I learned a new word recently. It's 'fanon' and I understand it as the concept of taking the characters from story 'canon' and giving them an entirely new setting.

That's what I have done. I took the team from Five-O and moved them forward to the nineties. I made them a little older and a little wiser and maybe a little more cynical and I've tried to make them as 'human' as possible.

So here's the disclaimer: The cast, crew, and concept of what has became known as Classic Five-O belongs to CBS. All the original characters are mine. I have a lot of imaginary friends.

I suppose I should give the usual warnings of violence, bad language, and sex, although not necessarily in that order.

Why Five-O? If you watch the reruns, especially of the first four seasons, you will find topics that we're struggling with today. The play doesn't change, only the players, and it's up to the writer to breathe life into the cast.

So here goes... Read and enjoy.

There is only one Steve McGarrett, and that's Jack Lord...

O-O-O-O-O

He was dying and that was God's honest truth. He was dying, and, philosophically speaking, so was every other man, woman, and child currently existing on the third planet orbiting the sun in this particular corner of the multiverse.

The doctors had a name for it: fourth stage pancreatic cancer, confirmed by blood tests and x-ray and CT scans. It was only a matter of time, the docs told the assembled members of the parole board he had never expected to see.

He was seated in front of the long table where four men and three women would soon decide his fate; whether he would die in prison, or be allowed the dignity of a hospice stay. He could go out sick from the chemo or he could do it the easy way on mega doses of morphine until the end. Either way, he was still dead.

"Mr. Smith," the chairmen of the parole board, a middle aged, overweight, bleached blonde wearing way too much blue eye shadow said, "You were given three life sentences, two for premeditated murder, and one for the abduction and attempted murder of a judge. Since your conviction and incarceration here you have made more than one threat against the police and the judicial system that put you away. Other than that, your record here shows that you are a model prisoner, and taking that into consideration, we have elected to hear your case for compassionate release. This board has been apprised of your current precarious health condition, and the fact that before your life took such a wrong turn, you served diligently and honorably in the North Dakota National Guard, and because you have an adult son who is willing to take responsibility for you, we are willing to parole you to the Veteran's Administration Nursing Home in Greeley, North Dakota, for hospice care and treatment. However, there will be a few stipulations attached to your parole. One: you will be transported by the US Marshall's service to the facility in Greeley. Two: Once there you will not be allowed to leave the facility unless accompanied by a member of the VA staff. Three: you will not keep company with anyone convicted of a felony, and, four: you are barred, banned, and otherwise forbidden to return to the state of Hawaii, nor will you attempt to contact any member of any police force of that state, or any member of its judiciary. Failure to comply to any of these rules and you will be back in prison. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mr Smith said. "I know I shouldn't have done what I done. I don't have much time left. All I want to do is get to know my son before the end. I missed too much of his life already. I know I can never make up for what I done. I just want to get to know my boy, that is if it's okay with you and the rest of the parole board." Be humble, the lawyers had said. Mention the kid you had abandoned when he was five. Pretend you're sorry for what you did and that you have no intention of going after those traitor cops and those thieving pinko lawyers who put you away for doing what had to be done. Maybe after he was done he'd come back and take care of a few of the bleeding heart bureaucrats on the parole board, that fat cunt with big hair and too much eye shadow for starters.

"Very well, Mr. Smith," the chairman said. "Parole granted under the previously stated conditions. Good luck and may God bless the time you have left. You may go now."

"Thank you," Mr. Smith said, standing up. He'd lost weight and the drab prison uniform hung on his frame. He shuffled slowly out the room, allowing one of the guards and an orderly from the prison infirmary to help him into the wheelchair that waited outside.

That evening he called his son.

"Austin, my boy," he said, keeping his tone light and cheerful while doing his best to sound like he was ill. "They're going to let me out. I got parole."

"That's great, Pa!" the voice on the other end said. "Are you going to the nursing home in Greeley, like we hoped?"

"Yeah, son," he said. "The Marshal's are going to give me ride. I'll be there before Christmas. We'll get to spend the holidays together. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"Me too, Pa," his son said. "I'll have everything ready. You're going to have the best surprise waiting for you when you get here."

"I hope so, son." he said, after a short bout of realistic coughing. "I'm having a little trouble breathing, so I'll hang up for now. We'll talk more when I get there. Bye, for now."

"Good-bye, Pa. I'll see you soon." They hung up.

Ten days later the pair of them, unrecognizable due to the discreet use of hair dye, cosmetics, tinted contact lenses, and with the assistance of new identities brought from from the dark side of the world wide web, boarded a plane in Seattle that would have them in Honolulu the next morning. Let the Marshal's look for them in the frozen wasteland of the Black Hills until the cows came home and went to bed with the chickens. They were on their way to a more tropical climate.

This time, he was going to make damn sure justice was served.