And I love how Danny stays on Doris McGarretts neck. Can’t go more than three sentences without letting her know he thinks she’s the scum of the earth for leaving her children like that. She hurt his Steve and he will never let her forget it for longer than five minutes. He thinks she’s a shitty parent and she needs to know that expeditiously.
I’m watching 3.01 (Mother’s Day) and I can’t believe the first thing Doris does upon landing is ask Danny to call her mom and the second is interrogate Danny about his relationship status and tell him he needs to settle down while noting that Steve calls him a nickname no one else does
TW: Canon typical descriptions of violence (guns, hand-to-hand combat, McGarrett being McGarrett)
You feel a gentle nudge at your side and you groan softly in protest, nestling deeper into the pillow and the comforting smell of the cologne you bought your fiancé for Valentine’s Day a few weeks ago. Another nudge sends your body shifting again, the pressure more insistent this time, and you open your bleary eyes to find Steve sitting upright in bed, a finger pressed to his lips. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves causing a bolt of fear to run down your spine and effectively breaking the sandman’s grip on you. You mouth, What is it?, and he holds up one finger in lieu of a response, listening intently. Then he asks, “Did you leave a window open downstairs?”
“No,” you whisper, “never. Growing up with cats made me paranoid.”
Steve eases his legs over the side of the bed, carefully opening the drawer of his bedside table and retrieving his gun and clip. Reaching for his arm as he slides the magazine into place with a faint click, you murmur, “Baby, what’s going on?”
“I think someone’s trying to get into the house.”
He checks his phone, frowns, and replaces it on the nightstand. “No signal,” he reports, looking hopefully at you when you raise the landline to your ear. You shake your head. He stalks over to the bedroom door, then stops with his hand on the knob at the sound of fabric rustling from behind him. Turning to find you tugging on one of his Navy t-shirts, he furrows his brow and hisses, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re staying here.”
“Fat fucking chance,” you argue quietly, racking a bullet in the chamber of your own piece while joining him at the door. “You don’t take me to the range so I can sit up here worrying while you play Super SEAL. Let’s go.”
He puffs out a breath of air, jaw ticking as he considers his options. After a moment, he relents, “Stay on me, and stick to the shadows. If I say run, you run, got it?” You swallow thickly and nod, his eyes softening at the determination and fear swimming in your own. “You remember what I taught you?”
“Keep my finger off the trigger unless I intend to shoot.”
“And if you do?”
“Aim for center mass.”
He tucks you into his body and presses his lips to your forehead, murmuring, “That’s my girl.” Steve quietly opens the bedroom door and steps out onto the landing. With his dominant hand on his weapon, he reaches behind with his free hand and laces his fingers through yours, tugging you closer until your chest presses against his back. Feeling your pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips, he gives your hand a firm squeeze before lifting it to his shoulder. After a quick sweep of the living room from upstairs, he looks at you over his shoulder and whispers, “On me,” then begins your careful descent. Glass shatters somewhere in the kitchen, and Steve can feel your entire body tense as you muffle a gasp against his bare back. He turns at the bottom of the steps, guiding you into the corner there and shielding your smaller form from the wide open space of the living room, then raises his gun in the dark. Pressed so tightly into him, you feel rather than hear his authoritative voice carry through your home. “This is Commander McGarrett of Five-0,” he announces. “Put down any weapons you have, and come out with your hands raised.”
The house goes dead silent, or maybe it’s just impossible to hear over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. God, you think to yourself, how does he do this every day? The seconds tick by, and the tension hanging in the air is downright oppressive.
Then, an object goes clattering across the floor and all hell breaks loose.
