Fic: Malasada's H5Obigbang chapter 6 Part B
Chapter Six Part B
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His first solid clue that something was wrong came hand in hand with how long it took him to wake up. He’d spent half his life training to be aware the moment Morpheus released him from his grasp, but this time he was slow to shake off an unusual lethargy and finally peel his eyes open. The second clue was the massive pounding in his temple that screamed head injury in a familiar way. The third clue, which took a few too many moments to clue in on, was that he wasn’t in his bed, or even inside.
When he finally moved, locking away any sounds of discomfort, he rolled out from under a bush and into a small clearing and swayed to his knees. He could easily see the shimmer of blue water through the scraggly beach forest, could see a couple of early risers setting out towels and umbrellas on the sand. He took a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what the hell had happened through the pounding in his head, and remembered flashes of masked men in the dark, guns waving around, a woman crying. He rubbed his temple, as if that might help sort the disjointed images out, and his fingers found the sorest point right at his hairline. He hissed and pulled his hand down, seeing a few brownish flakes and a barely there rub of tacky red blood.
Then the slight blur of his vision cleared and he looked beyond his hand to the gray t-shirt he was wearing that was decidedly not gray anymore. His breath skipped, his chest constricting with a moment of remembered agony as he stared in panic at all the blood, still tacky in places from the humidity. Christ. He rubbed at his chest with both hands, fingers digging in a little as he forced himself to take a few steady breaths, before he yanked the nearly stiff clothing off. The dried bits of blood pulled at his chest hair as he tugged it over his head but he didn’t notice as he stared down at his chest.
He was covered in blood. His blood. His navel and the crease of his abdominals had thicker smears that were still tacky, where as everywhere else it was just a rosy film. There were no bullet holes. He distinctly remembered the bullets, he remembered the pain and numbness and Danny’s face hovering over him with wide and panicked eyes. Danny’s hands on his chest, Danny telling him to shut up, Danny saying he was okay now and helping him throw up blood that had come from internal injuries.
Steve swallowed back bile at the remembered taste, the iron still heavy on his tongue and boasting a rotten flavor that he was only just noticing as everything that happened snapped into place. He looked over and eyed the sand where he’d been shot, there was a bit of blood there but not as much as he would have thought. He looked at the shirt in his hands, peeled it open and stared at the two tiny holes caked in brown, and took a few moments to steady himself.
The two men and woman had taken Danny. He couldn’t remember much beyond protesting, but he thought his partner was locked in cuffs and he had no idea which way they went. There were too many footsteps from too many people in the sand to track them. The sun was still fairly low, it was maybe o-seven thirty. That meant that Danny had been gone for approximately eight hours. Steve looked down at his chest, looked at the patches of his blood on the ground, and decided on a plan of action.
He ignored the aching tired that lingered in his bones and moved quickly to Danny’s car, the keys fortunately still in his pocket. He grabbed his spare t-shirt from the trunk, hiding the bloody one in the back corner. Luckily his cargo’s were black, concealing the blood that had seeped into the waistline for him. He took a larger evidence bag back to the scene and carefully filled it with the congealed patches of blood-absorbed sand, leaving a few tiny spots for evidence of his attack. He ignored the rush of dizziness when he stood and moved back to Danny’s car, hiding the bags along with the shirt in his backpack. When he realized his phone was missing he borrowed one from an early morning jogger who handed it over with an ‘oh my god, are you okay?’ and placed a call.
In less then five minutes HPD was swarming the place, yellow police tape cordoning off the area Steve showed them, taking his detailed statement, and not giving him an option of saying no when the paramedics arrived, herding him to the back of the ambulance with orders to let them look him over. He could ignore the orders, but he wasn’t willing to not document the concussion incase they needed it for evidence later. That didn’t mean he let the well meaning medics do anymore than check his head and vitals. Chin and Kono arrived not long after HPD and as soon as Chin finished speaking with the lead detectives he saved Steve from the medics, who were trying to insist he come to the hospital for his head.
