve points out, and pulls back into traffic.
“You look exhausted,” Steve greets him the next day, and the insulting tone doesn’t quite mask his concern. Danny scrubs a hand across his eyes and sinks into a chair.
“Didn’t sleep great. What have we got?”
“We’re waiting on Chin to work his magic on some bank transactions. Something wrong?”
Danny shakes his head and takes a long drink of his coffee. Sweet, blessed caffeine. “Nah. Wired, bad dreams, I dunno. I’m fine.” It’s essentially true– he’d woken up more than once from dreams of screeching tires and the crunch of bone and glass and metal, and once from vivid nightmares of gunfire and searing pain in his arm. In between the dreams, though, sleep hadn’t come easy; Danny was usually a pretty practical person, but for whatever reason he hadn’t been able to shake off the images like he normally would. Steve doesn’t need to know that detail, though.
“We had a rough day yesterday,” Steve says, and lets it drop. They sit in silence, Danny silently willing his coffee to kick in and get him going, because Steve’s not wrong, he’s hellishly tired.
He’s feeling a little more human by the time Chin walks in and starts pulling up documents on the tabletop computer, tracing bank deposits around back to a local drug trafficking operation. Great. Drug traffickers before noon.
“Are drug traffickers even awake at nine thirty?” Danny asks as he and Steve get in the car. “In my experience junkies aren’t really early birds, most of their business probably doesn’t go down until afternoon at least.”
“Even better, we can surprise them.”
“Nothing better than startled criminals– woah, easy on the turns, buddy!”
“Stop complaining about my driving.”
“Hey, your driving almost barreled us into a pileup yesterday.”
“A pileup I had nothing to do with. You can’t blame me when other drivers can’t handle their vehicles.”
“I hate this island,” Danny grumbles, subsiding into a quiet sulk for the rest of the ride.
They park down the street from the operation’s hideout to avoid attention and head closer on foot. The neighborhood looks practically deserted.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Danny mutters, “it’s too quiet.”
“I bet you they’re in there. I’ll take the front, you cover the back.”
Danny shoulders open the door the moment he hears Steve crash through the front, and a bullet zings by uncomfortably close to his ear as he charges in.
“I told you it seemed too quiet!” Danny shouts, ducking behind a couch for cover. “You’re gonna get us killed one of these days!”
“Can we argue about this later?!”
“Hey how long you two been married?” one of the traffickers jeers, and Steve shoots him square in the knee.
Things get a little crazy after that, and Danny narrowly dodges a bullet to the forearm. Steve, crazy bastard that he is, leaps on one of the men, leaving Danny to swear and run to disarm the other before Steve ends up shot in the head.
“Seriously,” Danny pants, “you are going to get us killed.”
Steve cuffs their suspect, grinning. “Haven’t yet.”
By the third day on their current case, Danny is beyond worn out and his nerves are frayed to breaking. They’ve all been run kind of ragged, working long hours as leads dry up to dead ends, but Danny feels like he hasn’t had a single wink of sleep. Goddamn dreams. The rest of the team keeps making concerned faces at him when they think he’s not watching, and Steve is plying him with a steady supply of coffee. It’s probably as close to being sweet as Steve gets, Danny thinks grumpily, then forces himself to focus as Steve lays out a plan of action.
“We should have Kono cover us,” Danny interjects, “I know how you feel about backup, but we really should have her there.”
“We don’t need–”
“No, okay, you listen to me for once,” Danny interrupts, “it can’t hurt to have her there, and I’m your partner and once, just once, could you stop being insane and trust my instincts here?”
Steve looks at him for a moment. “Okay.”
“Seriously, I– wait, okay?”
“Okay,” Steve repeats. “I trust your instincts. Kono, get your rifle and we’ll head out.”
Getting Steve to bring backup isn’t usually that easy, but right now Danny is too tired to question it. And when Kono saves their asses with a well-placed shot during the arrest– finally, the arrest– Danny only manages a perfunctory sort of ‘I told you so.’
“I said I trusted you, didn’t I?” Steve answers as they hand off the perps to a squad car and pile back into the Camaro. “Hey, I’ll handle the paperwork today. You seriously need to get some rest, partner.”
