Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

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"What's wrong?" Danny had barely been listening as he puttered around his desk, shoving papers into a file before bending down to retrieve a stray sheet which had fluttered annoying away from his fingers. He groused on his way down to almost his knees and then groaned on his way back up for the inconvenience of it all. The receiver to his desk phone was rocked between shoulder and cheek, off kilter just enough so he missed every other word Steve was saying. Tethered by the curled cord, he pulled half the phone nearly off his desk as he straightened to return to center.

"What?" Met by silence as he finally stilled his movements to pay more attention, Danny sighed loudly in frustration. "Steve? Sorry ... what's wrong?"

On the other side of the open line, Steve leaned heavily into the headboard of his bed as strong shivers racked his body. He'd overslept badly; something he couldn't ever recall having done. His first waking sensation was one of pure discomfort from his aching hand and wrist, up to the dull headache banding his head. He was also freezing and unable to get warm, trembling so badly that his teeth nearly rattled in his very head. However, he'd checked the time first, stunned at the hour and reacting to fumble for his cell phone to call the office.

"Steve?"  Danny's voice echoed through to him. Lost for a moment in thought though, Steve stared in a surprise at the swollen, throbbing mess that was his left hand. As chills gripped his upper body, his hand waved and pitched inches from his eyes. Patches of blood spotted the bandages he'd changed just the previous evening before he'd gone to bed. Bandages that had been pristinely white and, even one-handed, wrapped with expert precision around the ten minute stitches etched across his palm.

"What?" He replied to his partner's query as he frowned and shakily removed the phone from his ear to awkwardly rub at the dull ache spreading across his forehead. There was a deep tonal rumble which he missed entirely for his thoughtless act and he groaned under his breath before shoving the cell phone back in place. His teeth clattered loudly as he forced himself to pay attention. "What ... what did you say, Danno?"

"What ... what?"  The retort was suddenly full of a confused sense of annoyance. Typical Danny and Steve almost laughed at the tone as he briefly envisioned the matching perturbed expression if not for the mesmerizing grotesque look of his hand. After checking the time, he'd called Danny directly in the office to explain himself. However, he'd hit speed dial before realizing that his injured hand might be the culprit for his tardiness - not to mention the uncontrollable tremors racing through his body as he shivered from a bone-deep chill. Danny had answered on the first ring, precisely when Steve had noticed the oddly soiled bandages, wincing as a heated ache thrummed deeply into his wrist in direct antithesis to how cold he was feeling. "Steve? What's wrong with you?"

"Uh," Steve blinked in surprise as he examined his fingers which looked bruised and swollen from infection. Each refused to flex and he winced at their pudgy uncomfortable feeling. None of it made any real sense to him. He'd been diligent about taking the prescribed antibiotics and keeping the dressing clean. In fact, he had felt completely fine the day before and the stitches were due to come out within the next few days.

"Uh, Danny, umm ...," Steve started, stuttered and quieted. His apology about being late for merely over-sleeping died awkwardly on his lips.

"Steven."  He certainly had his partner's attention by that very second. The tone had altered to one of severe intensity dosed with an unyielding feeling of concern. It demanded a valid explanation and Steve fought to focus after taking a settling breath.

"I'm ... sick," Steve forced out as the weird chill trickled coldly though his chest to shake his hands. "I'm ... not feeling that great." Despite being careful and doing all the right things, the knife wound was undoubtedly infected and he was indeed, quite sick.

"Sick?" The stereophonic question was almost comical, but Steve didn't answer as another icy chill made him shiver. "What kind of sick?"

Danny glared into space as more silence met his ear. In reality, his mind was racing as he drilled the receiver into this ear, only able to pick up on the abstract exhales being puffed out by his friend. Steve rarely got sick and Danny was entirely baffled by the confusing conversation. "Steve, are you sick sick or is it your hand?"

The reply took longer than two heart-beats. Much longer than normal or than it should have taken, and Danny was scooping his car keys into his own hand as Steve finally managed to string more than two coherent words together. "It's my hand; it looks bad and I feel ... sick. Something's wrong and I think I need to see someone, Danno."

