Break your muse: (inspired by the last one you posted!) Danny's liver is not regenerating as it should
“Hey, Hey.” Steve drug his chair over toward Danny on the medical table of the appointment room, all long legs and powerful movement, only one full sliding stride, without even rising more than a third of the way from his seat, before he was dropping it and himself in front of Danny still on it, above him like this.
“Whatever you’ve got squirreling on up there, stop thinking it.” Danny had managed the last five minutes, the doctor talking, presenting options, both of them asking questions, but he’d gone pale, greener than he’d been this week when it started worrying Steve, with all the other things that had started adding up to worrying Steve before today.
This face was worse. The worst one. The one where Danny’s tunnel vision only had eyes for becoming a runaway train, cresting the top of the steepest mountain and running terminal velocity suddenly down the rollercoaster rail with the only destination obliterating when it hit the ground beneath it full steam, and broken brakes.
“We’ve got this. We’ll figure it out. It’s going to be okay.”
He would see to that. He would not – could not – be the reason Danny was looking like this. The choice to save his life suddenly taking Danny’s as its cost. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not to Danny, or Grace, or Charlie. Not to Five-0. It wasn’t possible. He’d break anything he had to, promise everything that could be asked.
Because the thought of anything less was something Steve couldn’t see.
Not if he was going to be dragging Danny up out of his the whole way, too.