Danny stares at him. “Am I hearing you right? You’ll handle the paperwork?”
“Do I really look that bad? You hate paperwork, you always stick me with the paperwork.”
“You really do,” Kono chimes in from the backseat, and reaches forward to pat Danny’s shoulder. “Boss is right, you can’t just live on espresso.”
Danny grumbles but gives in. “Far be it from me to miss out on the only chance I’ll ever get not to do paperwork,” he says.
Danny sleeps until three in the afternoon the next day. He feels slightly more human when he gets up– tired, still, but a more normal kind of tired, and he doesn’t remember most of his dreams. He’d like to tell himself that things are normal now, that the wild riptide pulls of feeling are done dictating his life and that he’ll stop seeming to just know things, but he doesn’t really believe it, and when Steve drops by unannounced that evening Danny already has the door open and a second beer dripping condensation on the table.
Later, after Steve has gone home, Danny googles ESP and immediately feels like an idiot. He’s a grown man, for God’s sake, is he gonna start looking for the Tooth Fairy next?
Living on this fucking island must be making him crazy.
It takes two more weeks for Danny to finally break down, because Danny is stubborn as a bull but he’s still only human, and two weeks of feeling like you’re going insane is enough to break down anyone’s pride. He’s tired and snappish and no one on the team even thinks to question it when Danny knows things he couldn’t possibly know, makes provisions for problems he couldn’t possibly anticipate. How does this not bother you?! he wants to yell at them, because they’re acting like everything’s normal and it’s not.
Which is how, in the middle of yet another night of vivid, violent dreams, Danny finds himself pounding on the door to Steve’s house. It takes a few minutes, but Steve appears eventually, dressed only in a pair of boxers and blinking blearily at Danny.
“Danno,” Steve rasps, sounding sleepy, and Danny would feel guilty if he weren’t ten times as tired as Steve can possibly be.
“I need to talk to you,” he blurts out, and Steve lets him in without question, blinking himself awake and motioning Danny to the couch while he pours himself a glass of water. It seems to perk him up a bit, because he looks alert when he joins Danny in the living room.
“Okay,” Steve says, “something’s been bothering you for a while now. So talk.”
And Danny does. He spills his guts about the whole mad business, past caring about how it sounds. He tells Steve about the dreams of days before they happen, about the bone-deep certainty he feels about things he shouldn’t know are coming, about the wrenching dread and wild anticipation that will take him over minutes before things happen. It all comes pouring out, hemmed in too long by Danny’s innate realism. When the hurricane of words finally stops, Danny feels drained but a little calmer, and Steve is looking at him with no trace of fear or doubt in his expression.
“You’re an islander now,” Steve says inexplicably, and actually smiles a little. “I didn’t think– well, anyway. Look, this’ll sound crazy to you, but not any crazier than what’s been happening, so. Things like this... just sort of happen.”
“They just happen,” Danny repeats, and Steve scratches at the back of his neck.
“Around here, yeah. They just happen.” He shrugs. “And precognition, that’s pretty useful, man. How many times have you saved our asses since this started?”
Danny looks down uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I don’t count.”
“Hm. We’ll have to do something about the sleep, though. Chin might have some ideas.”
“Chin might have– what the hell, McGarrett?! Do you not realize how insane this is?!”
“Hey, easy,” Steve placates, “you came to me, right?”
Danny shuts his eyes and draws in a slow, deep breath. “Why would Chin have ideas?”
“Chin knows more about this mind stuff than I do.” Off Danny’s look, Steve adds, “I said it happens with islanders. You aren’t the only one.”
“You guys seem normal enough,” Danny retorts accusingly, and Steve snorts.
“Danno, I can smell the fried rice you had for dinner six hours ago even though you’ve brushed your teeth,” Steve says. “I can hear your heartbeat from here.”
Danny rolls his eyes. “Was it chicken or beef fried rice?”
“It was pork, no sprouts.”
Danny stares at him, and Steve shrugs. “Like I said.”
“So when I say you have super-SEAL senses...”
“I actually do? Yeah,” Steve says, and grins. “Right all along.”
“This is too fucking weird.”
