Notes: Mari and Sammy – your response to this was so mind-blowing that I'm just now getting up off the floor. Thank you for your unwavering support and for being REAL friends.
Esther – I've said it before and I know I'll say it again: you make everything you touch better. I am lucky to have you as my editor and privileged to have you as my friend.
REAL McRollers – you are absolutely the best. There is no other word for you. Your response to That Simple and to every REAL World story has been overwhelming and heartwarming and many other –ings. Stick with us - we've got much more in store for Steve and Catherine. I really hope you enjoy this story. I've been thinking about it for quite a while.
Real (A McRoll in the REAL World Story)
September 20, 2014
Catherine stood to the side as Steve knelt beside his father's grave and brushed a few grass cuttings from the stone.
"I can't believe it's been four years," he said, a rough edge to his voice.
"Yeah," she agreed quietly.
"I was so angry for so long." His head dropped. "I wasted so much time."
She stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey–"
"If he would've just told me . . ."
"I know. But he was trying to protect you. You and Mary."
He nodded, his gaze still on the gravestone.
"Even at sixteen," Catherine continued, "you would have wanted to help him investigate. And he knew that. He knew you." She squeezed his shoulder.
After a moment, Steve raised a hand and put it on hers. Intertwining their fingers, he shifted their joined hands to their sides as he stood and looked at her. "I'm glad you got to meet him. Even if it wasn't exactly . . . ideal."
May 26, 1999
Steve and Catherine made their way through the crowds of people still gathered on the field of Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium after the Class of 1999 Commissioning and Graduation Ceremony.
Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine caught Steve smiling down at the blue diploma cover he carried in his hand.
"Let's see it, then," she said, holding out a hand.
"You'll get yours soon enough, Rollins," he teased even as he handed it to her.
They continued walking as she opened the cover to look at the impressive diploma inside, with his full name in fancy script and the Naval Academy seal in gold.
"Wow. Steve, this is really–" she stopped, realizing he was no longer beside her.
Catherine looked back to see Steve standing perfectly still a few steps back, his gaze locked on a man she didn't recognize. He appeared to be in his mid-50s with red hair, dressed in a button-down shirt and tie. He returned Steve's stare with a small smile.
"Steve . . .?" Catherine started, walking back to him.
"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, his voice quiet.
The man stepped toward them until he was standing in front of Steve.
"You were being commissioned as an officer in the U.S. Navy. I wasn't going to miss that."
"I–" Steve stopped, confusion etched on his face. He fell silent, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the man.
When Steve remained quiet, the man turned to Catherine and held out his hand.
"I'm John McGarrett."
Catherine's eyes widened in surprise, and she automatically took a small step closer to Steve.
Steve shook himself and said, "This is Midshipman Catherine Rollins. Cath, this is . . . my father."
"It's very nice to meet you," John said.
"You, too, sir," Catherine replied, shaking his hand.
She glanced back at Steve's face as he tried to control his features, swallowing hard and pressing his lips together.
After a silent moment, John said, "Congratulations, Steve."
"Thank you," Steve said, his voice tight.
"I know you've worked very hard."
Steve's eyes widened. "You know I–" he stopped. He shook his head and narrowed his eyebrows with a frown. "How would you know . . . you haven't–" He took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said again.
There was a long pause as the three stood silently. Catherine looked between the two men who were staring at each other. She focused on Steve, knowing he was struggling to process how to feel about his estranged father's sudden appearance.
Finally, Steve said, "We have to go. We're meeting some people."
"Oh," John said, unable to completely hide the disappointment in his voice. "Right. Of course. I won't keep you. I just wanted to congratulate you."
"Thank you," Steve said with a nod. "I . . ." he started, but he shook his head. "I've got to go."
He stepped around John and walked away. Catherine lingered, looking back and forth between them before giving John a small smile and following Steve.
Catherine caught up to Steve before he was swallowed by the crowd. She touched his arm to stop his brisk pace and said, "Hey, are you okay?"
"Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "I just don't want to be late."
"We're not gonna be late," she said, knowing that wasn't why he had walked away so abruptly. "Steve–"
"I don't want to talk about it, Cath," he said firmly.
She paused, pressing her lips together as she studied him. He avoided her eyes.
After a moment, she said, "Okay."
She held out his diploma, and he took it with a nod of thanks. A group of people caught her eye and she motioned toward them. "Look, Rose is waving us over. That must be her family with her."
Steve followed her gaze.
"I . . ." he shook his head, looking back at her. "You go. I'll meet you by the car in ten minutes. Okay?"