"On my way. Hang tight," Danny said without hesitating. He never looked back as the file he'd been working on fell to the floor in a rush of sound as loose sheets of paper scattered across the floor of his office.

~ to be continued ~

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"That happened overnight?" Danny asked, worry evident in his voice has he gently held Steve's left hand measuring the unhealthy heat and sickly weeping wound. "Seriously?"

Seconds after ending their phone call, Steve had unwrapped the soiled bandages to better investigate the supposedly healing and nicely stitched wound. He was stunned into silence and Danny found him sitting at the kitchen table that way, simply staring in confusion at his hand. What the gauze had hidden from sight was alarming and Steve could only nod, hissing softly when Danny carefully ran his fingers over Steve's reddened thumb.

"I don't want you to go back to that ... doctor," Danny virtually sneered the final word. He hadn't liked the young physician from their first encounter and his tone now indicated that there was sound proof of the man's medical incompetence. The edges of the deep knife cut were flared away as damaged skin argued against stitches and proper healing.

"He's not so bad," Steve objected, successfully hiding an aggrieved wince from his partner's hawkish examination. What he couldn't cover up was his ongoing shivering despite wearing his heaviest hoodie and having wrapped his upper body in a blanket from his bed. He gave a gentle tug as a hint, but failed at freeing his hand from the stern probing and settled on sighing in earnest when Danny refused to let him go.

"This is probably some weird fluke," Steve added unconvincingly. "It's probably worse than it looks." But the tone of his voice lacked as much conviction as did his partner's expression regarding the looks of the injured hand he still held in his own.

"Well, it looks pretty bad to me," Danny eventually muttered. Instead of arguing though, he merely frowned at the stoic expression which Steve had adopted; a shake of his head disagreeing based upon the blueish-gray glassy-eyes which proved Steve's temperature was also unhappily elevated. Steve was watching him as he traced a blackish bruise near the base of his thumb which hadn't been caused by the initial injury.

"What's this from?" He glared accusingly at Steve's briefly amused expression prompted by his thorough inspection and worsened by disgusted huffed murmurs. "No wait, let me guess ... you took the sling off."

"I rapped my hand accidentally going up the stairs last night," Steve offered guiltily when Danny cocked his head quizzically in his direction. The resulting look was one of sheer disbelief and utter exasperation as Steve tried to explain the latest addition to his already abused hand. "Stupid clumsy move on my part. It hurt ... but nothing seemed too wrong ... I took a shower and went to bed."

Steve had barely felt the hard thud of his fingers and thumb into the banister. Numbed by the swelling of his skin, he'd cursed softly under his breath and simply kept going, ignoring the dull ache that had briefly settled in his palm because it had eased shortly after. Looking at his hand now, Steve wasn't too surprised to see a bruise since his hand was so tender. Yet, Danny only grimaced in more consideration of the angry inflammation.

"A shower, too?" Danny bit back any further snide remarks about the hot shower, though his face showed his continued disapproval. Even if Steve had attempted to keep the injury dry, the moisture would have found its way into the bandages and then settled on the injury despite his best efforts. Bacteria thrived on heat, warmth and moisture; things they both knew and Steve grimaced ruefully at Danny's pointed look.

"Back to the ER," Steve muttered, the disgust toying with how truly sick he was feeling. But his assumption fell flat quickly with Danny based upon what he said next. "Doctor Lennon said he'd be on all week if I had any questions ... or problems."

"No way. No, I'll take you to see Doctor Ramirez and he'll give a referral if you need one," Danny sniffed in derision at Steve's pronouncement, another shake of his head to dispel the pleased look which instantly crossed Steve's shining eyes at Danny's alternate option. The suggestion to see Ramirez was sound and even if Steve had found a reason to disagree, the finality in Danny's voice didn't permit any objection. Nor did his gentle wrapping of the stitched wound with clean gauze and protective bandages despite Steve grumbling about being able to rewrap things by himself.

"Come here," Danny sighed dramatically, his cheeks puffing in consternation when he finished and foiled Steve's attempt to duck his hand before it found his fevered forehead.

