Pueo

by WroughtBetwixt

In order to piece together the mystery of his parents' death and resist against government corruption, McGarrett will need to keep Wo Fat alive... and in his sight. But what happens when the man tells McGarrett more than he's ready to hear?

A/N:

This fanfic is extremely AU; I feel the need to explain exactly how it differs, so that the reader might understand it better.

It starts as a canon divergence from Season 2 Episode 22, Ua Hopu. The identity of Shelburne differs from canon; the roles Wo Fat, Joe White, John McGarrett, Adam Noshimuri, Ted Lansign and other key characters differ from canon. At some point in the fic, Wo Fat's name is changed. This is due to the fact that in this, Wo Fat is part of the Japanese Yakuza; I didn't feel they would allow someone who was Chinese in their ranks, let alone order them about, and Wo Fat is a Chinese name. His name is changed to Kei, which means something in both Japanese (joyful) and Hawaiian (pride and glory). Key events are changed.

The title of this work refers to the Hawaiian Owl. An article on says that in Hawaii, the owl "is among the oldest physical manifestations of the Hawaiian family protectors, the ancestral guardians, the aumakua. It was believed that after the death of an ancestor, the spirit could still protect and influence the remaining family acting through a body such as that of the owl, the shark, the turtle, or even the centipede. Each species channeling the ancestor held unique strengths. The owl as aumakua was specifically skilled in battle." I felt it was fitting.

I hope this fic makes sense. I will be polishing it up as time goes by. Thank you for any comments. Enjoy.

---

The plane was landing.

Steve opened his eyes, waking from a restless nap but the sudden jostle and turning of the aircraft. He looked at his watch, and realized they should have had at least another twenty minutes to go. Something was wrong. Wo Fat was awake in the seat across from Steve; he was eyeing the front of the plane, and Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the distinct look of unease on the man's face. They met each other's gaze for a heartbeat; Steve felt his heart pump faster as Wo Fat mouthed one word.

Gun.

He grabbed his gun and kept it tight against his side; Wo Fat remained to face the cockpit, Steve saw another man- the co-pilot- standing behind the pilot. When the co-pilot shifted his weight to his other foot, Steve saw the gun in the guy's hand... pointed at the pilot's head. Steve swung his hands out and fired at the co-pilot just as the other gun went off. The pilot's blood covered the front window of the plane, and the co-pilot stumbled, taking a hit in the shoulder. The co-pilot swung around and fired back at Steve. Steve had ducked behind a seat just in time, edging out from behind it to fire back. There was a scuffle going on in the back just then, and Steve took his eyes away from his opponent to look over his shoulder, instinct overpowering reason for a mere second. It cost him; Steve reeled as a bullet nicked his leg. Steve shot once more and the co-pilot fell, blood gushing from his chest.

Ignoring the sounds of a fight, Steve limped to the cockpit and stepped over the body of the co-pilot. He slid into the second seat, grabbing the controls and fighting to get the plane to respond. They were already grazing the treetops...

"Crashing!" Steve managed to yell as the ground rushed up to meet them.

Bracing for impact, Steve released the controls and covered his face; the last sound he heard was screaming metal and shattering glass.

He could taste blood.

Steve stirred and brought a hand to his nose, pressing his fingers against the still-wet blood coming from the left nostril. He opened his eyes and realized he was on the floor of the plane; had he been thrown from his seat? Probably. Wiggling his toes and fingers, Steve noted that there was no pain in it, and tried to move. A stabbing feeling went through his leg as he sat up, reminding him of the wound the bullet had left. The mental fog around his mind cleared, and he snapped his head around to find the other passengers of the plane.

"Damn it," he snarled, looking to where Wo Fat had been sitting.

All that was there was a pair of empty handcuffs. The Japanese police officer that had been sitting in the back with them was slumped across the floor, a bullet in his head, and the last half of the plane was tattered. Did Wo Fat manage to get free, only to be dragged out of the plane and thrown? Could anyone survive that? Steve held still for a moment, breathing and listening. He had a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind; he grabbed a broken seat and used it to steady himself as he stood up. Walking over to the fallen officer, Steve searched the body for the gun that should have been there. Nothing. A quick glance around what was left of the plane revealed that his gun, too, was missing.

Cursing under his breath, Steve grabbed the handcuffs and slinked out of the off-hinged plane door. He kept his back up to the wreckage, scanning the jungle around him. His eyes fell on a smear of crimson on one tree trunk; he edged over to the tree, freezing when he heard a noise on the other side of the trunk. Steve peeked around the side, pulling back when he saw nothing there. Just as he went to step back and turn, cold metal clamped down on his neck from behind, pulling against his windpipe. He pushed backwards against his assailant, smashing them against the trees at their back; there was a sharp yelp of pain and the gun that was choking Steve was dropped at his feet. Steve dove and snatched it off the ground, spinning around and pointing it. At the end of the barrel, Wo Fat blinked at Steve, his hands up to indicate helplessness.

"I didn't realize it was you," Wo Fat said darkly, holding very still.

Steve saw the glimmer of fear in Wo Fat's eyes. "Who the hell did you think it was?"