She narrowed her eyebrows. "Steve, are you really okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. I just . . . I can't, right now." He nodded toward the group. "You go on. I'll see you in a few."
She hesitated, but finally agreed. "Okay."
A few minutes later, Catherine excused herself from the group and was making her way toward the parking lot when she heard a voice call out, "Midshipman Rollins!"
She turned and saw John McGarrett approaching her.
"Mr. McGarrett. Steve's already gone to–"
"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you for a minute," he said.
"Oh. Um," she glanced around before looking back at him. "Okay."
"Look, you obviously know . . . the situation," he began.
Catherine looked away briefly, then met his eyes again and nodded.
"I'm staying in town for a couple of days," he continued. "I was hoping you would give Steve the number to my hotel."
He held out a small folded paper. Catherine shifted uncomfortably and kept her hands at her sides.
"I know I sprung this meeting on him," John said. "But maybe once he's had a chance to . . ." his voice faded and he paused. "Maybe he'd be willing to have dinner. The three of us could go out. Talk. There are . . . things to say."
"I . . . I really don't want to get in the middle of this, sir," Catherine said. "It's between you and Steve."
John sighed and gave her a small smile. "Listen. I am really glad that Steve has you. I've worried about him. What kinds of relationships he'd form. Or not form. And to see that he has a girlfriend who supports him and–"
"Oh, we're not . . ." Catherine said. "He's . . . I'm not his–" she stopped and licked her lips. "Steve and I are just friends."
John paused with a skeptical look on his face but didn't comment on the pronouncement. "Well, you are obviously someone my son trusts a great deal." He held out the paper again. "Please?"
Catherine hesitated, but sighed and took it. "I'll tell him," she said. "But it's his decision. I'm not going to try and convince him either way."
"That's all I ask. And thank you, Midshipman Rollins," he said with a meaningful look.
She paused again. "Call me Catherine."
Steve was deep in thought standing beside the car when Catherine arrived.
"Hey," she said, bringing his attention to her.
"Hey, what took you so long?" he asked.
"Um . . . this," she said and handed him the paper.
Steve regarded her in confusion as he opened it. Glancing down, he said, "That's my dad's handwriting. Catherine, what is this?" he asked, looking back up at her.
"He stopped me as I was leaving. That's the number to his hotel."
Steve exhaled in irritation, looking away.
"He wanted me to tell you that he's staying in town for a couple of days, and if you wanted to have dinner or something . . ."
He looked at her. "Catherine–" he started.
"I didn't want to take it at first," she said. "But in the end, I thought it should be your decision what to do with it."
He shifted and looked away.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Steve. If you want to rip that number up, that's your choice, and I'll support it." She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. "But if you want to have dinner with your father, see what he has to say . . ." she paused, and he looked at her. "I'll go with you. If you want me to."
His features softened as he looked at her gratefully.
After a moment, he said, "I'll think about it."
Three days later, Steve and Catherine met John in downtown Annapolis for dinner. They sat at a small table with John across from Steve, and Catherine between them.
After placing their orders, John looked at Steve who, without a menu to occupy his attention, was sitting stiffly in his chair and glancing around the room.
John turned to Catherine and said, "So, one more year at the Academy for you, Catherine?"
Catherine looked quickly at Steve and then turned her attention to the older man beside her.
"That's right, sir," she said.
"And what's your major?"
"Political Science."
"She's been selected for the honors program," Steve said with a small smile in her direction.
"That's very impressive," John said. "Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir. I won't bore you with details about my research project. And I'm sure Steve's tired of hearing about it by this point," she added, smiling at him.
Steve returned her smile and gave a slight shake of his head. "Never get tired of hearing about it," he said quietly.
They were interrupted briefly by the arrival of their beverages and a basket of bread.
John chuckled as he lifted his bottle. "Hard to believe I'm buying my son a beer."
"Not so hard to believe," Steve said coolly. "The last time we saw each other I was sixteen so you weren't exactly buying me beer," he said, meeting his father's eyes.
John paused, studying his son. Finally, he said, "That's a good point."
When neither man continued, Catherine cleared her throat and spoke. "You're with the Honolulu Police Department, right, Mr. McGarrett?"
John nodded at her. "I am." He looked back at Steve. "You know, I've been working with a young officer. Chin Ho Kelly. Do you remember him, Steve?"
Steve appeared surprised. "Kukui High. He was a great quarterback."
"That's right."
"You used to take me to his games," Steve said, almost to himself.
