Steve's laughter dies on his lips as Freddie storms into their tent with a deathly pale face, his eyes focused on him.
The laughter of other SEALs slowly fades into the background, some of them not noticing the tension that has grown suddenly, quieting down only after being shushed.
They have barely caught a breath after a tiring, week-long mission in the deep, dark wilderness, mud mixing with their sweat, sticking everywhere, grazing, covering them from head to toe. The spots that weren't covered in dirt, got red and itchy from the mosquito bites, but they kept on moving to their point. Where all hell broke loose, spluttering red stains of blood on the green surroundings, colouring the boot-shaped puddles of water in the ground. Fortunately no one got seriously injured, a few wounds that needed stitches and some broken ribs, an outcome which made them all grin with relief and with some hint of arrogance when they finally plopped down on their beds.
Steve laughed at Sam's smooth dance as the big man recreated his famous rumba moves, excited for the upcoming leave, which he intends to spend with his wife, Michelle.
The prospect of a few days off duty is not only tempting, not just a chance to lose the uniform and gulp down a few beers, but it has become a safe point that Steve craves after long periods of time straining his mind and body with the focus on the mission.
He needs to lose the burden and reintegrate with that softer part of him, the existence of which he so often denies - not for the SEAL's veneer of grit, but for his personal reasons. There was a point in his life when he had convinced himself that it is necessary for his own sanity. The vulnerable core, so easily hurt and helpless, is a side of him known and available only to a few people in the world. Two, to be exact, one of whom is now looking directly at him.
Freddie was the one who had eagerly sprinted to the headquarters in search of the penman, hoping to find an awaiting letter from Kelly.
Now his face looks nothing like the flash of happiness that illuminated his still soiled cheeks a few minutes ago. The smile is gone, his lips pressed tight as if he's afraid of the words that are forming on his tongue, or the reaction they will evoke.
His own blood turned cold, when one of the sergeants passed him the information. Being the receiver of bad news is horrifying, but having to break the news to your best friend, knowing how shattering it will be for him, seems to be even worse.
"Steve," his voice is hoarse, sudden dryness tightening his throat as he tries to choke out the words, "There's been an incident."
Instinctively Steve tenses, but it's still a response within the reaction of a SEAL team leader, ready to learn about some horrible outcome of their successful, though bloody mission, or to hear they've been called immediately to lead a new one. Then again, it wouldn't be Freddie to break the news to them, which means whatever has happened touches a personal level. Steve's irises widen, eyes scanning Freddie's face over and over again as the flashes of possible scenarios fill his mind. Neither of which comes even close to the paralyzing terror his friend's words leave.
"A troop in Afghanistan got ambushed. One of them got separated and..." Freddie pauses, his throat tightening as he notices the instant realization dawning on Steve.
It would be impossible to even expect Steve not to tie bits of information together, he always was quick at associating things and there really is only one possible case, which could make Freddie look so terrified. Half a world away, but the region of Afghan soil brings a strong connection not only through his own missions, but because of one particular person serving her tour there. Steve's mind is suddenly filled with the crisp memory of their conversation, not longer than three weeks ago, her mirthful laughter echoing in his head, evoking that warm, fluttery feeling in his belly. The next words that fall on his ears shatter that bubble, leaving behind a horrid reality.
"Catherine was declared MIA," Freddie says, his eyes never leaving Steve's face.
A dull thud resounds in the sudden, tense silence, as the rest of Steve's gear lands on the floor. He's out of the tent in a flash, not sparing another glance at anyone, even at Freddie. The fear and panic bursting inside are barely tamed, as he forces the routine that works for any approaching danger, pushing it all inside and using the adrenaline as fuel to make his next move.
Which is a fast stride towards the Tactical Operation Centre, determined to gather as much intel as he can, before making any assumptions and risking being too forward with his own commander. There is no place for personal cases to resurface, being viewed as too risky, too unstable, at least in the official records, because God knows how many times the higher ranked officers themselves were ready to screw the protocol to save their friends. Steve is not even considering flying over there himself, it would take too much time, which Catherine might not have. But if he at least knows more, he could contact and call in as many favors as needed. A brief thought that Joe White is somewhere in that region, crosses his mind and makes Joe one of the potential phone calls.
His heart is pounding hard, pumping blood so furiously that the rhythmic rush fills Steve's head, muffling the sounds of beeping monitors, ringing phones and the constant murmur in the TOC.
No one really pays attention to him, the officers come and go through here often, bringing recon intel or asking for the fresh satellite images, so they can lead their convoy through a safe passage. Steve glances at the big screens on the main wall, none of them presenting even a bit on Afghanistan and he shifts his gaze to the far end of the room, where the door to the colonel's office stands. He'd probably chop Steve's head off, if he even tries to ask about Catherine, but determined to go to hell if needed, Steve is ready to sacrifice every limb.
Fortunately for him, before he even makes a move towards the office, a familiar silhouette appears, clasping a hand on his shoulder and pushing Steve to the side.
