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Title: Walking!Danno #2
Fandom/Pairing: Hawaii Five-0 - Daniel Williams, Steven McGarrett
Rating: G
Author: [livejournal.com profile] onyxexistance  /[livejournal.com profile] openmoments 
Spoilers: N/A
Word Count: 1,537
Summary: Number two of a series of four about Danno's exquisite walking. 
Disclaimers: Think about it: if I owned the show, would I have to be writing fic? No, because it would be happening on screen. And no harm is intended. 
Prompt: Danno's ridiculously sexy way of walking. It's a constant thing of inspiration. 

Author's Notes: This one should be blamed on[livejournal.com profile] zed_pm . Most things Hawaii Five-0 based should be blamed on her. 


Daniel Williams is short. It’s a hard to ignore fact that he’s accepted a long time ago, when he realized that, no matter how often he measured himself, he was not getting any taller.
To be honest, it wasn’t something he really needed to get over. It was a fact of his life, so he went and dealt with it, putting up with the nicknames and teasing during high school and at work. Even within his family, he’d chuckle along with his leggy, blond sisters and tall as a tree younger brother. He’s really fine with it.

“Wow, you move pretty fast,” Steve remarks one day, after Danny seemingly appears at his elbow.
“What do you mean?” he asks, looking up and squinting into the sun on this god forsaken island to look at his partner.
Steve shrugs, looking into some invisible distance while licking his lips. “Nothing. You just...you move fast. That’s all,” he replies, still looking out at who the hell knows what.
Something clicks in Danny’s head and he moves to stand in front of his partner. “Are you saying I move fast for a short guy?” he asks, eyebrows raised, hands waving in the air like he’s about to pull something out of it.
Steve looks down, a surprised look spreading quickly across his face, “No, Danny, that’s not what I meant. I mean: you move fast. I didn’t know you could do that. That’s all,” he answers, eyes open in that sincere way he gets every once in awhile.
Danny doesn’t exactly believe him, but he lets it go, shaking his head and turning around, “Okay, whatever you say,” he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand.

So yeah, Danny Williams is short. He has to walk and run faster, stretch his legs to their full length at every stride, in order to keep up. He learned at a young age that he had to put in more energy to keep up. And, for the longest time, he was okay with that. It was a fact of life, nothing he could do about it, so he accepted it and moved on. Sometimes, though, that’s just not enough. Things come back and bite you in the ass, reminding you that they do matter, on some microscopic level that does nothing but irritates when rubbed the wrong way.

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it,” Steve speaks into the quiet car several hours later.
“Mean by what?” Danny asks, the words coming out a little more terse, a little harsher than he intends.
Steve takes his eye off the road to look across at the tense man next to him, Danny seeming like he’s trying to pull into himself.
“Would you get your eyes back on the road, you suicidal G.I. Joe?” Danny asks him, eyes fixed laser like on the road ahead of them.
Steve opens his mouth, then closes it, knuckles stress white on the steering wheel as he turns them into their parking lot.

Danny lets himself into his one room shit hole he calls an apartment, by passing the kitchen to let himself sink onto the bed, stress and worry sinking from his shoulders into the mattress. Sometimes things seem like they shouldn’t hurt. Like you should ignore them and let them pass you by. So, you do. You let them slough off like water off a rain jacket and you keep on going. Then, every once in awhile, you realize that it does hurt. Not in a it won’t stop bleeding, gash in your skin, glass fragments stuck in your feet type of way. No, it hurts in the I didn’t know there was a wound on the inside, I thought it was just a scar, who picked it open? type of way.