“Seriously, you need to get some sleep. Crash in my spare room, we’ll talk to Chin in the morning.”
“Our little boy is all grown up.”
“Shut up, McGarrett,” Danny growls, but now that Steve is reassured that there’s nothing seriously wrong with Danny– at least by Steve’s bizarre standards– he just grins in amusement and knocks on Chin’s office door.
“We need a minute,” Steve says, breezing in with Danny trailing behind. “How do you keep yourself from losing it whenever you touch something?”
Both Chin and Danny give Steve a questioning look, though for different reasons.
“Whenever he touches something?” Danny echoes, baffled.
“Why do– oh. Oh, is that why he’s been acting strange lately? Mm.” Chin drums his fingers on his desk. “Sit down, then. Danny, you want to tell me what’s been going on?”
Danny explains, a drier, edited version of what he had told Steve, and Chin listens silently and intently, just as calm as Steve had been.
“I can see how that could be a problem,” Chin finally says.
“Any ideas?” Steve asks. “How do you get to sleep when your bed tries to tell you everything you’ve ever felt or dreamed or done there?”
“I... block it out,” Chin says hesitantly, frowning like the words aren’t quite right.
“Is anyone gonna explain what we’re talking about?” Danny interjects, and Chin takes pity on him.
“It’s called psychometry if you want to be technical. I can... tell things about objects when I touch them, especially objects that someone felt strongly about. It’s not so different from what you do. I know things I shouldn’t have a way to know, sometimes.”
“Doesn’t that make you fucking crazy?”
“Oh, yeah,” Chin agrees, “it was real bad when it first started. I can sort of tune it out now, which sounds like what you need to learn.”
“Great. Sign me up.”
Steve nods at them. “Take the day, we don’t have a case. I’d rather have Danno able to function when we do.”
“I functioned fine, asshole.”
“Like hell,” Steve replies, but not unkindly. “Go on. We can meet up for drinks later and you can tell me how it went.”
“How’d it go?”
Danny shrugs and takes a pull of his beer. “Too soon to say. I won’t know if any of it helps until I try to sleep. This is, by the way, still too fucking weird for words.”
“You get used to it,” Steve says, and Danny scoffs.
“Right, no, okay, this is not normal.”
“It is here.”
“Chin knew that my brother got me this tie for my birthday,” Danny says flatly. “I need to be way more drunk to deal with this.”
“That’s probably not a good idea, actually.”
“This from you. You’re the goddamn king of bad ideas.”
Steve doesn’t take the bait for an argument. “I just meant that you’re never gonna be able to get it under control while you’re plastered.”
“Hey.” Steve reaches over and squeezes Danny’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, partner. We all are. You’ll be okay.” He grins. “Still an obnoxious little shit, but–”
“Hey, hey, what happened to the commiseration?” Danny protests, but he sounds a little calmer. Arguing with Steve is normal, he can do arguing with Steve. They fall back into their usual pattern of friendly fighting, bickering over their beers until Steve calls it a night and they head out to the car. Steve lightfingers the keys out of Danny’s pocket and gets in the driver’s seat, which– well, okay, fair enough, actually, since Steve is bigger and alcohol doesn’t get him as fast as it does Danny. He’d be calling a cab if he couldn’t drive, Danny knows, so he gets in the passenger side without protest.
“Why are we going to your place?” Danny asks when Steve blows right by his street.
“Your place is a shithole,” Steve reminds him. “Also if you freak out and decide to wake me in the dead of night, you’ll already be there.”
“You are a crazy man,” Danny says, just on general principle, but honestly the idea of having someone else around sounds pretty damn good right now, so he only puts up a cursory sort of fight as Steve brings the car down the drive.
“–and I’m not a child, McGarrett–”
“Oh, shut up,” Steve interrupts him. “This is better than your crappy pull-out, anyway.”
“The pull-out is fine.”
“The pull-out isn’t even comfortable as a couch.”
“For someone who’s trained to endure torture, you sure bitch a lot about perfectly ordinary furniture.”
“I bitch a lot? Really, Danno? I do?”
“You shut your face,” Danny retorts, elbowing him in the side.