John smiled, tilting his beer bottle in Steve's direction. "He remembers you, too. Remembers that you broke all his records."
Steve started to smile but stiffened again as if recalling himself. He paused and said, "What are we doing here?"
John shifted in his seat. "What do you mean?"
"Talking about buying me a beer, high school football records. Like that stuff matters."
"Steve–"
"Six years."
"I know that you–"
"Six years," Steve interrupted him. "And, what, you've called maybe," he shrugged, "once a year? Maybe? Now you show up at my graduation and want to go to dinner. To talk, you said. But we're not talking about what matters."
"I did what was best for you," John said.
Steve's eyes widened. "What was best for me? What was best–" he stopped. "How was sending me away from home at sixteen . . . separating me from my sister . . . how was that what was best for me?"
John remained silent.
"Have you even talked to Mary in the last six years?" Steve asked.
John paused and, dropping his head, finally said, "No."
Steve looked up at the ceiling, incredulous.
"She hasn't wanted to talk to me," John continued.
"Can you blame her?" Steve asked.
"I do check in with your Aunt Deb often. And she agrees that right now it's better this way."
"Better? Better for who? For you?"
"For everyone."
Steve looked down, taking several deep breaths. Catherine silently put a hand on his forearm. He swallowed hard.
John sighed. "I don't expect you to understand–"
"Because you've never given me a chance to understand," Steve said and looked up at him, tears of frustration shining in his eyes. "You've never given me an explanation. I deserve an explanation."
"You do," John agreed. "But I'm afraid I can't give you one."
Steve paused, staring at him.
He shook his head and stood. "This was a mistake."
Catherine's voice was laced with concern. "Steve–"
"I don't know why you wanted to have dinner," Steve said, still looking at his father.
"You're my son. I wanted to see you. To talk to you."
"But not to tell me why you sent me and Mary away after Mom died."
There was another pause.
"I need you to trust me, Steve." John's voice was calm but there was a plea in his words. "I need you to trust me when I say that what I did . . . what I'm still doing . . . is for the best."
Steve and John stared at each other. Steve closed his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly.
Finally, he sat back down. Catherine touched his arm briefly and gave him a quick encouraging smile.
Steve looked across the table imploringly. "If you could just . . . give me something, Dad. I mean, if you didn't want us there after . . . if it was too much–"
"No," John interrupted him emphatically. "No. It wasn't about not wanting you. Not for a second. You're my son, and Mary is my daughter. I wanted you home. I just–" he stopped. "I couldn't. I'm sorry. I know that's not enough. I know that you deserve more than that." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry that I can't give you more."
He fell silent, and all three straightened as their server approached with a tray.
"Here we go. Two house salads," he said, placing plates in front of Steve and Catherine. "And a cup of French onion soup, sir. Enjoy. Your food will be out shortly."
John thanked the waiter, but otherwise they remained silent. After a moment, Catherine picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap. Steve picked up his fork. Spearing some lettuce and half a cucumber, he brought the utensil to his mouth but stopped. With a sigh, he put it back down on the plate with a small clatter.
"I need some air," he said, standing.
"Steve–" John began.
"I'll be back," Steve cut him off. "I just . . . give me a couple minutes."
John hesitated but nodded his understanding.
Steve glanced at Catherine, who looked back at him in concern. He wordlessly gave her a small nod and then walked toward the front door of the restaurant.
John sat in silence with Catherine for a moment. Her gaze stayed on the front door as she absently pushed the salad on her plate around with her fork.
"I'm sorry, Catherine," John said.
She looked over at him.
"Part of me . . ." he continued with a sigh. "Part of me thinks maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But I wanted to see him graduate. I wanted to see his commissioning. And then I knew I couldn't come all this way and not at least talk to him." He sighed again. "I don't blame him for being upset. For being angry."
"Why can't you tell him?" she asked suddenly. "Why can't you explain it?"
"There are just . . . there are things that I can't . . . talk about. Things that he can't know."
Catherine huffed a frustrated sigh, putting down her fork.
John let out a mirthless chuckle.
"What?" she asked.
"And now you're angry, too."
She paused and sighed again. "I am. Yes. Because I've known him for the last three years, and I've see how he–" she stopped, then shook her head and licked her lips, looking away.
When Catherine remained silent, John said, "Well, like I said the other day, I'm very happy that he has you in his corner."
She looked at him for a moment before saying, "He always will."
She picked up the napkin from her lap. Folding it, she placed it on the table and stood.
"I'm going to check on him. Excuse me."
