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Junior is freshly discharged from the Navy and he calls his dad as soon as he lands in Hawaii.
It goes straight to voicemail.
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Junior had thought that Danny was dangerous in that way that all cops were – which was: only mildly dangerous. Danny was thoroughly capable, of course; you don’t last nine years on Five-0 for nothing.
But what Junior is realizing is that Danny is good – very good, in fact – at playing up an almost sort of innocence, at not drawing attention to himself. People were distracted by Steve, they all know what Steve is and what he’s capable of and Danny uses that distraction to his advantage, to hide in plain sight.
Junior’s got his own fight on his hands, but as he’s making his way onto the SS Arcturus – looking for Danny who’s looking for Steve – Junior finds he can’t help but notice the dead spread all around him.
Very few of the bodies needed more than one shot to be taken down – it was precision shooting that Junior suddenly recognizes as the work of Danny Williams. Work that maybe Junior had been subconsciously attributing to Steve in the aftermath of shootouts. Junior takes another look behind him and thinks that maybe he should reconsider his opinion of Danny.
When Junior finds Danny, Danny’s sitting beside Steve and they’re doing that thing where they’re staring at each other like nothing else matters, like neither of them have left behind a trail of bodies just to make sure they’d see each other again.
After Junior notices it, he can’t believe he ever missed it.
He sees out of the corner of his eye the deliberate way Danny holds himself still, he keeps his body language open but there’s a steady readiness carried in the line of his shoulders – all lending to a subtle air of violence.
-
Junior’s thumb hovers over the little green icon that’ll initiate a call – but he doesn’t press it.
He sends a text instead, asking if the work on the deck still needs doing.
-
Junior’ll never forget his and Danny’s first meeting.
Danny had walked into the kitchen in nothing but his underwear.
He’d been covered in bites and bruises, his hair tousled as he rubbed at his eyes (thus blocking his view of Junior eating cereal at the table) and Junior knew – knew – that he should move. Should slide out of his chair and slink towards the back door – but a glance outside showed that Steve was just walking out of the ocean and toweling himself off, so that was a no-go.
Junior’s just debating about trying for the front door instead when the sound of the fridge door closing had grabbed his attention and Junior’s eyes tear away from the front door, to Danny’s, just as Danny’s raising a bottle of water to his lips.
There’s a moment where everything freezes as he and Danny lock eyes and, for some god-forsaken reason Junior’s never been able to identify, all Junior can hear is Alan Grant from Jurassic Park tell him not to move, that Danny can’t see him if he doesn’t move.
Steve is the one to break the stand-off when he walks in with his towel over his head as he scrubs one-handed at his hair.
“Steven.”
It’s all of one word, but the chill in Danny’s voice makes Steve stop dead.
Carefully, Steve lowers the towel from his face to look up at Danny, but when he sees that Danny’s not looking at him – he follows Danny’s eyes and sees Junior, who was still frozen with his spoon halfway to his lips. Steve blinks at Junior before he looks back at Danny, confused.
Danny raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture with both hands that Junior can only assume means something along the lines of: What the fuck?
“Oh, right,” Steve says, snapping his fingers, “you were gone.”
“Yes, yes, I was,” Danny says, putting his water down on the counter and putting both of his hands on his hips. “How does that explain the puppy sitting at our table? Did you go to the pound while I was away? Did he show up on the doorstep? I leave you alone for three days—”
Junior tries to shrink in on himself. It doesn’t help that Danny’s suggestions weren’t that far off the mark – Junior had shown up on Steve’s doorstep and Steve had kinda picked him back up from the pound. Junior glances at the front door and wonders once more if he could make it.
As if sensing his thoughts, Steve’s hand lands heavy on Junior’s shoulder.
“Danny, this is Junior,” Steve says, looking at Danny. “Junior was a SEAL, too, Danno, he’s gonna be trying out for Five-0 once he’s done at the Academy.” Steve turns to Junior, then, gestures to Danny. “Junior, I told you about Danno. Look – he’s back!”
Junior can’t quite find his voice so he just gives Danny a small wave.
Danny shakes his head, levels a critical eye at Junior. “SEAL, huh?” he asks, before he looks over at Steve.
Junior watches as Steve and Danny have a silent conversation with just their eyebrows until Danny just meets Junior’s eyes and heaves a sigh. Then Danny’s suddenly rounding back on Steve.