“Pot, kettle, that’s all I’m saying. Now go get some sleep.”
“Jesus fuck,” Danny mutters hotly against Steve’s mouth, “I just want to lick every fucking inch of you.”
“Yeah?” Steve pants, aiming for cocky and missing by a mile.
“Yeah,” Danny agrees, and suits action to word, bends his head and starts with one of the tattoos on Steve’s arm, tracing the lines with the point of his tongue and then moving to Steve’s chest, learning the valleys of muscle by touch. Steve twitches under him when Danny finds a ticklish spot of his abdomen, and Danny grins and blows on it, makes Steve squirm.
“Goddamn tease,” Steve growls, and he tangles a hand in Danny’s hair and tries to force his head down. Danny startles his grip loose with a sharp bite to the crease of Steve’s hip.
“You’re not running the show here, partner,” Danny informs him. “I’ll tie you down if I have to.”
Steve doesn’t quite contain the sound that escapes him when Danny says that, the sound that says he likes the idea more than he’ll probably admit. Another time, Danny thinks, and gives the head of Steve’s cock an experimental lick.
“Danny,” Steve whines, and okay, Danny may be in control here but he’s not heartless, and Steve looks wrecked and desperate so Danny takes him in his mouth and sucks. Steve moans and gets his hands back in Danny’s hair, not pulling this time, just holding on as Danny works him, learns what he likes and what he loves until Steve hisses out a warning and–
Danny wakes with a start, and it takes him a moment to place his surroundings. Steve’s guest room. He’s at Steve’s. He was dreaming.
“Christ,” Danny mutters, and rolls over. At least the meditation thing Chin taught him took care of the premonition dreams.
Maybe it’s not an improvement.
Danny still gets the dreams sometimes, but the tricks Chin has taught him for clearing his mind have helped a lot. It’s not constant anymore, not so draining; Danny can cope with it all a lot better when he doesn’t feel like he’s gone weeks without sleeping. And his flashes of intuition, instinct, whatever they’re called– it’s easier to trust them when he knows his team doesn’t think he’s crazy, will back those instincts up with complete trust and won’t bother to hide their own little talents from him anymore. Plus it’s nice to not feel so pathetic when Kono beats him at arm wrestling with her damn super strength.
Danny could probably do without the sex dreams about Steve, though. Okay, maybe there’s some unresolved stuff there, fine, but Steve is his partner and Danny really can’t be thinking about his ass when they’re in the middle of a bust. Danny mostly doesn’t remember his normal dreams– hell, even the premonition dreams often slip away until they happen in reality– but this time apparently Danny’s subconscious has decided to torture him until he works this shit out. Which he really isn’t up for right now, frankly, and Chin should stop giving him those looks like he knows what Danny’s thinking.
“He’s not our guy,” Danny says when Steve comes out of the interrogation room. It’s not really a question; he’d known it almost as soon as Steve went in.
“No. But he knows where our guy is, so come on. We’re going on a beach trip.”
“I hate the beach,” Danny says perfunctorily as they get in the car.
“Beach house,” Steve amends.
It’s not a long drive, and the place looks deserted. “You got anything?” Danny asks, and Steve cocks his head, listening intently.
“Someone’s definitely there,” he says after a moment. “Let’s go say hello. Take the back in case he runs.”
“Don’t get shot.”
“Am I gonna get shot?”
Danny frowns, but he doesn’t feel the gut-punch of dread he gets when he or his team are in danger. “I don’t think so,” he says, “but be careful anyway, I’m not getting blamed if you manage to fuck up by getting cocky.”
Steve smiles. “Go cover the back, Danno,” he says, and Danny does. He hears Steve kick the door in– Neanderthal– and the sounds of a scuffle, but no gunshots. The house goes quiet then, and Danny reaches for the back doorknob but just as quickly jerks away and runs, and he doesn’t have time to wonder what he’s sensing before there’s an almighty blast and bloom of flame as the back end of the house explodes. Danny is knocked to the sand by the force of it, but at worst he’s a little banged up from bits of wood showering down.
“Danno!” Steve is wild-eyed as he comes tearing around the side of the house, and Danny coughs and sits up.