“Get down!” Steve roars, spinning and crushing you into his body moments before the backs of your eyelids go stark white from the flash bang. You force your eyes open as the light dissipates, readjusting to the dark once again enveloping you as time slows to a crawl and the world spins around you. You feel Steve’s palm tapping insistently against your cheek, and you realize he’s been calling your name, trying to get your attention. “Y/N, Y/N, look at me,” he pleads, and you hear a distinct edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before. He’s scared, you realize with a start, bile rising in your throat at the prospect of this man, the very definition of bravery, being scared about what you’re facing. The scene unfolding before you hurtles back to normal speed, and you spot movement on the second floor by your bedroom. Acting on instinct, your index finger shifts onto the trigger and you squeeze twice in rapid succession, gulping in air and staring in disbelief at the body that tumbles down the stairs to lay at your feet.
Your eyes dart back and forth between the landing and the living room where you can hear Steve exchanging blows with one of the intruders. He lets out a guttural roar, and you can just make out his form ramming a figure clad in black against the far wall. Then there’s a sharp crack followed by the sound of deadweight hitting the floor.
“Baby,” Steve says urgently, wrenching the semi-automatic from the dead man’s grip before returning to your side, his hand a comforting pressure on your shoulder. “Get to the basement. They’re going to send a second wave-”
His intuition proves right, the front door breaking off its hinges from a powerful kick and more glass shattering before you hear the thundering of boots across the hall upstairs. “Go! Go now!” Pressing your body to the wall that supports the staircase, you make it as far as the kitchen before the clouds part and the crescent moon illuminates another three men running towards you from the beach, weapons trained on your beloved home. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air as Steve fires a series of shots, trying to fend off the intruders so you can reach the basement for a semblance of tactical advantage, the relatively small room devoid of windows and featuring only a single entrance and exit.
You move into the kitchen, glass cutting into the soles of your feet that you barely even register thanks to the adrenaline coursing through your body, and reach for the handle to the basement door. “I can’t feel it,” you cry, panic flooding your voice while you paw at the wood. “Steve, I can’t find the handle!”
He realizes then, with a rising sense of dread, that he didn’t hear a window squeaking on its hinge. They didn’t need a window to breach the house. It was a fucking drill.
“Okay,” he nods, resigned. “Okay. How many bullets do you have left?”
“Four,” you answer shakily, swiping at your eyes to clear your vision.
He pops off an expertly placed shot, and you flinch when the man’s head jerks back before he crumples to the sand outside. “I’m sure our neighbors have called HPD by now,” Steve says confidently, trying to imbue his strength into you despite the myriad of scenes playing out in his head of how this could all go horribly wrong. “Tell me again what you’re gonna aim for,” he coaches.
“Center mass,” you answer dutifully.
Steve rumbles out, “You’re doing so well, Y/N. You keep your eye on that hallway, okay?” You hear the crunching of glass beneath heavy footfalls, and you take a deep breath in a feeble attempt to steel your nerves. Then shots ring out across the kitchen, the sparks of bullets affording you snapshots of the chaos, accompanied by the soundtrack of blows landing and bones cracking.
As quickly as it started, it’s all over. The longest six minutes of your life. Just about the length of Bohemian Rhapsody.
The thought has a laugh bubbling out of you, and Steve turns at the sound to check on you, the air rushing out of his lungs.
“Baby?” He drops to his knees, cradling your head in his lap and pressing his hand against your chest.
“Hurts,” you gasp out, trying to pull away from the unwelcome pressure.
“I know, my love,” he soothes you, “just breathe through it, okay? C’mon, breathe with me.” Following his lead, you take deliberate breaths, each gulp of air sending a shockwave of pain radiating through your body.
“This sucks,” you laugh again, almost delirious now. “I just picked out my wedding dress.”
“And you’re gonna look so beautiful in it,” Steve croons, pressing his hand even harder against the bullet wound in response to your rapidly worsening pallor. “Keep breathing, baby.”
You take in an obedient breath, and he blinks away tears, joking, “You wanted us to have another thing in common, huh? Matching his and hers scars?” You smile lovingly at him before gasping from the pain, and he continues rambling to keep you conscious, “It’s a through and through, Y/N, you’re gonna be fine.”
“Jus’ a through ’n through,” you slur back.