"Well..." He trailed off and gave a quick glance towards the plane. "I come to a hotel room with a bathtub full of blood. The plane I am on crashes after I learn Anna Douglas is dead. I don't know what's going on, or who wants me dead the most right now."

"Is there anyone who doesn't?"

"Miss Douglas didn't."

Rubbing his forehead with a free hand, Steve closed his eyes for a moment and then looked back to Wo Fat. There was blood on his hands, and a darker blood stain on his upper abdomen. Wo Fat had that half of his body turned a few degrees away from Steve; he was guarding a wound. Steve thought over his own injuries- his nose ached and there were cuts up and down his face and arms, which stung- and what Wo Fat had said. If he was telling the truth, if he really hadn't known what was happening, then Wo Fat hadn't been responsible for the plane going down. But then who? If someone was keeping an eye on that plane...

"We need to get away from here as fast as we can, before whoever wanted this plane down realizes it's down and comes looking for it. Turn around."

"What are you doing?" Wo Fat asked with a wary expression.

"What I'm doing," Steve growled, "is checking you for other weapons. And before you open your mouth, you should know that I really want an excuse to shoot something right now."

Wo Fat eyed the gun and turned around without a complaint. He looked much like he did the night that Steve had first arrested him- subdued, his head dropped a bit as he put his hands on the tree and waited. Was he injured that badly? Steve brushed his hands down along Wo Fat's collar, shoulders, arms... he slid down along Wo Fat's back and down his outer thighs, then quickly skimmed his ankles. Wo Fat turned as Steve worked back up; he tensed as Steve skimmed over his inner thighs, backing up just as Steve was about to touch his abdomen. Steve paused, looking up at Wo Fat; Wo Fat was staring straight ahead, his arms still at his side but the knuckles clenched so hard that they had turned white.

Steve stood up. "Can you travel?"

His reply was strained. "Yes."

Steve brought out the handcuffs and snapped one side of the handcuffs onto Wo Fat's right wrist, then snapped the other side on his own left wrist. "These are my insurance. I don't trust you, and until you give me a reason to, you're putting these on."

"I assure you," Wo Fat said in a quiet voice, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you are... but you're going with me, and this makes sure of it. Let's get out of here."

"... I dropped the key to those when the plane crashed."

"Ah. That explains why I couldn't find them."

Wo Fat glanced at Steve, who was watching the path ahead of them both with an intensity that he hadn't quite seen on anyone else; he didn't like the vicious look on the 5-0 captain's face. Practical objections weren't going to matter. "Just don't get killed, McGarrett. I'd hate trying to gnaw your arm off your dead body."

"Behave, and we'll both make it out of this alive."

Wo Fat made a small noise, but said nothing else. Steve let out a soft sigh, wondering if he should say something. But what was there to say? He was handcuffed to the person who had plagued his waking and sleeping hours for years now. They were stuck out in who knew where, and Steve was stomping North without knowing exactly where North would lead, and who exactly might be following them. Maybe now, of all times, he could get some answers. He thought of the look Wo Fat had on his face- the man was worried and injured. We both are, Steve thought as he grit his teeth, his leg smarting as he led them under a low-hanging branch.

"Where exactly are we going?" Wo Fat asked, breaking the silence and Steve's line of thought.

"We're not that far from where we should have gone. My guess is that whoever shot our pilot arranged a landing close enough to our destination, so that none of us would be too suspicious about where we were going. We should have reached Honolulu in twenty minutes by plane, but that was before we crashed. We have to walk, and I'm not sure exactly where we are now or how long it will take us to get anywhere."

"And if we get lost?"

Steve shrugged, as if it was a minor concern. "We won't get lost."

"I am glad you are so certain."

"Yeah?" Steve stopped, drawing in a few deep breaths. "And you're not? I'm sure you know I have extensive training in handling situations like this."

Wo Fat was looking back the way they'd come. "I'm not concerned about your survival skills, McGarrett. I am concerned about the fact that the Yakuza might be here any minute."

"Yakuza?" He blinked. "Is that who's after you? Why would they want you dead?"

"They think I killed Hiro Noshimori," Wo Fat replied, turning back to Steve with a grim look on his face. "That's why I was trying to get a hold of Miss Douglas. I wanted to get out of Japan as fast as I could. I didn't understand why she told me to go to that hotel, who had found out I was going to be in that room."

"What do you mean?"

Wo Fat opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head. "Keep moving. It'll be difficult to talk if they slit our throats."

Steve hesitated for a moment, then nodded and kept walking. He looked at his watch, muttering as he realized it had broken in the crash; damn Danny for telling him to get something digital and being right about it. He didn't know how long they had been walking already, but he gave it about an hour before he'd have to stop. His knee wasn't bothering him... not yet. Maybe they would make it to some sort of village by then.

"Did you see anything before the plane went down?" Steve asked Wo Fat, turning his gaze to the sky; had he just heard something? No, he decided. "Any cities?"

"I didn't see any cities, no. Lots of trees, some mountains." Wo Fat suddenly stopped, tilting his head; Steve growled as he nearly fell over backwards. "What was that?"

Steve held his breath, hearing a soft thunk-thunk-thunk noise. "Helicopter. It might just be someone flying over for sightseeing. Okay, so we're probably in one of the parks. Which means if we keep going, sooner or later we might run into a civilian. If we can get a ride to a city, I can use a phone and call Danny."

