(no subject)
Steve never actually thought he'd enjoy fishing as a pastime.
He'd only gone a few times when he was younger. John McGarrett had been a busy man, bogged down with crime and career, and had only successfully taken his son out to fish from the long piers less than a handful of times. Back then, the reasons for his booked schedule hadn't exactly been made clear, and Steve can recall holding onto a small amount of resentment towards his father for his inability to be around for the moments that mattered - like football games, or prom nights. He'd made it to Steve's high school graduation, but a few months after that, John had packed up his two children and all of their belongings and shipped them off to the mainland on separate planes, trying to protect them from the corruption that had slowly begun to permeate the Hawaii Police Department, working its way in and eating out the good like a cancer. Steve hadn't learned the truth until years later, and now, he's half-convinced it's too late for him to really go anywhere with the information he now knows about his father. Maybe he would've played differently, knowing his father was in the stands somewhere watching his games. Maybe the bitterness he'd felt wouldn't have fueled so much of his past.
There's still something of a painful memory associated with the act of fishing itself, so Steve takes to the next-best option: diving. There are plenty of oysters to be found in the reefs near their home, and he's practiced holding his breath until he's reached the best time he ever got training with the SEALs. He never takes more than he needs, and he always leaves enough behind before moving on to the next spot. He dives for the Winchester, mostly, supplying it and the Compound's kitchen with fish and other seafood needed to cook their meals, but he also fishes for Danny and himself, too. Their garden is slowly flourishing, jump-started by the weekend of his green thumb, and now it's what he tends to when he isn't busy training, or surfing, or hunting. He's looking forward to the mornings when he can walk outside and pick an orange right off the tree, fresh and ready to be squeezed. He's looking forward to seeing Danny cooking with all the herbs and spices he grew up eating in Jersey. He's looking forward to making a life here every day that he wakes up on the island.
Right now, he's walking out of the water and up onto the beach, a black mesh bag tossed over one shoulder, catching his breath as he swipes a hand over his face, still dripping. His eyes are drawn to a shadow looming in the wake of the person approaching and he glances up, holding that same hand over his eyes to be able to make out a face, squinting and smiling simultaneously. "How's it?"
[Perfect time to meet him! For the reference of those who don't know, Steve has several tattoos which are all clearly visible: right shoulder, left shoulder, lower back. ST/LT is love, open to new tags until stated otherwise.]
He'd only gone a few times when he was younger. John McGarrett had been a busy man, bogged down with crime and career, and had only successfully taken his son out to fish from the long piers less than a handful of times. Back then, the reasons for his booked schedule hadn't exactly been made clear, and Steve can recall holding onto a small amount of resentment towards his father for his inability to be around for the moments that mattered - like football games, or prom nights. He'd made it to Steve's high school graduation, but a few months after that, John had packed up his two children and all of their belongings and shipped them off to the mainland on separate planes, trying to protect them from the corruption that had slowly begun to permeate the Hawaii Police Department, working its way in and eating out the good like a cancer. Steve hadn't learned the truth until years later, and now, he's half-convinced it's too late for him to really go anywhere with the information he now knows about his father. Maybe he would've played differently, knowing his father was in the stands somewhere watching his games. Maybe the bitterness he'd felt wouldn't have fueled so much of his past.
There's still something of a painful memory associated with the act of fishing itself, so Steve takes to the next-best option: diving. There are plenty of oysters to be found in the reefs near their home, and he's practiced holding his breath until he's reached the best time he ever got training with the SEALs. He never takes more than he needs, and he always leaves enough behind before moving on to the next spot. He dives for the Winchester, mostly, supplying it and the Compound's kitchen with fish and other seafood needed to cook their meals, but he also fishes for Danny and himself, too. Their garden is slowly flourishing, jump-started by the weekend of his green thumb, and now it's what he tends to when he isn't busy training, or surfing, or hunting. He's looking forward to the mornings when he can walk outside and pick an orange right off the tree, fresh and ready to be squeezed. He's looking forward to seeing Danny cooking with all the herbs and spices he grew up eating in Jersey. He's looking forward to making a life here every day that he wakes up on the island.
Right now, he's walking out of the water and up onto the beach, a black mesh bag tossed over one shoulder, catching his breath as he swipes a hand over his face, still dripping. His eyes are drawn to a shadow looming in the wake of the person approaching and he glances up, holding that same hand over his eyes to be able to make out a face, squinting and smiling simultaneously. "How's it?"
[Perfect time to meet him! For the reference of those who don't know, Steve has several tattoos which are all clearly visible: right shoulder, left shoulder, lower back. ST/LT is love, open to new tags until stated otherwise.]