“Stay awake, Y/N,” he says roughly, jostling his knees beneath your head. The sound of approaching sirens grows louder with each passing second, and you try to memorize Steve’s handsome visage, his features drawn together tightly in concern.
You muse, “So pretty,” as his face comes in and out of focus, and you let out a content hum before closing your eyes, the sound of Steve’s panicked voice blending into the wailing sirens, and then nothing at all.
__________
“Hey, babe,” Danny calls as he walks briskly through the hospital just after three in the morning, lowering his voice when he receives a disgruntled look from one of the few other people in the lobby. “HPD said you were on your way to Tripler.” Seeing Steve decked out in an EMT’s jacket, he quips, “What happened? You ride in the ambulance so much they gave you a souvenir, huh?” Steve turns at the sound of Danny’s voice, his disheveled appearance and red-rimmed eyes a stark contrast to his usual sarcasm and self-assurance. “Woah, hey,” the blonde’s voice drops to a soothing murmur, and he pulls his best friend into a tight hug. “What’s going on?”
“It’s um-” Steve sniffs and smooths a hand over his face, steeling himself. “A tactical team broke into the house-” His voice breaks and he clears his throat, his hand balling into a fist that he repeatedly hits against his open palm before blurting out, “She got shot, Danny.”
The blonde is dumbstruck, unsure of how to ask his followup question and grateful when his partner intuits his fear. “She’s in surgery,” Steve supplies, and Danny releases a ragged breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“How much longer?”
Steve merely shrugs in response, glassy-eyed stare trained on the floor in front of him. He pulls his hands out of the jacket pockets and studies them for a moment before concluding, “She lost a lot of blood.”
“Let’s go get you cleaned up, babe.” Danny guides his friend down the hall toward the nearest restroom. “I’m gonna call the team and let them know what’s going on. And I’ll have Chin bring you a change of clothes. Should I… call Y/N’s parents?”
“Not yet,” Steve intones, letting the rest of his thought go unspoken, then pushes open the door to the bathroom.
He stands in front of the sink for a few moments in a trance, unsure of what to do next until he glances down at his hands again, unrecognizable in their current state. He runs his palms under scalding hot water and scrubs at them ferociously, willing the liquid in the basin to stop running red. After several minutes, crimson has dulled to a blush tinge- the same color as your cheeks when he makes you laugh and the flowers you chose for the table settings at the wedding. He moves to swipe at his pooling tears but can’t bring himself to touch his face. Instead, he pulls out several paper towels, wets them, and dabs at his stinging eyes.
The cool water brings him marginally back to reality, although he’s not sure that’s a good thing given the state of his world right now. Suddenly feeling hot all over, and definitely too hot for this stupid jacket, Steve yanks at the zipper and peels off the heavy fabric. It takes him a few tugs to get the material detached from his bare skin, and when he looks up into the mirror again, he sees why.
On the other side of the door, Danny’s filling Chin in on the vague details he has of the night. “…won’t even say her name. No, I know, but he just keeps saying ‘she’ like Y/N’s a victim in one of our cases and it’s honestly freaking me-” Danny gets cut off by a gut-wrenching howl followed by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. “I have to go,” he mutters into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you when you get here. Thanks.” He allows himself a moment to breathe and prepare himself for what he’s about to see, then enters the bathroom.
He finds Steve gripping the sink so tightly that fresh blood oozes from the wounds on his knuckles with each flex of his fingers, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stares blankly ahead into the broken mirror. “Steve-”
“Look at me,” his best friend rasps out, turning so that Danny can see his bare chest, a horrifying canvas painted with your blood. He opens and closes his mouth several times, clearly at a loss for words as he looks down at his hands in disbelief. “Her blood is literally on my hands, Danny. I was- I was supposed to protect her. My baby,” he whispers sadly, and then the dam breaks.
__________
As night creeps into morning, Steve sits in the waiting room with his team members poring over recent case files. He scratches at his chest for the umpteenth time, unable to escape from the hellish feeling of your blood on his body even after a hot shower in the nurses’ locker room and a change of clothes courtesy of Chin. “This is taking too long,” he sighs, slapping a file closed on the table before him and digging the heels of his palms into his raw eyes.