Chin drove Danny’s car back, Steve sat in the passenger seat and pretended that every turn and every shiny object didn’t drive spikes of pain into his brain. Compared to the bullets the headache was a mild tickle. He may have spaced out a bit during the drive, his mind a missive whirl of how and what the hell and they’ve got Danny- if he has so much as a scratch when Steve finds him he’ll kill them. He nearly fell out of the car when Chin slowly opened the passenger door to the Camaro, a large warm hand steadying Steve’s shoulder and a seriously worried look on his face.
“You sure you shouldn’t be at the hospital, Bruddah?”
“I’m good,” Steve grunted and hauled himself out of the car. He grabbed the bag and moved as quickly as he dared through the building, so focused on getting the investigation started that he didn’t notice any of the looks the white bandage on his forehead received. He didn’t notice Chin shake his head at a few officers that wanted to either ask what had happened or had already heard and wanted to offer their help, warning them off because Steve was in no mood for small talk right now. Together they barged into their office and spotted Kono right away, hovering over the table computer with a worried frown on her face.
“Sit rep,” he ordered and her frown deepened as she looked over at them.
“HPD is pulling video surveillance of the area and searching for any possible witnesses-”
“There won’t be any,” he warned.
“-They’re pulling the bulb from the parking lots lamp that was by the car. Looks like it was unscrewed as opposed to broken so they’re going to try and see if they can get prints off of it,” she continued, undaunted by the interruption. “I’ve pulled up Danny’s phone records to see if there’s been any unusual calls he hasn’t mentioned but so far nothing stands out. That’s as far as I’ve gotten,” she finished and gave him a look over, her gaze lingering on his forehead and then on a spot on his neck.
“You want to fill us in on the rest, Brah?” Chin had moved from beside Steve to lean against the table, watching him steadily and Steve could admit that he’d been a bit distracted looking at the image of Danny that had been slotted up on the screen. It was the photo from his personnel file, transferred over from New Jersey to HPD to Five-O and Steve always thought Danny looked bored in it.
“The rest?” he asked distractedly and then looked back at his remaining teammates to see the flash of anger in Chin’s eyes and the look of concern grow on Kono’s face.
“The rest,” Chin demanded, narrowing his eyes and daring Steve to deny there was more. Steve shook himself out of his distraction, shifting a bit so he only saw Danny’s picture in his peripheral vision. “As in the things you didn’t tell HPD about what happened last night. About where the blood on you neck came from, because it wasn’t the head wound,” his gaze drifted pointedly to Steve’s neck. “And where the blood on the top of your pants came from.” Leave it to Chin to have spotted that. “What happened, Steve? The whole truth.”
What happened? Steve let out a rough little laugh, knew it sounded more crazy than funny, and rubbed at the apparent blood on his neck that he hadn’t thought to check for before calling in the police.
“Steve?” Great, now Chin sounded worried, he was probably planning the quickest way to get Steve to the hospital and Steve couldn’t have that.
“What happened?” Steve moved his hand to rub at his chest. “I wish I knew,” he huffed and then checked around the room, making sure no one else was around before he unslung his pack and pulled out the t-shirt. He hesitated only a moment before tossing it on the table, sand falling off it and scattering across the screen. “That happened,” he waved at the shirt, swallowing thickly at the blood soaked material. Chin eyed it a moment before carefully picking it up where it wasn’t soaked in brown and red.
“That’s your shirt from last night,” Kono reached over and helped Chin spread it out a little in the air.
“Yeah,” Steve managed and wondered if now would be a good time to sit down as he was once again overcome by the memory of what had happened. He must be going crazy, his sister always warned him that this could happen but he’d just assumed she was teasing. He was feeling a little spaced out and he kept seeing Danny’s wide eyes trying to tell Steve something. Or maybe just trying to stay calm, Steve didn’t know.
“Who’s blood is this, Steve? Is it Danny’s? McGarrett?” Steve looked up from the floor at Chin’s snap, shaking his head to focus. Now was not the time to be overwhelmed.
“No, no it’s not Danny’s. It’s mine.” He waited as that fact sank in, putting his fiercest ‘I’m serious and I dare you not to believe me’ look on just incase he needed the backup, because he was well aware that what he was saying didn’t make a lot of sense. Or any.
“It’s not yours, Steve,” Kono had clearly decided that his concussion was getting to him so he glared at her and her soft, comforting tone, which had the desired effect as she lost the overly concerned look from her eyes and looked to Chin. Chin seemed to be taking this in stride, but that wasn’t surprising as the man always took things in stride.