"And if it's not someone sightseeing?"

Steve ignored the question, jerking the handcuffs and pretending he hadn't seen Wo Fat's grimace of pain. He ignored the smaller, more subtle edge of sympathy underlying the vindictive satisfaction. Compassion wasn't going to get them anywhere, not if that was the Yakuza heading towards them. They traveled at a faster pace than before, and twice, Steve would stop and backtrack along a different route, breaking a branch here and there... moving a rock, scuffing up the ground... before moving down the path they were traveling before. At first, Wo Fat had hesitated, wondering what Steve was doing; the second time, he merely shook his head... and helped kick a pile of leave around to help muddle the path. It wasn't too long after that, when they reached a small stream and stopped.

"I wonder if it's safe to drink," Wo Fat wondered out loud.

"It's not. Risk of dehydration is a lot safer than what could be in that water. We'd have to filter it, and unless you have a filter on you, I don't think you'd want to drop from some sort of toxic bugs in the water." Steve keeled and watched the jungle as Wo Fat sat for a bit, muttering. The stream could still prove useful, even if it couldn't give them water. Avoiding his eyes and mouth, he grabbed some of the mud around the stream bank and scuffed it along the skin of his arms, ears and forehead. "I suggest we get some camo going. If they get this far on foot, they'll know we came this way anyhow- if they sweep with a helicopter, this will make it a little harder for them to see us. Oils on the skin can make it shine. Cover up."

Lifting one corner of his lip in a distasteful sneer, Wo Fat muttered something, grabbed a handful of mud and got to it. Steve removed his watch and chucked it into the jungle as far away as he could before grabbing more mud, covering the gun, the handcuffs and his shoes as much as he could. He made slashing marks across his khaki pants with the mud, trying to imitate the natural shapes of the jungle; Wo Fat reluctantly followed suit. When they stood and moved across the stream, Steve snagged vines and wrapped them around his legs, arms and the gun.

"It won't be enough to keep us from being seen if we cross into open land, but it will afford us some protection if we stick to the shadows. If we get to an open area, we'll try and go around the edges of it instead of crossing into the open." Steve ran a muddy hand through his hair, ignoring the sweat that was starting to form across his brow. "It's humid, so every so often we'll have to stop and apply some dust over all this."

"Did they teach you this sort of thing in SEAL training?" Wo Fat asked as they began to walk again.

Steve considered his answer; on one hand, talking distracted him from the fact that they were being hunted, but on the other hand, the answer would open a chapter that Steve wasn't sure either of them would enjoy revisiting. "My father taught me," he said finally, keeping his tone neutral. "He was a SEAL. But you know that."

Wo Fat kept quiet for a bit. When he did speak again, the way he spoke made Steve's chest hurt in a way he didn't think was normal. "I'm sorry, Steven. Losing a father is one of the hardest things a son can go through." When Steve looked away, silent, Wo Fat shook his head. "I know you still blame me, and that's okay. You need proof that I can't give you... yet. But one day, I will prove to you that I didn't kill your parents. And then we can both enjoy ourselves when we find out who was really responsible."

He sounded sincere. Maybe that was what stung the most. Steve didn't reply, couldn't reply. It was one foot in front of the other, eyes and ears open to every sound from every direction. Even if Wo Fat was telling the truth, how much blood did the man have on his hands otherwise? How many innocent people had met their maker because of him? Then again, innocence was relative, wasn't it? Still, the idea... Steve stopped and leaned up against a tree, his knee starting to burn. Yes, the idea. The idea was an interesting one, in ways that were helpful and ways that implied something far darker than Steve wanted to imagine. If he was innocent of those two deaths, Steve thought as he glanced at Wo Fat... Their gazes met, and Steve felt a shiver go down his spine as some sort of wall between them dropped for just a heartbeat. The haunted look there, the look of someone had seen and known too much, was eerily familiar; Steve had seen that look in his own eyes before, staring up at him from photographs as a child.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Steve nodded without speaking. Pushing off from the tree, he began to walk ahead when there was the sound of a helicopter from behind them... distant, but closer than before. Steve turned his ear in that direction, listening as it landed. But where? Not terribly close, but if the people in that helicopter moved faster than they could, it wouldn't matter. The tricks to confuse the path might give them some time, depending on how observant and clever the people were, but the daylight was starting to slip already. If they could keep going until dark, they could have more of a chance. They'd been traveling an hour already at least, maybe an hour and a half. He knew that might be all he had in him without resting... Wo Fat looked tired, and Steve had no idea how injured the man was; was pressing forward the best option?

"Do you think you could fight, if it came down to it?"

Wo Fat blinked at the question. He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the gun in Steve's hands and then the handcuffs. "Perhaps. Are you willing to trust me yet?"

"Let's keep walking for a while longer, see if we can find a place to sit and wait," Steve said without answering the question. His hands tightened on the gun. "If we can scout out an area and wait for them, we'll have an advantage."

"If you think it's the best solution."