“Steve,” Kono starts gently, rubbing his arm, “why don’t you get some rest? We’ll keep going and wake you up if-”
“No,” he shakes his head, his voice rough with exhaustion and barely concealed rage. “I’m not going to sleep until I hunt down this son of a bitch and take away everyone he loves.” After a breath, he nudges Danny’s foot under the table and asks, “What’s Duke saying?”
“No hits through facial rec or even Interpol. It’s like these guys are ghosts.”
Chin sits up in his stiff hospital chair like an epiphany’s just struck. “What if this isn’t about Five-0?”
“Y/N’s a high school teacher,” Danny says, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Her biggest enemy is Mrs. Heifer down the hall who never replenishes the K-cups.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Steve smiles at his best friend and corrects, “Mrs. Hannifer.”
“I said what I said.”
“C’mon, you two,” Kono grins, squeezing their hands on the table. “Chin, what are you thinking?”
“When’s the last time you heard from Doris?”
Steve snorts out an incredulous laugh and answers, “When she got on that private jet a few years ago. She’s never met Y/N. Hell, she doesn’t even know she’s a grandmother now.” He shakes his head at that realization, gnawing at his bottom lip as he considers Chin’s line of thinking. “I’m gonna call Joe. You guys keep working through these files, okay?”
The older man answers on the ninth ring, his voice thick with sleep when he says, “Son, you have any idea what time it is where I am?”
Glancing at the digital clock at the nurses’ station, Steve replies curtly, “Four forty-seven in the morning. Where’s Doris, Joe?”
Steve can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone, and he can picture Joe sitting up in bed, trying to figure out an artful lie. “What’s going on, Steve?”
“There are at least eleven dead bodies at my house right now,” he says by way of an answer.
“Are you sure they were looking for your mother?”
“This wasn’t some intruder block party at the McGarrett household,” Steve snaps, ire overpowering his immense respect for the man whom he considers to be his second father. “They were in tactical gear with heavy weaponry and a clear target. This wasn’t just an op, it was a hit.”
“Christ,” Joe breathes out. “Are you alright, son?”
“No, I’m not,” he answers honestly, voice breaking on the last syllable. “Y/N’s in the hospital.”
There’s some shuffling again, louder this time. Steve can tell he’s getting dressed before he declares, “I’m on my way.”
__________
Joe’s baritone voice sounds garbled as it floats over to Steve’s ears like he’s stuck underwater, and the brunette sits up with a start, realizing he inadvertently dozed off while awaiting his mentor’s arrival. Kono places a paper cup with steam wafting out of it beside him, and he looks up at her gratefully. “I was just about to wake you.”
“Kono, hey,” Steve starts softly, reaching across their makeshift work desk to take her hand. “I just- I want you to know how grateful I am. For introducing me to Y/N and then giving me the push to-”
“Don’t,” she whispers emphatically, fighting back tears. “Save it for your reception, okay?”
He nods, sharing a bittersweet smile with your childhood best friend, before taking a fortifying sip of caffeine and heading towards Joe who’s being briefed by Danny. He pulls Steve into an uncharacteristically lengthy hug, then steps back with a sigh. “Son, there’s something you need to know. Your mother-”
“-never left the island,” Steve finishes the thought for him, spotting a concerned Doris rounding the corner into the waiting area. Then the other shoe drops, an all-too-familiar face stepping out from behind his mother.
“What the fuck?” Danny hisses under his breath at the sight of the two women arriving together.
“Steven,” Doris starts with a sympathetic click of her tongue, arms outstretched as she approaches her eldest. She stops short at the look in his eyes and the tight clench of his jaw. His rage is palpable, and the image of his hands around Doris’ throat flashes unbidden behind his closed eyelids. “They had plans of our house,” he says, his voice barely audible. “They took the handle of the basement door off so we had nowhere to go.”