"You've got a hell of a fever," he complained softly as he pulled the blanket closer around Steve's shoulders and managed to stay relatively quiet. Steve was pale, drawn and carried the appearance of having had numerous sleepless nights, yet he had vowed that his night had been mostly peaceful. Wordlessly, Danny took the prescription bottle from the counter and tucked it into his shirt pocket. No matter what doctor they would see - and it wouldn't be the young, over-zealous, wet-behind-the-ears, not quite still a boy, Lennon - Steve's current medications would be top of the short list.

"Thanks, Danno," Steve stumbled awkwardly to his feet, his left hand cradled to his chest protectively. With every passing second, he was feeling a bit more off; dizzy and almost reeling as if the infection was capable of worsening with the rapidity of a virus. Steve ran his hand over his face again, a muffled sigh escaping when he felt the oily sweat tracing his forehead. He blinked to clear a sudden sparkle of disorienting lights only to find Danny silently studying his every move.

"Don't thank me yet," Danny countered grumpily, inhaling deeply to calm his rising nerves. "Damned lucky if your hand doesn't fall off after seeing that Lennon character."

"You worry too much," Steve managed a grin for his partner's sake. He winced though as the deep ache refused to abate no matter how he tried to hold his hand. Slightly slope-shouldered as he rocked in place shivering, he shrugged lamely. "I bet we're both over-reacting and I just need a day or two more for the antibiotics to kick in."

"Over-reacting?" Danny blurted, eyes widening in frustration. "Kick in?" With a chuffed inconsolable murmur, he then had nothing more to say as he grasped Steve's elbow firmly and propelled him out of the house. He'd had enough from the moment their wily perp had unexpectedly disappeared down a side alley, only to magically reappear inside a crowded restaurant. With hostages to consider, their takedown had been problematic albeit eventually successful if one didn't count the razor-sharp blade which had connected with Steve's hand in a last ditch effort to achieve freedom.

Danny also didn't say anything for the entire trip to Doctor Ramirez's small but efficient clinic. His circumspect glances towards Steve's slouched posture in the passenger seat of the Camaro were telling. Each difference was mentally logged as fact and figure to substantiate his natural propensity to worry: fact one, Steve hadn't quibbled about not driving his car ... not even in jest. Subsequent facts included his tightly closed eyes and heavily creased forehead. There was a tense tilt to Steve's lips as a sheen of sweat accentuated the unhealthy dusky sallowness of his cheeks. And then, of much concern, was the hand itself which remained tucked so carefully up near his chest to prevent further pain from the slightest of jostles as Danny carefully drove towards their destination.

Lastly, there was the biggest issue of Steve's admission of illness and Danny swore he could hear the clack of teeth as a vicious shiver wracked his friend's body as if willingly providing even more physical evidence. The simplicity of two basic words such as "I'm sick" had been more than enough for Danny to justify his ability to worry too much.

But the rest of that stunned confession, coupled with what he now saw for himself, had driven that worry to an astronomical height and he unconsciously felt his right foot sink a little deeper into the gas pedal.

"I feel ... sick. Something's wrong and I think I need to see someone, Danno."

~ to be continued ~

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"It's definitely badly infected, but I'll be able to fix you up here," Doctor Alphonse Ponch Ramirez announced, a thoughtful bounce on the balls of his feet corresponding perfectly to his words. "Then you're to go home and rest for a decent couple of days. Not hours ... but actual days. The last time I checked there were twenty-four complete hours in a day and a couple meant two. For those mathematically challenged, that equates to forty-eight undisturbed total hours of rest."

He held Steve's injured hand in both of his own and was clearly displeased by not only its angry look, but also Steve's vital signs. His temperature was significantly elevated to 101.2 degrees and his blood pressure was lower than optimal. He was wrapped in the same blanket he'd arrived in and shivering uncontrollably as he sat resentfully on the examination room's plain gurney. Still, the doctor waited for the fallout based upon his blasé confirmation which came almost instantly on the heels of his last exhale.

"What do you mean?" Steve muttered almost stupidly as he sat poised on the edge of a gurney. He pursed his lips as Ramirez's eyes brightened almost too happily as the words stammered from his mouth. "What? A few days ... it's a little cut!"

"A little cut with a big ass infection," Danny snorted in the background, not even trying to hide his disgust at Steve's ongoing belittling of the wound and the current depth of the situation.