“Tell us what happened,” he ordered and Steve finally leaned heavily on the table, rubbing his chest absently.
“They shot me,” he explained wearily. “Before they coldcocked me they put two rounds in my chest and watched me bleed.” The fear was still there, still real and heavy but he kept it hidden, like he’d been trained, and met his teammates eyes to try and convince them that he hadn’t gone around the bend. Kono had found the holes in the shirt, was poking at them gingerly.
“You don’t look like you’ve been shot,” she swallowed thickly and stepped away from the clothing, letting it hang from Chin’s grasp. “Show us.”
It took him a second longer than it should have to realize that they weren’t dismissing him outright, before he remembered that he had actually expected them to believe him in the end, which was why he was willing to tell them in the first place. He just hadn’t expected them to be so quick on the uptake. He looked around again to make sure nobody was about to barge into their offices, before peeling his shirt up to his neck and exposing his chest.
Kono gave a little gasp, stepping forward and reaching out. Because it was Kono he allowed her to touch, even though he couldn’t help the slight flinch as her finger pressed in and tried to smear away some of the blood. Unerringly she went directly to where the bullets had entered before she stepped back and wiped her hands on her pants, clearly not aware she was doing it as her eyes scanned his chest.
“Two scars,” she announced and he blinked and looked down to examine his skin more closely. All he’d seen before had been blood, but sure enough there were two new scars, small, round and flat, as though he had healed from them years before. He swallowed thickly and dropped his shirt with shaking hands.
“Sit,” Chin suddenly ordered and Steve found himself parked in the chair and a moment later a bottle of water was in his hands. He drank the entire thing under his teammates careful supervision, taking a moment to get his bearings back. He watched as Chin and Kono pulled up their own chairs and sat around him, Chin with Steve’s bag in his lap and examining the gory bag of red soaked sand before he looked at Steve questioningly. “Danny?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighed, sinking deeper into the chair and feeling exhausted like he’d rarely felt before. “Don’t know how, don’t understand it, but he did something because one minute I’m trying to say goodbye and the next minute he was there helping me remember how to breathe, the pain was gone and there were no holes in my chest. The men who shot me -they expected it,” he grimaced and told the rest of the story. Explained about the video camera, the woman agreeing to some sort of a deal after she had verified that Steve was going to live, the way Danny had stood cuffed and silent the last Steve saw him. The more he thought about it the more the fury built.
“What I want to know,” Steve finally finished, taking in Kono’s pale face and the almost scary calm on Chin’s, “is how these guys that grabbed Danny knew he had some…some impossible healing power?” He didn’t tag on the fact that he wanted to know why they had known and Steve hadn’t. The part of himself he kept detached from people and situations so he could do his job without becoming emotionally compromised told him Danny was protecting himself by keeping the secret. Obviously. He understood that even though they had known each other and worked together for well over a year now Danny had probably intended to take this secret to the grave. It made sense, Steve would do the same thing because lets face it: the idea of someone actually having such an incredible healing ability? It was science fiction! It was unreal and impossible, but apparently Steve was wrong about that and he was well aware of what the US government would do to a man like Danny if they discovered his secret. Hell, what any government would do.
Danny was a walking miracle. Steve tried to wrap his head around that idea. He found it wasn’t difficult, it was just ridiculous, but he was a man who accepted facts as they came and it was difficult to disregard it when a friend literally knitted you up from the inside out and pulled you back from death with only the touch of their hands.
It didn’t mean Steve liked being left out of the loop. Especially when it came to Danny.
“Whoever grabbed him took enough time to figure out how close you two are,” Chin’s forehead furrowed as he glanced back at the shirt. “They targeted you as the victim because they knew Danny would break his cover to help you.”
“They could have targeted any one of us,” Steve agreed and was thankful it was he and not one of them. He wouldn’t wish the experience on any friend, and the thought of them targeting Grace? He would eviscerate them.
“They must have been watching him for a while, figuring out who to hit and when. This was too planned to be spur of the moment,” Kono had moved to the computer and started tapping away. “They might be on the camera’s from around HQ,” she didn’t sound confident, but it was at least a place to start and Steve nodded in approval.