If his mother is wondering who the we is, she’s doing an excellent job of hiding it. Her shadow, on the other hand, voices the question out loud. “Who was with you?” she asks, concerned. “Are you hurt?”
“My fiancée,” Steve spits out, trying and failing to tamp down the venom dripping from his words.
“I didn’t-” Tears brim in Doris’ eyes and Steve forces himself to look away. “I had no idea, Steven. I’m so sorry.”
“Of course you didn’t know,” he laughs sadly. Meeting his mother’s gaze once more, he says, “You shouldn’t be here. You need to lay low in a safe house until we figure out who’s running this op.”
“You need to play it safe, too, Steve,” the younger brunette speaks up. “Come with us.”
“Cath-” Her name catches in his throat like the shards of glass still taking up residence in the cracks along his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then we’re staying here with you,” Doris says with a sense of finality. “At least until she's out of surgery.”
“Y/N.”
“What, Steven?”
Doleful eyes look up to meet his mother’s, the mix of blue and hazel in her irises an exact reflection of his own. “Her name is Y/N.”
__________
The first rays of sunlight stream through the cracks in the blinds into your hospital room, casting an almost angelic glow on your sleeping face. Steve would find the sight absolutely picturesque if his eyes weren’t laser focused on the steady rise and fall of your chest, terrified that every breath you take could be your last.
The bullet lodged in a tertiary bronchus of Y/N’s left superior lung lobe, just shy of the cardiac notch, your surgeon had explained to him. We were able to safely remove a portion of her lung, and we didn’t see any bullet fragments penetrate the pericardium, the sac around the heart. She’ll have to take it slow and avoid strenuous activity, especially with the rib fractures healing, but we anticipate a full recovery in due time. Steve had done some extensive Google searching following his conversation with the surgeon, but an article detailing the amount of hemorrhage that could occur from damage to intercostal vessels had his skin feeling hot and sticky again, and he forced himself to stop.
The flurry of activity in the recovery ward outside your room is muffled by the drone in his ears, interrupted every so often by the steady beeping of your monitors, proof that you’re still alive. Leaning his elbows against jittery knees, he presses his clasped hands to his forehead and finally breaks the silence. “So… the CIA, huh?”
Catherine sighs, running her fingers through her hair before saying, “I would’ve told you if I could.”
“I see why they assigned you to Doris,” Steve huffs quietly. “You both have the same penchant for half-truths.”
“Steven-” his mother starts, but he cuts her off with a withering glance.
“The least you could’ve done, the very least, was warn me to be on my guard.”
“And what would you have done differently?”
“Reinforce the house. Have Y/N stay with Danny. I don’t know what I would’ve done, because you didn’t give me an option.” He rubs his face roughly and takes a deep breath, trying to ward off the crushing weight of exhaustion. “Look, uh, Y/N’s going to be fine, so you guys really should get going. Get someplace safe.”
The two women nod, standing and gathering their things. Catherine steps out into the hallway, but Doris lingers at the threshold of your room, turning back to her son with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Steven,” she whispers, her voice cracking on his name. “I thought- I thought if I went back to the only thing I was ever good at, I could keep you safe.”
He rises from his chair to meet her in the doorway and pulls her into a tight embrace, years of questions left unanswered and moments missed passing between them in the span of a few seconds. “That’s not the only thing you were good at, Mom,” he divulges quietly.
She cups his cheek in her hand, and Doris can see the little boy she left behind peek through the hardened exterior of her adult son when he leans into her touch. “When this is all over, I’ll come see you, okay? I want to get to know my daughter-in-law.” I want to get to know you, she thinks sadly, deciding it’s better to keep that thought inside for now. “Stay safe, Steven.”
He nods. “You too, Mom.”
He follows her out into the hallway, calling out for Catherine who stops and turns at the sound of his voice. Jogging down the hall to make up the distance, Steve stops in front of his long-time lover, ex, and almost-wife. “Thank you,” he says awkwardly, now unsure of why he even stopped her from leaving. “For watching out for my mom,” he clarifies.