"Days," Ramirez confirmed with a mildly amused glance towards Danny before settling his gaze on the bewildered Five-0 Commander and ensuring his orders were clearly understood. "And Steve ... I mean resting as in a bed," he drawled casually. "Resting as in no office. No hot showers, working out or swimming ... feet up ... zen-like resting."

His hands remained anchored around Steve's left wrist. There was a weary wobble to the man as heat leaked off his overly dry skin. Behind them, Danny stood up from where he'd been sitting in the examination room's spare chair. Worried anew, he ran his fingers through his hair only prevented from stalking the length of the simple tiled floor due to its tight quarters.

"So what happened with this? Why's the infection so bad?" Danny finally spouted, anger reaching his voice where he'd originally managed to be fairly even-toned. "What did that other doctor do ... or actually, not do for that matter?" The older gray-haired doctor shrugged noncommittally at Danny's outburst. He was standing at his full height, ramrod straight and towering over the highly agitated detective.

"Chris Lennon is the son of a good doctor friend of mine," Ponch's face was thoughtful but far from flustered. Internally though, he was equally annoyed and his young peer could expect a rather intimidating personal phone call. Until then, the seasoned elder physician managed to explain the valid truth behind Lennon's treatment.

"Seems to me he was just a bit over-eager. The sutures were put in nicely, but there are too many and they're much too close together. He made an error in judgement, of which, will be easily ... rectified." He paused, his next knowing look aimed solely at the downed Five-0 Commander for what he considered to be further transgressions.

"Besides, I'm sure you haven't helped matters," the doctor dared to say, refusing to back down when Steve stammered a denial.

"You've been working and using your hand too much instead of leaving it in the sling. The swelling and the edema clearly substantiate that in fact. Am I right?" Ponch made a show of looking around the examination room to prove his point that no sling existed. Then his voice was sly as he folded his arms sternly over his broad chest. He watched as Steve's face colored syllable by syllable because he'd clearly hit the mark.

"Sling, Commander? I'm sure Lennon had you in one when you left the emergency room. How long did it stay on your body? A day or a few hours? Or maybe a few minutes? Until you got out to your car?" Behind him, he heard Danny laugh. At first a very soft sound which increased in volume to earn a blatant glare from his ill friend, and Ponch smiled. "Yes. Just as I thought."

"He's good," Danny blurted to Steve, a grin firmly plastered across his face in appreciation. He was still concerned, yet he couldn't help the deep chortle for the truth behind the big doctor's wise words. Steve had insisted on returning to work the very moment he'd been released from the hospital and the sling had barely made it across the parking lot. In fact, the object in question was either still haphazardly tossed to the backseat of the Camaro or stuffed into a desk drawer somewhere in Steve's office. No matter where, not using the sling was the main reason he'd managed to thwack his hand painfully into a wall or on a staircase banister.

"It got in the way," Steve murmured, rubbing his right hand across the back of his neck. "It was uncomfortable; too restrictive." He had knocked his left hand once in the office on that first day, hissing at having caused himself even more pain. There was one time where he'd not been prompt in changing the bandage even though he'd noticed it weeping a few light droplets of fluid. At the time, it hadn't bled and he'd chalked the throbbing ache and initial swelling to nothing outwardly being wrong.

But he'd hit his hand quite hard going up his own staircase and for a second time just the night before and since then, Steve had felt worse ... seriously sick. He'd told Ponch about those incidents in detail and understood now that he'd sent the infection further into his system with those hard clumsy raps which had ruptured tender skin.

"So, Doc, you can fix him up here?" Danny's fists were anchored to his hips. Despite Ponch's apparent understanding of young Doctor Lennon's errors, he only knew that Steve was terribly sick as the gurney rattled in response to his ongoing shivering. Bandages once more removed for the thorough examination did nothing to ease his mind because the injured hand remained gently cradled in the big doctor's hands.

"You do worry too much, Danno," Steve whispered with a small tilt to his chin when Ramirez nodded and excused himself from the room for supplies. Still sitting, he rested his hand in his lap while tugging his blanket closer across his chest. "Ponch has it under control." But Steve's comments were ruined by another teeth-jarring tremble and Danny chuffed uselessly under his breath.