It's the only solution, Steve thought as they moved along. He couldn't remove the handcuffs, and there was no way he was going to give Wo Fat a weapon. All Steve knew it would take was one moment of dropping his guard, and then what would happen? So he kept up the march, pressing ahead even as his arms and legs felt like they were on fire. They had to stop to scrape dust from the ground and slap it to the areas where sweat had laid their skin bare; each time, Steve felt in his gut that something... someone... was getting closer. The last time they stopped to dust themselves, Steve looked over at Wo Fat and knew they had to stop soon. He was bleeding again, and Steve knew that if they didn't rest, neither of them would be in any shape to defend themselves.

Dusk was falling when they came across it... a clearing with abandoned trucks and barrels scattered across it. One of the rusted pick-ups was turned on it's side, the wheels facing South; if they stopped and rested where the bed was, they would be hidden from anyone who came from behind them. There was enough growth over the entire thing, Steve knew he could peek over the top and not be seen right away. Glancing about, he nodded towards it and Wo Fat nodded back. They moved quickly from the trees to the truck, slipping behind it and flopping onto the ground.

"We'll stay here and wait," Steve breathed. "I'll keep an eye out if you want to rest."

Pressing one hand to his side, Wo Fat shook his head. "It's better to stay awake. Besides..." he turned to look at Steve. "I'm waiting for an answer."

"An answer to what?" Steve asked, knowing perfectly well what Wo Fat meant.

"You need to trust me, McGarrett. It doesn't matter if we like it or not, right now, all we have is one another... and we're chained together. Unless you can fix that, I need a weapon. I can't fight like this. Not now. I understand why you don't want to, but give me a chance."

Steve closed his eyes, trying to sort out the inner conflict inside his mind. There wasn't time- the moment he opened his mouth, the sound of propellers cutting through air rose again from the jungle. This time it was different- it wasn't the same helicopter that they heard before. They both pressed against the bed of the truck; Steve hoped the sides of the bed were tall enough to give them some sort of cover if the helicopter flew overhead. Wo Fat was breathing harder next to him, and in the back of his mind, Steve recognized that their shoulders were touching, huddled together from the threat of an unknown enemy. For a moment there was comfort in that touch, a sense of solidarity...

And then the helicopter hovered overhead. Any sense of comfort was gone. Steve scooted out a fraction of an inch, just enough to make sure the helicopter wasn't right on top of them both; it was off to the side, lowering down to the ground about two hundred feet away. As it was landing, six people jumped out of the helicopter. They were all of carrying guns. From what Steve could see, the six passengers and two pilots were all angry-looking men in dark suits, and the guns looked like automatics. The gun Steve was carrying was a semi-automatic; there was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he checked the chamber and noted that it only had seven 9mm Kurz bullets.

... Eight thugs. Seven bullets.

"Steven."

The desperation in Wo Fat's voice overrode any previous decision Steve had made. He handed the gun to Wo Fat. "Kill me and I will come back and haunt the hell out of you," he muttered under the sound of the helicopter's whirring engine. Moving as slow as he could, Steve looked over the side of the truck bed, then edged out to the side of the truck. They'd only be hidden by foliage for another minute, and then one of the eight would be within reach. Once they took out one, the others would know something was up. Steve glanced back at Wo Fat, who gave him a slight nod and cocked the gun. Holding out his hand, he used his fingers to motion... 3, 2, 1. When the last finger folded, Steve lunged out from behind the truck and tackled the nearest man, hitting him in the face as hard as he could. Steve faltered for a moment as blood flew up into the air; Wo Fat had shot the downed man in the head.

But there was no time for questions. Steve grabbed the dead man's gun and together, they sprung up and began to fire. Another man went down, red bloooming across his chest like a gory flower. A third crumpled as the engine went silent. The third gunshot rang out in the clearing, and the four visible men turned, guns pointed right at them. Flashes of fire erupted from the barrels, and Steve yanked himself and Wo Fat down as the bullets following that fire riddled the car in front of them. Wo Fat stood up first, firing a quick round of bullets; there came a scream, and he ducked down again.

"Three of them are coming this way."

Steve moved up and shot twice, the first bullet missing and the second hitting home. "Two," he smirked. "Let's say hello to the lovely couple."

They both came out from behind their cover, coming together back to back as they separated the men and each took on one. The sudden hand-to-hand assault seemed to surprise the two Yazuka, which gave Steve the chance to strike with a quick punch to the face with the gun; the man hit back with a kick to Steve's ribs. Steve snarled as his gun dropped. There was no time to pick it up. He hit back with an upward jab to the nose and, as the man yelled out, Steve jammed his knee into the man's groin. The man went down and Steve scrambled for the gun, smacking the man hard in the head. From behind Steve there was two shots; from another direction, there was a third.

Suddenly, he felt his brain registered what had happened. Blood oozed from his arm, and

a ripping, searing pain flooded his senses. He turned, and Wo Fat was pointing a gun at his head. Wo Fat fired, and everything faded out to black.

"McGarrett?"

The voice was far away, but there was a cool hand against his forehead. Steve opened his eyes and, still groggy, tried to sit up; the pain put him back down on the ground. He blinked hard, took a slow, sore breath and looked at the figure next to him. His eyes were blurry and he couldn't quite see the face leaning over him, but he could smell a mixture of expensive cologne, dirt and sweat, tainted with the coppery tang of blood. Beyond that, he could see the sky fading into a dusty rose and gold; as the pain settled into a furious ache, Steve realized he was seeing the sunset.