“Of course,” Cath responds. “She’s family.”
“Right, well, uh-” He sniffs and scratches the back of his neck. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Steve.”
He turns to head back to your room, but Catherine’s hand on his arm stops him. “She wrote to me,” the brunette blurts out in a confession. “Y/N, she- she wrote to me, and I found it in my old inbox a few months back.” Her eyes are glassy when she continues, “She, um, thanked me for being there for you all those years before she came into the picture. And the way she talks about you, Steve, God, she really loves you.” Steve drops his gaze to the ground, overcome with emotion, and nods. “Y/N told me about the ring, too.”
His head whips up at that, concern flooding his ocean blue eyes. “Cath-”
“It’s okay, really. I’m glad she told me.” They’re silent for a few moments, then Catherine says, “Look, Steve, just because I’m not in your life anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you. And Y/N… it’s so clear that she loves you. That she’s good for you.”
“For the first time in my life,” Steve reveals quietly, “I know what it feels like to be chosen. For the first time in my life, I feel like a priority.”
“You should be a priority, Steve. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to be happy with her.” Catherine presses a delicate kiss to his stubbled cheek, and it feels distinctly like a final goodbye. “See you around, sailor.”
She turns and continues down the hall, but Steve has lived a life filled with one too many unanswered questions. “Cath?” he calls after her. “What would you have said? If I had asked, what would you have said?”
Catherine smiles at him, a bittersweet smile that holds years of love, friendship, and fond memories. “I would’ve said ‘yes’, Steve.”
__________
A few days later, you’re enjoying a small, simple breakfast a la McGarrett that tastes like a Michelin star meal compared to the hospital food you’ve been forcing down since waking up from your surgery. “An omelet has never tasted this good,” you moan happily around another bite, and Steve grins at you. “I hope you still feel that way when we get you back home.”
The mention of home has your smile faltering as you recall the destruction that ensued on that fateful night. “Do we still…” You hesitate, unsure of how to phrase your question delicately. “Can we go back home?”
“We’re fixing the place up for you as we speak, babe,” Danny jumps in, sharing a quick look with his best friend. The crime scene cleanup crew had done a stellar job over the past two days, but Steve was insisting on pulling up and replacing the entire kitchen floor, claiming a remodel was past due anyway. No one had the heart to tell him they knew exactly why he couldn’t look at the old linoleum tiles.
“You guys are the best,” you gush. “I was worried we would have to move.”
“No, baby, are you kidding me?” Steve tuts. “Mary and I were raised in that house, and we’re gonna raise little McGarretts of our own there, too.”
“Don’t tell me I have to deal with more of you,” Danny groans, and you laugh before your entire left side smarts and you suck in air through your teeth.
“Danny!” Steve admonishes, and you’re quick to soothe his ruffled feathers.
“Are you two upsetting my favorite patient?” Your lovely nurse, Lani, narrows her eyes playfully at your boys as she enters the room, making notes in your chart of your fluid rate and vitals on the monitor.
“No, ma’am,” they answer in unison, and she huffs at them skeptically. Turning her attention to you, she asks, “How are you feeling today, sweetheart?”
“Less pain, more so discomfort. My stitches are starting to get itchy like you said they would.” She nods and hums sympathetically, then smiles and says, “That means you’re healing.”
“Does that mean I can take a real shower today?”
“Nice try,” she laughs, adjusting the pillow you’re leaning against. “Not quite yet. But Mina will be in soon to take care of you, dear.”
With a pout you ask, “You’re leaving me?”
“You’ll be discharged by the time I start my next shift,” Lani answers, squeezing your shoulder in a sweet gesture. “And Commander McGarrett?” She turns to him, one eyebrow quirked, and the SEAL sits up at attention. “We don’t want to see you in here for at least a year, okay?”
As Steve nods dutifully, Danny jokes, “I mean, really, you oughtta give this guy a punchcard or something at this point. Nine sets of stitches and the tenth one’s free, huh?”
