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He's jostled awake as the truck hits a pothole. He opens his eyes, blinded briefly by the sunny and lush Hawaiian scenery passing as they drive.
He yawns, trying to focus. His head feels floaty, almost airy, yet snug. Like he's thinking through mud with a balloon for his head.
"Steve?"
"Yeah buddy?"
"I think I'm high."
Steve nods slowly. "Yeah, yeah you are."
He looks out at the passing scenery, the motion lulling him into a daze.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"Why 'm I high?"
Steve's chest jumps, as if he'd laughed.
"Well," Steve drawls, "what do you remember from earlier?"
His memories are a mess of noise and confusion - his head spins trying to make sense of it.
...or maybe that was the drugs.
"It's a bit messy." Danny admits.
"Do you remember the storage facility?"
Blue corrugated metal doors.
Beige concrete.
The oil-stained floor.
"Yeah."
"You remember meeting with the CI?"
Tattered shirt.
Dirty jeans.
Mousy brown greasy hair.
The man twitching like a man needing a fix.
"Yeah."
"Do you remember how he ran?"
The blur of a silhouette across the beige and blue.
Blinking in the harsh sunlight.
Turning towards the busy road.
"I chased him."
"You did." Steve confirms.
His fist hitting the man's nose.
The honking of the cars.
The gun going off.
The flashing lights and sirens as HPD arrived.
"We fought?"
"Yup."
A bullet in the tire.
No spare.
Steve's smug grin.
A tow truck.
"The Camaro. He shot the tire?"
"Un huh." Steve nods.
Steve's truck.
His hand on the door handle.
His foot slipping.
The shooting pain up his arm.
Cursing at Steve.
Steve looking down at him, concerned. The sky bright behind him.
"You remember now?" Steve asks smugly.
"I fell out of the truck?" Danny guesses.
"You fell out of the truck." Steve confirms.
He lets the information settle. Lets it percolate through his medicated mind. Tries to remember a time he's felt so... drugged.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm very high."
"Yes. Yes you are." Steve snickers, nodding as he drives.
"What'd they give me?"
"Morphine." Steve replies, glancing over before changing lanes.
Danny frowns, thinking. It doesn't add up. He's had morphine before. "No. No, morphine don't feel like this. This is... weird."
He takes inventory. His shoulder's a bit sore. His head feels airy and light, yet tight? The left side of his butt hurts.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"Why's my ass hurt?"
"That's from the sedative."
"What? Why?"
"Well, you fell out of the truck."
"Uh huh."
"And ended up dislocating your shoulder."
"Right."
"So we went to the hospital."
"Queens?"
"Yes, Queens. And you seemed a bit on edge."
"Ok."
"So they gave you something to help calm you down, relax you, before they fixed your arm."
"Uh huh."
"But you had a bad reaction to it."
"Oh?"
"You bit the nurse."
"Nooo."
"Then you tried to punch the orderly."
"Oh God."
"With your dislocated arm."
"Naturally."
"And then you threatened to hit the doctor."
"Jeeze."
"So they had to sedate you, but you kept trying to fight-"
People surrounding him.
Papers flying to the floor.
Steve crowding him.
His face pressed against Steve's shoulder.
Strong arms pinning him to the ground.
The brief pain of the needle.
"So you stabbed me in the ass?"
"No," Steve corrects, shaking his head, "no the doctor got you with the needle. I just pinned you down."
"Huh."
He's not completely mortified, yet. He's sure that'll change when the meds wear off.
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you apologize to the staff?"
"You already took care of that buddy."
"Hm?"
"Let's just say that the cocktail you had made you very generous and cuddly."
"Oh God."
"It's ok. I took your wallet away before you did any real harm."
"Ok."
He forgives the joke Steve makes helping him out of the truck.
He smiles at the picture Grace makes of him climbing a mountain eerily similar to McGarrett's truck.
He even sends an apology card and gift to the hospital staff that treated him that day.
But when the climbing gear shows up on his desk, he forwards the medical bill to Steve.