He was still alive.

"Please stay still. I don't think the bullet hit anything vital, but you've lost some blood."

"What the hell was that?" Steve hissed through gritted teeth. His memory was fading back in, and all he could think of was Wo Fat pointing a gun at him and firing. "Screw you. I'm going to kick your ass for shooting me and string you up for the Yakuza to find."

The hand on his forehead jerked back. Wo Fat was silent as Steve struggled to roll to his side and, achieving that, moved to stand up. He made it to his knees before things started to swim. Wobbling, Steve clenched his jaw and forced himself to move upwards. Everything seemed to be dancing around him, but damn it he was standing, and that's what mattered. It was then that he took a step and saw the spot where he'd been laying. Wo Fat had removed his expensive jacket and laid it on the ground; it was covered in Steve's blood. A few yards away, one of the Yakuza men lay dead, beaten beyond recognition. Feeling sick, Steve looked to Wo Fat, taking in the slighter man sitting there... perfectly still, save for a slight tremble in his shoulders. Pain? The cold of night creeping in? Anger?

"He was the eighth guy, wasn't he?" Steve asked, hating the way his voice cracked. "You didn't shoot me."

"I didn't shoot you. He did. He was behind you. I shot him over your shoulder."

"And then had some... fun... with his face."

Wo Fat didn't speak for a long time. "Please sit down, Steven."

Steve dug his fingernails into his palms, taking a step back and sinking back down onto his knees. They sit there for a time, night claiming day and stars glimmering to life. A slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and Steven felt his body flinch; his heart was hammering in his chest, adrenline still pumping through his body and keeping him on alert. Wo Fat was busying himself with something at his side, and his face lit up as a flashlight turned on.

"Where did you get that? How did you get that?"

"I picked the lock and raided the helicopter for whatever supplies I could find," Wo Fat replied. "There wasn't much, but I wanted to wait for you to wake up before rationing anything out."

"You could have just left," Steve said. "You could have been out of here and long gone by now."

"And then what? I'm a fox, McGarrett, and the hounds have been let loose. Besides..." He turned the flashlight to a silver box at his side, and his face was cloaked in shadows. "You were hurt."

When nothing else was said, Steve looked down at the ground as Wo Fat rummaged around some more. "Thank you."

"There's a First Aid kit in here." Wo Fat glossed over the thanks; Steve knew that tactic all too well. "I think it's time we take care of a few things."

Steve didn't argue. He didn't argue when Wo Fat balanced the flashlight on one shoulder and held a pair of tiny scissors in one hand, the other hand peeling away snippets of blood-soaked shirt. He didn't argue when Wo Fat tried to clean the wound with a jar of saline and accidently dropped the flashlight on his foot. He didn't argue when Wo Fat got the flashlight back and proceeded to try and bandage the wound, nor did he argue when he was ordered to lay down and rest. He did argue, however, when Wo Fat removed his own shirt, and Steve saw for the first time what had happened.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you got shot?" Steve demanded, staring at the hole in Wo Fat's abdomen and a second hole by his rib cage. "You could have something seriously wrong."

"I know. It rather hurts, but it seems to have missed anything vital. I'm sure I'd be aware of it, otherwise. Muscle damage will heal."

"You're insane. Let me help with that, you can't twist that w-" Steve stopped trying to sit up when Wo Fat, in fact, twisted that way to use the rest of the saline on himself. "You're insane."

"Quite."

Pushing himself with the good half of his body, Steve sat up anyways and snagged the bandages away from Wo Fat. "Okay, now that that's established, knock it off. You're making me hurt myself."

Wo Fat grabbed Steve's wrist. "I can do this myself. I've done it before. It's not a problem."

"It's a problem for me."

"I don't need your pity. I'm fine."

"I am a SEAL-trained officer," Steve snapped as he pinned Wo Fat down with his eyes. "I am a Lieutenant Commander. I am the leader of the 5-0 force. I got shot twice already today thanks to you, survived a plane crash and eight Yakuza members. I don't pityanyone. You helped me, so shut up and let me return the favor before I knock you out and do it anyways."

Searching Steve's expression, Wo Fat let go of his wrist and graciously held the flashlight for him. Steve grabbed the saline and properlycleaned the wound; while the display in flexibility had been impressive, there was a reason why people weren't supposed to treat their own injuries. Steve could see that the exit wound near Wo Fat's ribcage was inflamed and warm to the touch. Beginning of an infection. The both needed professional medical care, and soon. Could he ask for Max's help again? Going to a hospital didn't seem like an option. Not if there were more Yakuza on the way.

"Stop that." Steve grumbled as he began to bandage the wounds, becoming all too aware of Wo Fat's breath ghosting along the side of his neck. "It's distracting."

"I'll try and restrain myself," he said dryly. "How does it look?"

"You need a doctor. I'm taking you to a friend of mine when we get out of here."

"Are you?"

The challenge laced in those words didn't go unnoticed. "Yes," Steve replied as he placed the last bandage on and, wincing, laid back down. "I am."

"Wouldn't it be better to hand me over to the police? It'd be less trouble."

Steve let out an exasperated snort. "For you or for me?"