Catherine walked out the front door and looked around until she spotted Steve a few yards down along the sidewalk.
"Hey," she said, stopping beside him.
"I'm sorry, Cath," he said, looking down and turning his head slightly in her direction.
"Hey, no, don't be," she said as she put a hand on his arm. "You don't need to be sorry. You have every right to be angry right now."
He turned more fully toward her and said, "I just don't understand why he can't tell me. Why he's still hiding the truth with things like 'it's for the best'. Like I'm still a kid."
"I don't understand, either. Clearly he thinks he has a good reason, but I can't imagine what it is."
Steve sighed, closing his eyes briefly.
"He's my dad, Catherine," he said and his look was pained. "He's my dad, and he sent me away, and now he's here. And what am I supposed to do with that? Huh?"
She blinked back a tear at the raw emotion in his voice and on his face.
"Steve, I can't even begin to understand what you're feeling right now," she said. "And if you want to go, we'll go."
He swallowed, keeping his eyes on her as she continued.
"But on the other hand, he is here." She shrugged. "And maybe that's a start."
There was a long silence.
Finally, Catherine asked, "Well . . . stay or go?"
"Stay," Steve said. "I said I'd be back in. We'll stay."
"Okay," she said.
She started to turn back toward the restaurant, but he reached out and grabbed her hand. She looked back at him.
"Cath, thank you."
She nodded with a small smile and squeezed his hand once. He released her hand and followed her back into the restaurant.
The remainder of the meal passed with little conversation. John didn't comment on their absence and neither Steve nor Catherine offered anything. By the time salads and soup were finished, their dinners arrived. A few observations about the quality of the food were shared, but other than that, all three were occupied with their own thoughts.
After the last bites were eaten and John had signaled for the check, Catherine stood.
She shared a brief look with Steve and said, "I'm going to use the restroom before we go. Excuse me."
Steve could feel his father's eyes on him, but he couldn't help following Catherine's progress until she was out of sight.
"She's something special," John said.
Steve looked at him quickly then looked away.
"We're just friends," he said quietly.
John scoffed. "She said the same thing. And that's bullshit."
Steve straightened defensively, but John put up a hand.
"I know you probably don't want any advice from me, but I'm going to give it to you anyway." When Steve remained silent, he continued. "Don't waste too much time, Steve. Because you never know when–" he stopped. He swallowed, looking down briefly as if to collect himself. He raised his eyes to Steve again. "Just don't wait so long that you miss out on something special. Something real."
Steve didn't respond.
When Catherine returned to the table and retook her seat, Steve's gaze stayed on her, his father's words echoing in his head.
John settled the bill quickly, and the three made their way out of the restaurant. John stepped to the curb to hail a cab. As it approached, he turned back to Steve and Catherine.
"It might not mean much to you, but I'm proud of you, Steve."
Steve closed his eyes briefly, struggling to find a response.
"It's not that it doesn't mean–" he stopped. "It's just that you–" he stopped again, exhaling heavily.
John nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry." He paused. "Your grandfather would have been proud of you, too."
Steve looked at him, swallowing his emotion. He nodded.
John put a hand on the cab door and turned at Catherine.
"I'm very glad I got to meet you, Catherine."
She nodded and said, "Thank you for dinner, Mr. McGarrett."
John looked back at Steve. "Call and check in sometimes. When you get the chance."
Steve took a deep breath but nodded.
With a final look, John opened the door and got into the cab.
Catherine and Steve stood side by side and watched it drive away.
She put a hand on his arm and asked, "Are you okay?"
He was silent for a moment, and then he nodded once.
"Thanks for coming, Cath," he said quietly.
"Of course," she said. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."
Steve turned his head to look at her, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Turning fully, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Without hesitation, she raised her hands to his cheeks and returned the kiss, opening her mouth to his.
When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead on hers and exhaled slowly.
"Wanted to do that for a long time."
"Yeah," she said, her tone matching his. "Me, too."
He lifted his arms to pull her closer and ran a hand through her hair as he kissed her again, more passionately this time.
Catherine pulled back with a gasp. "Steve . . ."
"I'm sorry–" he began.
She put her fingers to his lips to stop him. "No, it's just, we shouldn't here. Not in the street. I mean, we're not in uniform, but still . . ."
He nodded, his breathing uneven. He paused before he said, "I've got a room for tonight. At a hotel." He shrugged. "Thought I'd stay in a nice room before leaving, you know. Last night and all. I mean, we don't have to . . . we could just . . ."
She kissed him firmly and then whispered against his lips, "Let's go."