“Let’s get a list started on associates that may have been in a position to know about Danny’s…” he hesitated a moment, not sure what to call it or if it should even be named, “…thing. I want to be updated on HPD’s part of the investigation regularly, want to see if there’s anyone who has a connection to him and Jersey that could be involved in this, I want the last five months of his life pulled apart until we know exactly who thought it would be a good idea to take him,” and then Steve would rip them apart and send the message that nobody messes with his haole except him.
“The sketch artist will be here in about half an hour to try and get a picture of the woman you described,” Kono announced. “Are we going to tell his ex-wife? What about his adopted family in New Jersey?” She looked over and Steve floundered a moment, because he hadn’t even thought of that yet and yes, they would have to tell her and his family what happened. Then he’d have to tell Grace that Steve had lost her daddy but he would do his best to get him back. He wanted to punch something.
What a mess.
“Get a protection detail on Grace and Rachel-and Stan, just in case,” he should have ordered that before he’d gotten back to headquarters. “Hidden protection detail, no need to alarm them,” he added.
“We’ll tell them later, once we know more about what’s going on,” Chin decided for Steve, giving him a steady look and Steve tried not to appear too grateful as he nodded in agreement. Kono looked like she wanted to protest but thought better of it and suddenly Chin was beside Steve and had a hand on his arm, pulling him to his feet. “You need to shower,” Chin ordered and just like that all the dried, tacky blood under his shirt began to itch at his skin and Steve didn’t argue. Chin walked beside him all the way to the currently empty locker room and even went so far as to turn the water on in the furthest cubicle for him. Steve shrugged out of his clothes without a care to his nudity, years of being in the military chasing any modesty away, and stepped under the heat gratefully. He hadn’t realized how cold he was, and he shuddered under the streaming water. His body unclenched bit by bit as the heat pounded onto his back, his chest, his face and he used it to clean his still rank mouth and scrub at his hair until Chin announced that it was time to get out if they wanted to meet the sketch artist.
Steve blinked back to awareness at the man’s warning, realizing that he had leaned against the back wall to let the water pound over his shoulders and had practically fallen asleep on his feet. He stepped out and grabbed the towel Chin had ready, not questioning that his friend had stood guard, that his soiled clothing had been packed away and the spare set he kept in the locker was ready and waiting on the bench for him. He felt better, not calmer, not right, but he was more collected, less in shock. It would be enough until he got Danny back.
“Better?” Chin looked up from his phone and eyed Steve critically. Steve squared his shoulders.
“Better. HPD reported in yet?” He kept his tone cool and clipped.
“So far nobody’s seen anything, or if they have they’re not talking. They haven’t had enough time to do more than scratch the surface but they’re widening the search radius.”
“Good.”
Steve didn’t protest when Kono shoved a protein packed smoothie into his hand the moment he stepped back into the office, and he dutifully drank it under her watchful eye in between giving details to the artist until he was satisfied with the image she held up for him to inspect. Chin snatched the paper up and had it distributed to HPD before the artist had even left the office and Steve pulled himself to his feet, glad when the dizziness that had been bothering him earlier didn’t reappear. Good enough. It was time to get some work done.
“Feeling better?” Chin materialized by his side as Steve went to his desk and pulled his weapon from the locked drawer, checking it and holstering it with practiced fluidity.
“I’m going to go talk to Rachel,” he ignored the question and moved to the door. It was all about forward momentum, because he was going to find Danny but he feared that if he stopped moving now he might not be able to get going again right away.
“I’ll go with you,” Chin announced, “right after we go see Max.” Steve stepped into the elevator and automatically punched the button to the coroner’s floor before his brain caught up with him and he frowned.
“We have a body?” he glared, anger at not being informed sooner rising up but just Chin shook his head and gave him another one of his assessing looks. Steve bitterly wondered if the man had learned that look from his father, and then ruthlessly shoved the thought and the guilt it inspired away. Now was definitely not the time for those thoughts.
“In a manner of speaking,” Chin waited for Steve to step out of the elevator once the doors slid open before following him out. “I want him to check you over.” Steve stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around on Chin.