"Orange isn't really a complimentary color for me."

Steve stared at the sky, his mind buzzing too much for anything to make sense anymore. He had a plan, even if it wasn't that great of a plan. In the morning, he'd change it as needed. "I'm not taking you to the police. Not if you cooperate."

Wo Fat stretched and laid down on the grass next to Steve. "What am I cooperating with?"

"I want to know everything. I want to know what happened to my parents, what happened with Hiro Noshimuri, who you've been talking to... everything. Something is going on, and if you don't know what it is already, then you're going to help me figure it out. I'm sick and tired of having bits and pieces of a puzzle."

"That makes two of us."

"Well then?"

"Get some sleep, McGarrett. You're going to need it."

Opening his mouth, Steve paused and then shut it again, shaking his head. It was as close as he was going to get to a reply. Sleep! As if sleep would come to him that easily. He closed his eyes, ignoring the pain radiating down into his back and side. "Night, Wo Fat."

"... Kei."

Steve opened on eye. "Kay what?"

"K-e-i. I'm Japanese, not Chinese. Wo Fat is an alias."

Silence.

"Goodnight, McGarrett."

After about five minutes, Kei could hear the shift in Steve's breathing. He turned a bit to rest on his uninjured side, watching Steve as he slept. His gaze moved up along Steve's abdomen, stopping at a thin, long and off-color line that started just under Steve's breastplate and dragged up to just under his left armpit. The memory of that day in Korea wasn't pleasant; he'd put that scar there. Did Steve look at it and remember, and hate him for it? If that was the case, Steve was good at hiding it. The 5-0 captain was as snarly and stubborn as he was with anyone; the banter had been... good. It had puzzled him, just as the cold, violent rage had puzzled him when Steve got shot. Reflecting on it, Kei realized that Steve had been treating him as a team member, because for all intents and purposes, they were a team. Even if it was for one day. And so, he had treated Steve as he would have treated someone he cared about.

That one man had screamed in a wonderful way as Kei had broken all fourteen bones in his face. Repeatedly.

Kei knew he had no reason to expect Steve to treat him any differently than Steve would treat any other suspect, especially once they got back to the city. But it had been nice, for a short time, to feel like part of something and not walked away feeling dirty for it. Unlike quite a few of those he had worked with, he still remembered a time where it had felt good to be on the right side of the law. Maybe, just maybe... A branch broke then in the jungle; a tawny, soundless form soared overhead. Steve's eyes opened, his hand reaching for the gun that Kei had placed between them.

"It's okay." Kei put his hand on Steve's arm. "Just an owl."

Steve looked at him for a moment, his eyes slowly closing again. Kei left his hand there for a moment, feeling Steve's tensed muscles relax as he fell back to sleep; his fingers lingered a few seconds longer, and then he pulled his hand back and rested it on the gun. He would stay awake as long as he could. It wasn't certain that there weren't more Yakuza waiting; there had been two helicopters. Maybe the first had been nothing more than tourists, as Steve had suggested, but Kei wasn't willing to take that risk.

He settled down, listened to the night and waited for the dawn.

The first time Steve woke up, there had been a hand there, an assuring voice. Each time, that hand stayed on his arm a bit longer; the third time he stirred, the hand stayed, and was still there when he woke up the final time. The final time, it was still night, but there was no staying asleep; a huge, slobbery ball of fur was licking his face.

"Get off, OFF," Steve groaned, shoving the bloodhound away from him. The dog jostled his arm, and Steve ground his teeth as he sat up. "Where'd the mutt come from?"

Kei opened his eyes, apparently having fallen asleep at some point. He snapped upward, wincing a bit. He grabbed the gun and stood slowly, looking around the clearing. "We have company."

Steve stood as the dog threw back it's head and let out a loud bay. "Let's hope the company is friendly. Looks like an S&R dog."

"STEEEVE."

"Friendly enough." Steve looked at Kei and gave him a lopsided grin. "That would be the rest of 5-0. Danny sounds pissed."

Lowering the gun, Kei glanced at the approaching blobs of light. "Should we...?"

"Yep. DANNOOO," Steve yelled back as he took a few steps forward. "I hope you brought a ride."

Two flashlights focused on Steve, and Kono came sprinting across the clearing. Turning the beam of light around, she took in the dead men. "What the hell happened?"

Kei spoke up. "The Yakuza happened."

Danny arrived behind Kono, his light turning to Kei. "Well, look who we have here. Is there a reason this son of a bitch is still alive, Steve?"

"Because he saved my life," Steve replied with a steely tone. "And I'm not discussing anything else until we get somewhere safe. Kono?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you please call Max, if you have a phone? Let him know we need his help again. Couple of people with bullet holes that need fixing." Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Danny, who was eyeing Kei with a carefully leashed hatred. "Danny, let it be for tonight, okay? We're both hurt, and there's a lot to talk about."

"Do you trust him?" Danny asked, not moving.

Steve looked at Kei, who was watching him; by the look on his face, Kei wanted to hear the answer to that, too. "Enough to count."

Danny said nothing, then went over and grabbed the dog's leash. "Then we won't have to make Prince here sit on him the way back. Great. Let's call Chin and get him over here."