Steve held the door open for Catherine to walk in ahead of him. He stepped inside and flipped on the light as the door closed behind them.
They stood quietly next to each other, their arms brushing lightly but otherwise not touching. Both looked around the hotel room with its table and chair, dresser and television, and large bed.
After a moment, Steve cleared his throat. He motioned toward the TV.
"Uh, did you want to watch . . .?"
"I'm just going to . . ." She pointed toward the bathroom.
He nodded quickly and said, "Okay."
She gave him a small smile and disappeared into the bathroom.
After the door closed, Steve exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He tapped his foot a few times and then took a few steps further into the room. Turning toward the wall, he toed off his shoes and pushed them next to the dresser with his foot.
He glanced toward the bathroom door and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. He paced a few steps before stopping and tugged on the bottom of his button-down shirt.
Finally he sat on the edge of the bed, one leg bouncing slightly. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, his gaze on the floor.
Hearing the door open, he looked up to see Catherine in the doorway clad in only her black bra and panties.
Steve straightened.
"Wow."
She smiled and gave a little shrug. "I figured it was . . . expedient."
The corner of his mouth twitched in a half smile. "I've always liked your practical side."
Her smile widened.
He blew out a breath and stood as she moved toward him.
"Guess that answers that question," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on her.
"What question?" she asked, stopping in front of him.
He met her eyes. "Whether you're sure."
She smiled. "I'm sure." She put her hands on his arms and leaned up to kiss him lightly. "Are you sure, Steve? You've been through the wringer today and if you . . ."
He brushed his thumb along the curve of her cheek and slid his other hand around her waist, effectively stopping her words.
"I'm exactly where I want to be right now."
She inhaled deeply, touched, and he bent to press his lips to hers. As the kiss grew more intense he felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt.
He pulled back and quirked an eyebrow at her. "You're not messing around here, are you, Rollins?"
"Expedient," she said.
"Expedient," he echoed with a grin.
He felt her answering smile as he held her cheeks and kissed her again. Running his hands through her hair, he cradled her head and deepened the kiss.
She pushed his button-down off his shoulders and he released her long enough to help remove it. She pulled his t-shirt up and off before wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him back down to reclaim his lips.
Turning, he guided her back onto the bed to lean up against the pillows and he moved to settle beside her. He continued to kiss her as his fingertips trailed along the edge of her bra, and he cupped her breast.
When she gasped against his mouth, he pulled back enough to ask in a raspy voice, "This isn't your first . . . I mean, have you ever . . ."
She gave him a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I have."
He nodded in slight relief. "Okay."
His kissed her again and his hand slid around her side. She arched her back so he could reach the clasp of her bra.
"You've . . . you've got . . ." she started between kisses, her hand sliding down his chest to his belt buckle.
"Huh . . . ?" he asked, distracted.
"Condoms . . . do you . . ."
He shook himself. "Yeah. Yeah. And you're on . . ."
She nodded. "Yeah."
"Practical," he said with a smile.
"Practical."
She kissed him again, and he slid the strap of her bra off her shoulder and down her arm. She opened his belt buckle and moved to the button of his pants.
"Wait . . ." he said, breathing heavily.
"I think we've waited long enough," she said, sliding his zipper down.
"Catherine . . ."
At his tone, she paused her movements and looked at him questioningly.
"We do this . . ." he began, his eyes locked on hers. "Things change."
She licked her lips and paused before answering. "Yes. And no." She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "We'll still be us, Steve. No matter what."
Sliding her hand over his cheek to his neck, she pulled him into a gentle kiss.
"This?" she motioned between them and then returned her hand to his neck. "This is real. And this you can trust."
He held her gaze for a long moment, then slowly grasped the hand she had placed on his neck. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to her palm and released her hand to kiss her deeply.
September 20, 2014
In the cemetery, Steve and Catherine stood together, their hands still joined.
Catherine sighed as she looked down at the gravestone. "I never could have predicted how that day would go," she said quietly. "I mean, that morning you weren't even sure you wanted to see your dad again. And by the end, we had . . ." she let her voice fade.
He brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
"He told me . . . not to waste too much time." He looked at her, and his smile was soft but tinged with a little sadness. "I didn't always take his advice, but that was one time I'm very glad I did."
She covered their hands with her free one and squeezed gently, returning his smile.
"Thank you for being here, Cath," he said, and the sincerity in his voice brought tears to her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lightly but with feeling. "Thank you for always being here."
She smiled through her tears. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."
Hope you enjoyed!
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