Shaking her head, she calls, “Goodbye, you two. Get well soon, Y/N, dear!”
“What a gem,” you smile, “I love her.”
Danny stands with a soft grunt and announces his departure, too. “Gotta collect my monkeys and drop them off at school,” he explains, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll bring the kids by later and make sure this guy hasn’t bored you to tears, yeah?”
“You’re a real comedian, Detective Williams,” Steve yells as he leaves, rolling his eyes at his best friend’s ribbing. You reach your hand out towards your fiancé and wiggle your fingers, gesturing for him to come closer. Your EKG lines only allow you to stretch so far, and you fall back against the pillows with a huff. “I don’t like hospitals, Steve.”
“I know,” he responds sympathetically, coming to sit on the edge of your bed and brushing some loose hairs off your forehead.
“I don’t like having all these wires and tubes connected to every inch of my body.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“And I hate having to ask for help. Not even being able to bathe myself? Hard pass. It makes me feel useless.”
“Y/N-”
“And the last time we were in this place, the roles were reversed and I was so terrified that you weren’t gonna wake up and-”
“Honey, baby, angel, light of my life,” he cuts you off gently, squeezing your cheeks between his large hands, “would you just- would you take a breath for me? Nice and easy, just like that,” he instructs, breathing with you. “Thank you so much.”
“Was that your polite way of telling me to shut up?” You smile lovingly up at him, angling your head to press a kiss to each of his palms.
“I would never-” He molds his lips to your forehead. “-ever-” Another kiss. “-do such a thing.”
“Perish the thought,” you snort. “Will you snuggle with me, babe?”
He glances down at the bed, appraising. “Are we both gonna fit?”
You pout at him, dramatically jutting out your bottom lip. “I make it work when you’re in here.”
“You don’t pull your punches, future Mrs. McGarrett,” he laughs warmly, wedging his large frame beside you in the comedically small bed.
You hum contentedly as his arm settles around you, resting gently on your injured side. “Who said I’m taking your last name?”
“Ouch,” he mock cries, hand going to his heart. “Another direct hit.”
“I’m not done yet,” you declare, and he challenges, “Oh yeah? What else you got?”
“My scar is gonna be cooler than all of yours combined.”
His fingers trace delicate patterns along your side and he scoffs, “Is not.”
“Is, too!”
“Who’s gonna be the judge, huh?”
“All of our friends.”
“Nu uh,” he shakes his head. “Unfair advantage. You’ll get bonus pity points.”
“We’ll take pictures. Make it a blind experiment.”
“You’re on, Mrs. McGarrett.”
“What did I just say to you?”
“My last name’s cooler. You’ll come around.”
“You’re so annoying, Steve.”
“I know.”
“But I love you.”
“…I kn- Ow! Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I love you, too! Stop pinching me, you cheeky little- How do you have the energy to do this right now?“
__________
[A/N: Woo baby this one was a doozy, but I’m actually really proud of it? 🥹 Writing this gave me anxiety and then big sad and then big smile for my goofy baby Steve, I hate myself fr. This has been sitting in my drafts inspired by snippets of various episodes of the show because, let’s face it, writing myself into one Steven Jack McGarrett’s life is my guilty pleasure. I love this man sm and I wanted to explore his more emotional side as opposed to the tough and sarcastic version of Steve we’re used to. I hope you enjoyed this lil piece that’s been living rent free in my head for months now 🖤
Also...peep the Macbeth reference 💅🏽✨]
Honestly fuck Doris McGarrett 😭 and all those people who guilted Steve multiple times into going into dangerous situations to save her…WHEN DID SHE EVER DO THE SAME FOR HIM? She literally has never came to his aid it was always him helping her.
I Swear to God, if Doris keeps coming back to fuck up Steve's life, intentionally or not, I'm going to commit some heinous crimes and sic Danny on her, STOP HURTING UR SON U LIMP NOODLE LOOKING BITCH