Without any further words, Danny and Price trotted out into the clearing. Kono was talking quietly on the phone, first to Max and then to Chin. Within ten minutes, a white helicopter hovered overhead, lowering down enough for them to climb aboard. Chin glanced over his shoulder at them, his eyes going from Kei to Steve, one brow raised. Steve shook his head and Chin shrugged, turning back to the controls. Everyone found a seat and Kono slammed the doors shut. Once they were in the air, Danny turned his attention back to Steve.

"So. Tell me I got kidnaped by the CIA for a good reason."

"What?" Steve blinked. "What do you mean?"

"So I dug around trying to figure out why our girl Anne Douglas got killed," Danny continued, giving Kei a slicing look, "and I ended up with a bag over my head, then strapped down to some chair and being told by some pasty guy named Ted Lansign that Anne Douglas doesn't exist. One of the guys told me before that Anne Douglas was helping out Wo Fat over here, in exchange for information on weapon deals; the same guy was nice enough to let me go when everyone else wasn't looking. Still, look at me. I broke a nail." He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "So what the hell is going on? What happened to you?"

Running a hand through his hair, Steve stared at the floor of the helicopter. "It's complicated."

To Steve's surprise, the others had let Kei tell the story without interrupting; Danny had looked to Steve every so often for a confirmation, and Steve gave him a slight nod to show his agreement. When Kei was finishing up the story, Steve noticed he'd included the fact that yes, he'd been the one to bandage Steve's arm and yes, he kept watch as long as possible. The smaller details... the details that weighed on Steve's mind far heavier than any of the others... were left out of the retelling. When Kei was done, Danny, Chin and Kono had all let out a breath as if they'd been holding it since the story began. They said nothing, but as murderous as Danny had looked earlier, there was a wary tinge of respect underneath the anger. Steve hoped it would be good enough to keep Danny from being at Kei's throat for another 24 hours. By then, Steve knew he could take his team aside and work out something where they all could feel safe.

By the time the helicopter landed at Kalaeloa Airport, everyone inside looked tired, upset and on-edge. They stayed in the helicopter until the engine quit roaring; Chin exited first, steadying Kono as she stepped out of the helicopter with a yawn. They talked softly as Danny left next, and Steve motioned for Kei to go. Steve closed the helicopter door behind him... and hear a gun cock. Before he could even blink, his team had their own guns drawn. Steve moved to the front, Kei close behind him. Adam Noshimuri was standing there, pointing his gun at them. Behind him and slightly to his left stood a tall, bored looking man with skin that looked almost dead. Steve kept his eyes on the man behind Adam.

"Put the gun down, Adam," Kono pleaded. "For my sake, put the gun down."

"I can't put the gun down, Kono." Adam looked at torn as Kono sounded. "I'm sorry. I didn't want things to end like this."

They're in love, Steve thought with a hint of surprise. "Adam, whatever you think you're going to do, it's not happening."

"He killed my father, McGarrett. He sent him to me in pieces."

"I did no such thing." Kei stepped to move from behind Steve. "You're the one who sent your men to kill me."

"Liar. My men are all here." Adam growled. "The CIA came to me, giving me a box full of body parts, and your fingerprints were all over it. They said you sent it to Anna Douglas as a threat. Now she's dead."

The man behind Adam snorted. "Just kill him already and get this over with."

"Then someone has set us both up. I got a phone call from Anne Douglas," Kei continued, his tone calm. "She told me to go to a hotel on the outskirts of Tokyo. She told me to get a certain room. I did. When I got there, the bathroom was full of blood. I tried calling Miss Douglas. She didn't answer; she was already dead by then, I'm sure. I didn't do it, Adam. Why would I want to anger the Yakuza?"

Adam lowered the gun, just a bit. His eyes moved to Kono, who was shaking but still had her gun pointed. "I don't know. All I have is this guy telling me-"

The man's hand went to his waist; there was a flash of metal pointing at Adam. "You weak little-"

Kono's gun went off. The man dropped before he had the chance to shoot Adam, who stood there, staring at the dead man at his side. "Adam, drop that fucking gun. Now."

Adam set the gun down; his eyes glazed over as he stood back up, his empty hands shaking. "Kono."

"Steve," Kono murmured. "Can I..."

Steve nodded. Kono moved forward, going to Adam and wrapping her arms around him as he fell apart. The fierce, protective expression on her face was all Steve needed to see; she was strong enough to handle this on her own. "Chin, can you give them both a ride to wherever they need to go?"

Chin rubbed his eyes. "What are we going to do about..." he waved his hand from Kei to the dead man. "All of this? Just tell me, and I'll take care of it."

"Adam came here to greet his girlfriend. The guy... get his ID, find out who he is. He followed Adam here and tried to get Adam to kill K... Wo Fat. Adam refused, and the guy went to kill Adam. We defended. It's suspected that he is, or is working with, whoever killed Anna Douglas and tried to kill us."

"Got it. I'll call the men I trust and get them out here. Send the body in as soon as possible and make sure Adam's not going to do anything stupid."

Danny scuffed the heel of his foot on the pavement. "C'mon. I'll drive you guys over to Max's place."

"Thanks for everything, Chin," Steve said as he patted his friend on the back and made his way to Danny's car.

"No problem, Steve."