"I can worry if I want to," Danny murmured when Steve shakily palmed the ache between his eyes which stayed resolutely bright with fever. "And no matter what Ramirez says, I'm still tempted to give that Lennon a piece of my mind."

"Unnecessary," Steve admonished softly, knowing that Doctor Ramirez would undoubtedly be doing just that at his first opportunity whether it be through Lennon's father or to the new doctor, himself.

"Give me your right arm," Ramirez interrupted as he returned with a small wheeled tray in tow. Both of their eyes widened when they saw the impressive array of medical supplies, including what Ramirez required to run intravenous and to take blood samples.

"IV?" Danny blurted on Steve's behalf as his friend silently freed his arm from the blanket. "What for?"

"Feet up and lay back," Ponch poked Steve's knees while simultaneously pushing his shoulders back to the gurney. Before either man could ask again, Ponch was expertly laying an intravenous line in Steve's right arm and describing the need for IV antibiotics; something which Lennon had omitted from his initial examination and course of action. Earlier, Ponch's eyes had briefly narrowed at the confused, negative answer to this particular question to prove another nit for the more experienced doctor to address with the younger man. As such, he intended to remedy that lapse now.

"Seriously?" Danny grumbled unhappily at the implied tidbit of information which might have further avoided the appearance of infection. He sighed loudly as vials of blood followed for culture, then a series of shiny instruments were organized across the top of the tray.

"You can leave if you want," Steve said, unsurprised when his partner aimed a steady glare in his direction. To ignore any other silent messages sent his way, Steve flopped his right arm over his eyes. "Why don't you wait outside?"

"I did that the last time. With Lennon ... and look what happened," Danny growled softly, watching as Ramirez selected a sharp needle from the raised tray. "Worrying," he muttered just under his breath, completely perturbed when Steve merely surrendered his left hand to Ramirez's diligence.

"Stop," Steve chuffed in answer, forgetting for a brief moment that Ponch was even there and beginning to grin at their brief squabble. His voice expressed his exhaustion, and raspy not only because it was being partly muffled by the crook of this elbow. And though he might be hiding from his partner's disagreeable expression, he certainly could still see it in his head.

"No need, Danny. Stop worrying so much." His voice faltered then, suddenly drifting away as a deep ache drew his attention and Steve knit his brow in consternation as he dropped his right arm to his side. The pain was more than enough to make him remember that the doctor was still there as he began to cleanse the area. Hot and swollen, the fleshy part of his palm was beyond sensitive to the merest of feather-light touches. Face pinched uncomfortably, he kept his eyes closed because it was easier to not look and box away the pain to allow the doctor his druthers as he worked to repair the damaged skin.

"Wow," Danny squinted as he peered over Ramirez's shoulder to watch the man work. Though Steve seemed to barely react, he did occasionally wince as the doctor gently washed the wound and then pulled a few particular of Lennon's original sutures. His breathing slightly altered in kind when Ramirez irrigated the deep slash with a long blunt needle for good measure from one end of the torn skin to the other. The older doctor was deft and worked silently, something Danny could appreciate after experiencing Doctor Lennon's overtly blustery, pompous nature which had done nothing in his mind, to properly heal his partner's injured hand.

"That should do it," Ramirez gently examined his handiwork which had intentionally left gauze at the end closest to Steve's thumb where that worst part of the wound might remain open to allow natural drainage during the healing process. He'd used silver dressings to prevent bacterial regrowth and now neatly finished with clean gauze wrappings. He paused, a tilt to his head indicating some amusement that Steve seemed to have dozed during his ministrations.

"When the IV runs out, you can take him home and put him to bed," Ramirez stated, acknowledging Steve's weary owlish expression when he reopened his glassy eyes in relief. His patient was exhausted and continued to shiver from his elevated temperature. He watched closely as his patient fought to gain his equilibrium after the tedious procedure, and so the doctor chose to speak directly to Danny.

"Have him finish the oral antibiotics as prescribed and he can take plain over-the-counter acetaminophen for that fever. Unless something else happens, I want to see him again in two days to make sure things are on track. But he's not to return to work until his temperature is happily normal and I'm assured he's kicked this infection to the curb."