“The next time you want to bring a puppy home,” he snaps, “the least you can do is tell me so I can be dressed.”
“I’m sorry—”
Junior ignores the rest of the conversation as he ducks his head and forces himself to focus on his cereal – now turned soggy – very pointedly not looking up when Danny leaves the room, Steve hot on his heels and still sputtering his apologies.
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His mom tells him he’ll be going to the parole hearing alone and Junior doesn’t know why he expected anything else. So he makes his promises and straightens his shoulders, ready and willing to bear the load alone.
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Steve goes down in the middle of a firefight and Danny screams. Junior is at Danny’s side in an instant, says, “Go, I’ll cover your six.” And Danny doesn’t hesitate after that – just sprints through the bullets raining down around them to grab Steve and drag him back to cover.
Afterwards, when the suspects are either dead or in custody, Danny pulls Junior into a careful hug – the both of them covered in scrapes and bruises and more than one nick from a bullet or its debris. Danny doesn’t say anything, but Junior feels the weight of Danny’s trust and gratitude, nonetheless.
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Well, Junior had expected to deal with the parole hearing alone.
Except that Tani finds out and she mentions it to Lou who mentions it to Jerry who accidently lets it slip in front of Danny and Steve and soon they’re all rock-paper-scissoring to find who will be going with Junior because Danny’s been to the parole room and he knows they can’t all fit in there; Danny wins and, by default, that means Steve does, too, and it’s a tight fit, but they all make it.
After it’s all over, Danny pulls him aside and says, “You handled that quite spectacularly. I don’t think I could be as forgiving.”
Junior, floundering because he knows just how giving Danny is, says, “Well, you don’t know unless—”
Danny’s eyes flash in that way that they do when he’s remembering something dark, “I do know.”
And there’s that chill in the air, like a winter wind from somewhere far north of Hawaii, and all of Junior’s instincts are screaming danger! danger! danger!
But then Danny is offering him a small smile and a slap against his shoulder before he’s herding Junior back towards the exit, where Steve was undoubtedly waiting for them with the Camaro, and he’s talking about food and what the three of them should have for dinner after they break for the day.
Jerry is trying to talk Junior into calling his dad, right after the parole hearing.
“You never know when it’ll be too late,” Jerry is saying.
Junior is nodding, leaning against the tech table as he looks down at the phone in his hands.
Danny pauses in walking by and gives Junior a sharp look. “This the same man who said he wouldn’t bring you home if you died overseas? Who left you to face alone the man responsible for your sister's death?”
Junior flinches; tries to pass it off as a bug flying into his face – and failing miserably if the look on Danny’s face was anything to go by. Junior finally sighs and nods, looking down at the ground so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at Danny and his disappointment.
Then a set of loafers enter Junior’s vision and Danny’s forcing Junior to look at him.
“You deserve better,” Danny says, voice earnest and his eyes imploring. “Junior, you deserve better.”
Junior wants to believe that, but he’s not sure he’s ever known any other way – he’s always been chasing after his father’s shadow, his father’s praise. And after Maya—
Danny’s stillness is back, that dangerous kind of stillness he has, and Junior looks at him because he’s just at a loss for what to do. And Danny just gives a small smile, says again—
“You deserve better. I’ll say it as often as I need to, okay?”
Junior glances at Jerry, who is looking down at his hands, like he’s feeling guilty. Junior opens his mouth to comfort him, but Danny interrupts.
“Jerry’s used to having a good family,” he says. Then he meets Jerry’s eyes and adds, “And there’s nothing wrong with that. But there is such a thing as a bad family,” he looks back to Junior, “and there’s nothing wrong with letting them go. If they come around later down the line? Fine. Work it out then. But as things stand right now? Junior, you deserve better.”
Danny is just starting to walk away, confident that his point has been made, but then he stops and turns back again.
“And, in case it needs to be said out loud, don’t ever think that you’re a burden on Steve and I—you know, around the house? You’re not. We love having you there.”
And, look, Junior’s never cried at work and he's steadfastly refusing to start now even as Danny wraps him up in a tight hug.
Later, when Junior’s dad looks him in the eye and says, “You are not my son,” Junior remembers Danny’s words, pulls them tight around himself, using them to stave off wave after wave of nausea and fear and self-loathing, as he speeds his way home.
When he gets there, Danny’s car is in the drive and, this time, when Danny puts his arms around him, Junior cries.
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End.