Just when he’s ready to pass out, tie still unloosened around his neck, hair only slightly mussed up, Jersey style detective to the end of the day, he hears what can only be Steve knocking on the door.
Knowing Steve knows he’s there and won’t be ignored, he groans as he gets up from his spot on the bed and answers the door. His partner’s standing there, six pack of Longboard dangling from two fingers, a box of pizza balancing on the top of his fingers. Ninja cat to the last detail, Danny thinks wryly to himself.
“What do you want, Steven?” he asks, not even bothering to hide the tiredness he’s feeling at this point.
“Well, I figured I’d stop by, bring you food. I know how much you like it, and I know you probably haven’t eaten yet,” he answers, brushing past him into Danny’s shit hole of an apartment, like there’s nothing randomly weird between them.
Running a hand across his face tiredly, Danny turns around to look at his partner, “Look, Steven, I really appreciate the thought, I do, but, I’m tired. I need sleep if I’m going to be able to do my job tomorrow,” he tells him, eyes pointed straight at the wall behind Steve’s head.
“Look, Danno...” Steve starts before Danny cuts him off.
“Do not call me that!” Danny bursts out, hand fisting in his hair as he tried to tamp down some of his frustration. A few deep breathes and a few moments of pacing while Steve watches, pizza still in hand, beer dangling from his fingers, eyes watching his partner pace the small space available in his apartment.
“Seriously, brah, what’s wrong?” Steve finally asks into the eerie quiet of the house, silence only broken by Danny’s footfalls.
“Look, it’s nothing,” Danny finally answers, “Really. It’s just been a long day, and I’m ready for bed. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, okay?” he replies, eyes waving in the vague direction of the door.
Steve, the arrogant bastard that he is, sits down in the only really comfortable chair in the room, and cracks a beer while shaking his head, “Not a chance. Not until you tell me what the hell’s gotten you wound like a top all day.”
The thing is, Danny wants to tell him that it’s none of his business, that it doesn’t concern him. He wants to tell him to bugger off, that he’ll see him tomorrow, that, every once in awhile, he needs space for just himself. But, tonight at least, he’d be lying. Because he kind of likes having someone else in the too quietness of his run down, small as a box apartment he’s calling home. So, he doesn’t say anything, instead just reaches over and grabs a Longboard from the pack and sits down on his bed, taking a long pull while Steve flicks the lid on the pizza box and offers it to him, smiling as Danny reaches across and grabs a slice from the half that is not covered in the evil that is ham and pineapple. (He’s going to ignore that it’s in the same box as his precious slice, and takes a huge bite out of it. (He’s also not going to admit how right Steve was about him being hungry. Like the ninja SEAL needs another thing to inflate his already overinflated head.)
Then, all of a sudden, into the near silence of chew, drink, swallow, Steve clears his throat and starts, “Look, Danno,” then raises his hand when Danny opens his mouth to interrupt, “no. Just, listen to what I have to say, okay?” he finishes and pauses for a second, waiting for Danny to make some sort of argument. When he doesn’t he continues, “When I said what I did this morning, it wasn’t a reference to your height, okay? It was on your speed, that’s all. On the fact that you walk fast, alright? And, to be honest, it’s not like you to take something like that so seriously, so, I don’t know what got into you all of a sudden, but I’m sorry if whatever I said pissed you off, okay? I’m..I’m sorry,” finishes off, voice dipping at the end, uncertain if he’s said what he wanted to or if he’s just saying words to speak, to fill in the space between them.

Danny doesn’t say anything and Steve takes a large bite of his pizza to fill the pause, do something, anything, and then Danny finally, finally says something, “Steven, I know, okay? I know you didn’t mean anything by it. And, yeah, I overreacted. I’m sorry, too,” he ends, sentence done, pizza slice lying limply in his hands for a few seconds before he fits the rest of it in his mouth.

And then, then everything’s cleared up and they scrap over the last Longboard and Danny pulls another six pack out of his fridge because that’s all that’s really in there and they argue about pineapple and ham on pizza for the millionth time until Danny’s sleepy happy and the stress in his shoulder’s really isn’t there anymore and he’s okay, once again, with himself and his height and the fact that he has to walk twice as fast in order to keep up with the world around him. But, you know what? He’s okay with that. Actual, factual, alright with that.

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