"Nothing's going to happen," Steve complained in a vain attempt to ignore Danny's exaggerated eye roll towards the examination room's plain white ceiling. "I'm fine. Thanks, Doc."

"You will be fine if you do what I say." Amused, Ponch snorted softly under his breath as he looked from one man to the other. His eyes settled on Danny who had folded his arms across his chest, a tell-tale firm squint warningly aimed at his shivering friend as if he could communicate his approval of ... and personal determination to instigate ... whatever the physician might next demand.

"Stay here, Steve." Ramirez was smiling when he smoothly got to his feet to began re-assembling his used supplies. Steve's eyes were half-mast, drooping as he relaxed into the gurney's thick padding. "Why don't you close your eyes and rest for a few more minutes until that IV runs out? I'll write my orders up and then after, you're to go directly home."

~ to be continued ~

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"Hey." Danny must have whispered the sound - hardly one full syllable - three or possibly even four times, before Steve inhaled deeply to signal that he'd heard his partner.

"Yeah," Steve murmured, insisting upon keeping his sham up a bit longer for the way he still continued to shiver intermittently on the gurney. He'd fallen asleep for the few minutes he'd been left peacefully alone. While not feeling exactly better, he was more comfortable and loathe to move though he knew he absolutely needed to be shuttled home.

"Are you sure?" There was a note of a boastful pride in Danny's voice and another odd sound burbling over his head, both of which forced Steve to finally stir with a bit more of a real commitment. His friend's intonation was also soft and almost unnaturally subdued which only teased Steve up to the surface of wakefulness. "You plan on opening your eyes anytime soon, or do you plan on spending the night in the clinic?"

"M'up," Steve muttered, squinting when he peered upwards into a room that was suddenly too annoyingly bright. He felt both better and worse at the same time; something he couldn't quite figure out even though he knew that Ramirez's improved treatment wouldn't have actually served as an instantaneous miracle cure. He was about to rub his eyes against their refusal to focus when the strange burbling sound changed to a soft squawk of protest. It was difficult to see with his vision tiredly failing to cooperate and he shifted awkwardly on the gurney for an attempt at a better look. Danny was doing an odd jiggle-bounce and grinning from ear to ear while enthralled by a small oblong bundle held carefully in his arms.

"What's wrong with you?" Disorienting Steve even more, Danny was soon adding his own series of weird crooning noises to whatever was beginning to increase in its own interesting unharmonious volume. As his brain kicked in, Steve's mouth gaped open before closing with a solid snap. A moment later, he blinked wildly before scrunching a bit in the opposite direction without physically risking a fall off the far side of the table. "Danny ... what is that?"

"It's a boy," Danny chuckled happily. His voice was half-whisper and half-smiling brag. "Wanna see him? He's perfect".

"No. What?" Steve froze in place, his injured hand already mysteriously tucked into a new sling and a small bandage near the crook of his elbow where the IV had once rested. Evidently he'd slept through quite a bit, yet waking to his partner holding a newborn infant boy was the last in any one of his widest dreams.

"So?" Danny gently cocked the baby in Steve's direction. "What do you think?" The blanket-wrapped bundle was hiccuping and beginning to wind-up for another red-faced squall and Steve shook his head in bewilderment.

"A baby? How long was I out for, Danno?" Steve's eyes widened when Danny quietly leaned down and rested the baby gently across his chest. Little fisted hands waved briefly as the cooing burble escalated and Steve got a first hand view of the tiny fingers and button nose. His good right hand automatically splayed wide to grasp part of the blanket at the same time he inhaled sharply in surprise. "No! Wait ... we're ... no, you .. aren't keeping him!"

"Here, calm down. His name is Timothy and he's perfect, isn't he?" Fully enamored with his smallest charge, Danny chuckled as he forced Steve's right arm into a comfortable position before depositing the rest of the baby onto his chest. For safety's sake as Steve stammered inanely, he kept both his hands supportively under the baby's blanket wrapped head and bottom.