“Check me over?” He dropped his voice, not caring at the anger that leaked through. “Danny is out there, he’s out there locked in cuffs with men who have no problems shooting people and they-” he realized that his voice had risen and he dropped it to a near hiss. “They know things about him and you want me to waste time being checked over?”
“Yes,” Chin gave him a hard look, “I do. You had the medics on site check your vitals, confirm your concussion and then refused further treatment.” Steve opened his mouth to argue but was cut off effectively as Chin pressed his point. “You were shot Steve, twice. Magically healed or not I am not letting you back in the field without a more thorough examination by a doctor,” then his lips twitched in a decidedly unhappy way. “Danny would have certain parts of my anatomy displayed in a jar on his desk if I let that happen,” he finished, which effectively derailed the refusal Steve was about to give. “He’d never let us hear the end of it, brah.”
Steve crossed his arms and stood taller regardless.
“I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t how the hell would we explain the sudden need for an examination to Max? He can’t know the truth.” Chin gave a look that clearly impressed that he wasn’t an idiot.
“I want a retake on the vitals, and an O2 check, then we go to Rachel.” Steve still hesitated, looking at the door only a few feet away that led to the head pathologist. “The sooner we go, the sooner we leave.” Steve clenched his jaw and marched through the door. He didn’t get far, stopping almost immediately as he registered that Dr. Bergman was indeed in his lab, standing right in the middle like a statue and staring right at Steve. He must have been standing there looking at the door even before he entered.
“You know how I feel about phones,” the man declared and Steve was confused, which wasn’t saying much at the moment, but meant that the little bit of patience he was holding onto was beginning to deteriorate.
“Sorry Doc, it was important,” Chin answered, moving beside Steve but not distracting the doctor from his apparent staring contest with Steve’s -neck?
“Hmmm, yes, so officer Kalakaua said. It has been a while since I’ve examined a living body,” he announced and Steve had no problem believing that. He straightened his posture in silent defense. “Do not worry, I will be gentle. Sit!” Steve glanced at Chin, who looked pointedly at the chair Max had suddenly pulled out, and Steve sat obediently. “You are still in mild shock,” the man announced from across the room, his back turned on them as he rummaged through a drawer.
“I am not,” Steve protested, exhaustion beginning to weigh him down now that he was sitting.
“You are pale,” Max declared, finding what he needed and moving back towards Steve and Chin.
“I spent the night concussed and shoved up under a tree,” he explained with irritation, wincing as a light was quickly flashed in his eyes.
“You’re skin is damp,” Max leaned in closer than was absolutely necessary to peel away the gauze on his forehead and examine the wound.
“I just had a shower,” he countered.
“Yes, a very hot one,” Max mumbled, grabbing a plastic tube contraption and holding it in front of Steve. “Take a deep breath and exhale as much air as you can into this,” Steve took the thing from him and did as told. It made him dizzy. “You are still in mild shock,” Max decided again and then made Steve repeat the exercise two more times.
Chin remained leaning against the counter for the entire examination, arms crossed, gaze steady. Ten minutes later, after the fastest and one of the most thorough examinations Steve had ever been subjected to, he was turned loose with the suggestion of rest and the order to eat.
Chin grimly led the way back out into the midmorning sunlight and Steve didn’t argue when the man silently slid behind the wheel to Danny’s car. Steve woke up suddenly when the car jerked to a stop at Rachel and Stan’s home and ignored the way Chin’s eyes bore into his back the entire walk up to the front door.
Rachel opened it before Steve even had a chance to knock. She looked to Steve and then Chin and her eyes went wide and watery, her hand moving to cover her mouth in shock and she began to shake her head.
“No, Rachel. No,” Steve reached out without thought and gripped her shoulders, ducking his head a little so that he could meet her eyes. “He’s not dead, Rachel, understand? He’s still alive, he’s alive.” She inhaled sharply through her nose, blinking the tears that had begun to gather back into submission and after a moment dropped her hand and took a deeper breath.
“I think you had better come in Commander, Detective,” she turned and Steve followed her into the cool house. His eyes were immediately drawn to a photo of Grace sitting on the table by the door, and he hoped to god that he hadn’t just lied to the mother of that child. Danny was alive. He was alive.
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Chapter 7