“Steve,” he calls, not loud, but Steve doesn’t need him to be.
“Think so. I got out of the way before it blew.”
Steve lets out a breath. “Good,” he says tersely.
Danny smiles up at him reassuringly. “I’m fine. You get our guy?”
“Yeah. ” Steve is still watching Danny intently. “You should get a doctor to check you over.”
“I’m fine–” Danny starts to say, then stops. “Okay,” he relents, because Steve is giving him this look, “okay, I’ll get checked. But I’m fine.”
He is fine, but hearing it from a doctor seems to calm Steve down a little, even though he insists on bringing Danny back to his place instead of dropping him off at the apartment.
“What’s gotten into you?” Danny asks him, because Steve is hovering, for God’s sake.
“It's just,” Steve murmurs, voice going soft, “you scared me. I thought I’d... lost you.” He sounds uncomfortable and unsure and he’s looking at Danny like... like...
“Come here,” Danny demands, and tugs Steve in by the front of his shirt. “You should have just said, you idiot.”
Danny cuts him off with a kiss he hadn’t quite intended on giving and, well, okay, apparently he’s resolving this now after all. Steve is still only for a shocked second before he starts giving as good as he gets, pressing in close with a low, throaty sound.
“Can I,” Steve breathes, hands on the buttons of Danny’s shirt.
“I know you’ve got a bedroom in this house, McGarrett,” Danny drawls, and Steve practically drags him up the stairs. He sheds his own shirt as they go, works Danny out of his just inside the door and then knocks them both to the bed. The rest of their clothes are gone in short order, and then it’s just skin on skin, hands everywhere.
“Jesus fuck,” Danny mutters hotly against Steve’s mouth, “I just want to lick every fucking inch of you.”
“Yeah,” Danny agrees, and suits action to word, bends his head and starts with one of the tattoos on Steve’s arm and then moving to his muscled chest. Steve twitches under him when Danny finds a ticklish spot of his abdomen, and Danny grins and blows on it.
“Goddamn tease,” Steve growls, and he tangles a hand in Danny’s hair and tries to force his head down and shit, shit, Danny has dreamed this, and he says as much.
“Apparently us getting down was a foregone conclusion,” Danny says wryly, and untangles Steve’s hand from his hair. “You’re not running the show here, partner, I know how this ends,” Danny informs him. “I’ll tie you down if I have to.”
Steve makes the exact same sound Danny had dreamed he would, and he squirms when Danny licks the head of his cock, whines Danny with a desperate tinge in his voice. Danny looks up at him.
“Those super senses,” Danny says slowly, “does that include your sense of touch?”
“Find out for yourself,” Steve pants, which Danny’s thinking is a yes. He’s still more than willing to take Steve in his mouth, though, to suck and lick and taste until Steve is reduced to incoherent moans, fingers back in Danny’s hair and hips trying not to buck.
“Gonna–” Steve gasps, but Danny already knows, has backed off and lets Steve’s come hit his face, make a mess of his mouth and chin and cheeks, and when Steve drags his eyes back open he makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan, drags Danny up and licks him clean.
“Fuck, Danny.” Steve sounds wrecked and looks like he sounds, fucked-out but still turned on. “Now will you let me take over?”
“Looking forward to it,” Danny says, and Steve grins at him and rolls them over. Danny is already pretty damn turned on– nothing gets him hot like a partner who’s as into it as he is– and that plus Steve’s hands and mouth means he comes almost embarrassingly fast.
Steve licks his lips. “My sense of taste is good, too,” he murmurs, and Danny huffs out a laughing sort of breath and stays where he is while Steve sprawls half over him. They lie there still and boneless in the wreck of blankets, and Danny is half asleep by the time Steve speaks again.
“You should probably know that I’m in love with you,” he says, and Danny’s eyes snap open.
“You’re– wow. I... wow.”
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t see that one coming?”
Danny smiles slightly and shakes his head. “I always woke up from that one before the end.”
“Nice to know I can still surprise you,” Steve says, but he seems edgy, and Danny hugs him close.
“Good surprise,” Danny murmurs, and Steve looks cautiously hopeful.
“Definitely,” Danny agrees. “The absolute best kind... partner.”