"Yes. No. I mean ... of course he is." Steve blurted, his voice dropping to match his partner's softer whisper. The baby was incredibly small as he not only seemed to disappear in his white wrapping, but also down into Steve's one arm. He smiled, then grinned before his nerves kicked back into high gear when the infant kicked his feet and the whole bundle shifted. "Shit. Danny, take him!"

"He's not a football!" Danny chuffed when Steve awkwardly cocked his arm for a better hold and instead, little Timothy seemed to sink even lower on his forearm. At the ready, Danny calmly repositioned the baby higher against Steve's shoulder. "Relax, he's not going to break."

"Where did he come from?" Still whispering, Steve communicated his growing desperation strongly enough for Danny to laugh and rescue the baby back into his own arms.

"While you were sleeping, there was a blessed event and I got to help," Danny grinned happily as he resumed his rhythmic rocking and jouncing. With his entire attention focused on the baby, he filled Steve in quietly on the exciting news. "Well, if holding him counts as actually helping. We're waiting on an ambulance for the new mother who's having some trouble, but Ponch thinks she'll be okay."

Dumbstruck, Steve couldn't even find the words to ask more about who, where or why as Danny momentarily forgot he existed as the baby's displeased cries mounted. The crooning increased tenfold as did the easy pace of a gentle swing-bounce. Danny was about to say something more when Doctor Ramirez appeared in the doorway, a EMT in tow and a smile that matched Danny's laced across his face.

"Time to go," Ramirez announced, unable to stop grinning as Danny carefully handed Timothy over to the waiting EMT. "So far, so good for our mother; with luck, this will only be precautionary and they can both go home by tomorrow morning."

He glanced happily over to where Steve still lay stranded on his back. Multitasking, he nodded in approval. "You look a bit better and can get on your way as well. Danny has your instructions ... I expect things to be followed to the very letter."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Will do, Doc." However, he was still in awe of what he considered to be a series of extremely interesting events. Most of all, he was now staring at Danny who was almost reluctantly needing to leave the baby with the EMT.

"There you go," Dany whispered to the baby, hands suddenly at an empty loss and shoved deeply into his pockets. Moments later, Ramirez was gone to care for his more recent patients and he was turning on his heel to face Steve with a content expression. He sighed deeply, almost pensively before focusing entirely on Steve's face where he sobered to once more studiously measure the left-over feverish tremble. "Your turn. Ready to go home?"

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As instructed by Doctor Ramirez, Danny folded his blanket-wrapped, feverish partner into the passenger seat of his Camaro. The new sling graced his neck to gently hold his injured hand where it dutifully would stay at least until Steve was spooned into his bed. There was little doubt that Steve at least felt a bit better even though he instantly braced himself against the door.

"How are you doing?" Danny asked when another shiver prompted Steve to sink lower into the bucket seat. After having anticipated Doctor Ramirez merely prescribing a different course of antibiotics, what he'd actually witnessed had bordered on a frightening type of invasive surgery. The meticulous cleaning and irrigation of Steve's stitched hand had left Danny feeling a bit more unsettled and even more annoyed with Doctor Lennon. Only the arrival of little Timothy had tempered those feelings to a more manageable level.

"Worry too much," Steve murmured, one eye peeking out before closing tiredly. The short walk from the clinic to the car had nearly wiped him out and he was once more wishing he could lay down. But overall, he felt better that Doctor Ramirez had thoroughly re-examined and treated his aching hand. Though his palm throbbed and its heated swollen surface extended into his fingers, his skin didn't feel nearly as tightly drawn. In addition, he knew the intravenous push of antibiotics was a slam-dunk already combating the worst of the infection running through his system.

"I feel better. You can drop me off and get back to the office," he dared to whisper from the confines of his blanket. His voice barely made it through the heavy material, but Steve knew Danny had heard the ridiculous order based upon the amused half-chuffed laugh.

"Not on your life," Danny retorted, the sardonic smile easily making its way into the tone of his voice. "You can't be trusted to behave and Ponch wants you to eat when you get home before you go to bed. Not after ... before ... and something fairly substantial."

"Not hungry," Steve said, realizing his error almost instantly as Danny laughed outright. He peered out from the safety of his blanket again, one bleary fevered eye meeting Danny's sparkling, yet defiant blue one.

"Ergo, exactly my point, Steven!"