"Commander," Lieutenant Kwan nods at him, glancing cautiously around, before focusing back on Steve, "We don't know much."
Honi Kwan wouldn't consider himself McGarrett's friend, but since his SEAL team was appointed to their base, Honi found himself often in their company, whether in dfac* or spending free time playing poker, or sparring. The news about any ambushes, hijackers or incidents always go through the channels, even if it concerned one of the US troops on the other side of the globe. When he heard the name Rollins, he contacted whoever he could, just to get more information.
Never meeting Lieutenant Rollins didn't mean that he did not know about her existence at all, especially with some of the bits mentioned here and there by some of the SEALs.
Catherine Rollins was rarely mentioned, but the content of those remarks and the way McGarrett's eyes always light up when she is mentioned, leave no room for doubt. Whether or not they are an official couple, she is evidently greatly dear to him and the faintest threat on her life would take a huge toll on Steve.
"It happened over fifteen hours ago," he starts speaking the moment Steve's eyes land on his face and the shimmer of fear in his eyes makes Kwan realize, that any previous assessment of McGarrett's and Rollins' relationship never came close to how deep and serious it is in reality. "The unit got under fire, reported two serious injuries, one deceased. And one got separated during the ambush. Lieutenant Catherine Rollins is officially declared MIA, but so far they have all the reasons to believe she's alive. The rescue unit was sent right after the troop got transported to the base. They believe she might be near one of the villages."
Just as he finishes speaking, he realizes he had spoken in one breath, now practically out of breath, but Steve had held his own for the whole time. It seems like another long minute passes, before he inhales and shakes his head slightly, as if waking from a trance.
"Steve," the man sighs, eyes showing sympathy and concern, "I would tell you if there's more, but we don't know anything beyond that. If and when I get some new scoop, I'll let you know."
Steve's hazel eyes cloud, the previous glint of fear now dispersing into a somewhat hazed expression, as if the vast range of emotions bubbling inside Steve's veins, were too chaotic and complex for the body to show the whole, clear sign of one leading feeling.
It is all there, the fear, yet hinted with some relief because they didn't give up on her, anger and impatience, but also the feeling of being helpless and lost.
Nodding faintly, Steve casts one more glance at the monitors, but the face of the woman he hopes to see is not there. He thanks Kwan and reluctantly steps out of the TOC, the sun lowering on the horizon and soaking the sky in orange and pink. Steve's fingers curl slightly, in need to reach for Catherine's hand and entwine their fingers, but he quickly raises the sweaty palm and rubs it over his tired face.
He can't get back to the quarters, not yet, needs to get himself together before taming down his own team, because at that moment he'd be more than eager to let them come up with some highly impulsive, reckless plan to sneak into Afghanistan - probably through some magical door, because there's no way they could get there in less than ten hours via plane.
He also doesn't need Freddie's penetrating gaze to see right through him, he has enough of that with Catherine, who always reads him like an open book, sensing that something's wrong even over the phone.
Taking slower, but longer strides down the wide sandy alleys between containers and tents, Steve finds himself at the border of the camp. There's a slight butte right in front of the heavy fence, but he doesn't climb it, instincts keeping him low in case of any sniper out there. He sits on the ground, with his back leaning on the rock, the dark green leaves that are clinging to the surface tickling his neck. In his position he is shielded by the rock, the wall of containers on one side and a barricade of sand-filled bags on the other.
Hanging his head low, he covers it with his hands, cowering like a scared kid. The fear always accompanies him, wherever he moves, being scared for Catherine's safety among the vast threats and dangers on his own life.
Never before, however, had it been so intense. Probably because for all these years, nothing has really happened. He was hurt, more than once, Cath had some minor scratches, but he always knew right away that she is fine, just needing some stitches and two days of break.
But now for the first time he is left with a complete lack of information, which makes it seem like he's the one stuck between life and death. She could be alive, she could... Steve inhales deeply, trying to keep all the bottled emotions at bay, before he breaks apart. A ghost of the past torments his mind, reaching through all his barriers into the core, where a lost, vulnerable boy mourns his mother's death. He was barely fifteen, for a kid at that age, even if he thinks he's old enough, losing a mother is like losing the ground under his feet, like the whole world is about to collapse. With Catherine's life at risk that feeling reappears, yanking at every nerve in his body.
And he wants nothing more than to curl up and sob.
And to feel Cath's warm, gentle hands combing through his hair, caressing, as always when he wakes up drenched in cold sweat, whenever they're together.
He lifts his head, but her beautiful face is not in front of him, only the stars slowly lighting up the blueish sky reminding him of her twinkling eyes. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, Steve takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down, turning back into that mode, which is needed now. For her and for him, because neither of them would benefit from him being a mess.
Getting up, he casts one more glance at the sun that disappears over the horizon, promising himself that before it comes up again, he will know more and before the next sunset, she will be safe.
He won't accept any other option and God knows he is stubborn, when he sets his mind on something.
*dfac - military slang for 'dining facility'