Hidden by the blanket, Steve's jaw moved from side to side before he clacked his teeth together. He was forced to clench them even harder seconds later as a roughly jarring shiver shook him from head to toe. It was an obvious sickly reaction and Steve dismally watched as Danny's eyebrows tilted in amusement. A finger demonstratively waved in the space between them and Steve wilted against his loss.

"Fine," he muttered, utterly defeated by his own hand - in more ways than one. Then he thought about the infant and Danny's comfortable sway-jounce and he wound up smiling to himself. He then almost giggled at his own thoughts, catching himself just in time before Danny's attention could be drawn even more his way.

"Damn fever," Steve added under his breath as another impromptu smile found its way to the surface.

"No, damned kid-doctor," Danny interjected, surprising Steve entirely that he'd actually heard him. "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind. I don't understand why you're so okay with this, Steve. Seriously, I don't understand it after what Ponch just said about a better protocol."

"You're worrying again," Steve groused softly. "Ease up, Danno. I'm fine and Doctor Lennon didn't mean for anything to go wrong." He wasn't in the mood to talk as he rocked in time to the car around his ongoing shivering. Still, he forced himself to finish his complete thought, hoping Danny would better understand his opinion. "Besides, Ponch will take care of anything with Lennon; I almost feel bad for the kid."

There was an answering sniff from where Danny sat in the driver's seat. A sound that agreed with everything Steve said up until the point where he might also feel bad for the young doctor and the pending dressing down by a clearly perturbed senior physician. There, Danny's ability to understand what had happened clearly ended with a solidly slammed proverbial door.

"He could have at least run the antibiotics that day," Danny insisted upon arguing that as a fact because Ponch had been most focused on the omission of that initial treatment. "You're a mess and sicker than you need to be ... sicker than you should be."

With a weary patience, Steve sighed as Danny's ability to mother-hen peck and scratch ad nauseum, plus his penchant to worry, escalated towards the heavens. On top of that, the pleasant image of Danny rocking little Timothy as he cooed so happily was new ... peaceful ... and truth be told, endearing. He grinned and a teary-eyed chuckle accidentally broke free as he pawed the blanket clear from his face. Not mother-hen ... no, father-hen. He stared at his partner, allowing his eyes to travel upwards the perfectly coifed hair, just as a faked cough failed at hiding other giggle.

"What?" Danny glared at Steve's sudden cackling outburst. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he tracked Steve's gaze up to his hair. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Like what? I'm not. Nothing!" Steve grinned foolishly at his silly reply, slumping down further and allowing the blanket to ride back up to block nearly half his face from Danny's querulous side-long glances. Their eyes met regardless and Steve once more failed at hiding his inane sounds of broken laughter.

"What?" Danny pursed his lips in frustration when he was forced to return his attention to the road. "Steven. What else did Lennon do to you? Do I have to turn around and go back to see Ramirez?"

"No, I'm good." With an effort, Steve pushed the glimmer of amusement away in order to placate his clearly flustered partner. There was only one way to soothe his ruffled friend and Steve smiled as he watched Danny literally deflate in front of his eyes.

"Thanks, Danno. Seeing Ramirez was a good idea; I really do feel better."

There was a long moment of silence as Danny pondered his sincerity. A pause while Danny watched the road as he drove, but where eventually an idle hand floundered in the space between them before he coughed up two simple words. "You're welcome."

It was a big enough victory as the tone eased and a genuinely complacent sigh softly emanated from his partner's lips. Steve didn't look up this time, but he envisioned an abstract toss of Danny's hand to compound his agreement. His light hair would be glinting in the sun like a weirdly placed combed halo of ... downy ... blonde softness.

Steve snorted under his breath at the comical image. But then there was a telling inhale from the opposite side of the car and Steve began to grin all over again. He was sick, over-tired and extremely feverish ... and wholly unable to help himself as Danny cleared his throat.

Father hen might be momentarily soothed, but he wasn't quite yet done.

Eyes tightly wedged shut, Steve's smile completely broke free under the folds of his blanket when Danny's adamant demand reached his ears and he had to bite his lip to stifle his outburst.

"But you're still going to eat something before going directly to bed!"

~ END ~