Kei followed behind Steve, sliding into the back seat of the silver Camaro. Danny gave Steve a look as he sat in the back seat next to Kei, but said nothing; Steve didn't care what Danny thought, and besides, it was safer for everyone is Steve was close enough to Kei to punch him out if he got uppity. It might not have been needed when they were lost, but now they were back in the city, Steve couldn't be completely sure that Kei wouldn't run for it. Mostly sure wasn't good enough.

The ride was silent until Kei fell asleep.

Danny kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, and he finally gave a small cough. "You know, uh... when we got to the crash site and we couldn't find either of you, I really thought... you know. I thought you were dead. We traveled on foot because Kono found the blood on the tree. She thought maybe you went that way. She really is amazing at tracking people. If she hadn't found little signs here and there, I don't know. I was really worried, Steve."

"Thank you for looking for me." Steve toyed with a loose string on his shredded t-shirt. "And thank you for being understanding about..."

"... Yeah." Danny peered into the mirror again. "Who am I to judge, you know? Psychopathic killer, weapon dealer, Yakuza member. Nothing major."

Steve rested his face in his hand. "Danny."

His expression didn't change, but his words turned gentler. "I'm serious, Steve. If you think you know what you're doing, I can accept that. Just be careful, okay? You're usually a good judge of character. Don't let me down now. I'm sure there's a lot going on that we don't know, and I can wait for you to fill us all in on it. Just be careful."

"I'm trying to be careful. He kept me from getting killed, Danny. I have to try and see if there's anything here I can salvage. If he can become an ally, if we can combine all that we know together, we're going to have a good shot at figuring out what is happening around here."

"And I totally agree with you, man. I just don't want you to end up in bed with someone who's going to slit your throat once he's done with you."

It felt like a fist closed around his stomach. Steve leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes and ignoring the way his chest thumped. "Damn it, I need a drink."

"Well, we're almost there. Let's hope Max has something stronger than Mountain Dew."

By the time they got to Max's house, the sun was just starting to rise over the horizon. They pulled up in the front; Steve chuckled as Max waved from the front porch. The medical examiner was waiting for them, reclined on a lawn chair, sipping a cup of coffee and tapping his feet in the air. He wore an oversized, neon green bathrobe and said feet were clothed in slippers shaped like the Enterprise from Star Trek. Kei blinked as Steve nudged him awake, muttering something under his breath as he got out of the car. If he was as sore as Steve was, Steve could certainly understand the sentiment. Max stopped tapping his feet when he saw Steve... and didn't move at all when he saw Kei standing behind Steve. They approached the porch, and Max still didn't move, his eyes following Kei.

"I didn't realize..." Max stopped, staring. "Mister McGarrett, would you kindly let me know why there's a terrorist on my lawn?"

"This is doctor Max Bergman," Steve said to Kei, cutting him off just as he was opening his mouth to protest. "He's a genius. Max, can we please go inside?"

Max stood up right away, shuffling inside and holding the door open. "Yes, sir. I trust you're going to explain?"

Once the door was closed, Steve peeled off what was left of his shirt... and dropped it into the trashcan Max held out as he glared at Steve's muddy shoes. "It seems we've been played. I went in to arrest Wo Fat on a big bundle of charges, and someone tries to take us both out on the way back. We have reason to think that some members of the CIA seem to have something against us."

"The CIA?" Max almost dropped the trashcan. "You certainly have a way of making every visit a pleasure, Mister McGarrett."

"I wish. I'm really sorry for dropping all of this on you again, Max."

Max motioned to the sofa, which had been hastily covered in a plastic wrap; there was a huge case of medical supplies on the table, along with clean towels, three empty glasses, a full case of soda, and a plate of buttered toast. "You always bring your work home with you. I've learned to get prepared. Danny, you get comfortable. As for you two," Max held out the towels, "I am not touching either of you until you go in there and wash all this filth off. Dirt and blood and who knows what else is not good for keeping wounds sanitized. Don't look at me like that. My house, my rules. Shoo."

"He's bossy," Kei muttered as they headed to the bathroom, towels in hand.

Steve cracked a smile. "He means well. Might as well get it over with, though. He'll be a lot nicer once we're not tracking mud all over the place."

"Understandable."

When Steve entered the bathroom, he hesitated; Kei was standing in the doorway, eyeing him with a frankness that made Steve want to bolt out the skylight. He shook his head and looked at the floor; he felt like his thirteen year old self the first day he had to shower in gym class. Only this time, he was with someone who'd beaten the shit out of him, there was only one shower and they'd both been shot. "So, how are we going to do this?"

"Do you need any help?"

"Do you?"

Kei tensed. "I'm afraid my ability to bend has been quite impaired. It's worse than it was earlier."

"Pain tends to get worse for the first few days, and that's without complications." Steve rubbed the back of his head. "Get in here, then. You can go first and we'll just figure it out as we go."

The click of the door as it shut felt more ominous than any door shutting ever should. Steve kneeled down and began unlacing Kei's right shoe; Kei gripped the sink with one hand and the wall with the other, trying to keep balanced as Steve pulled the shoe off.

"Have you ever done this before?"

The question threw Steve a bit. "When I was in the Navy? Sometimes. Sort of. We'd get sailors who'd hurt themselves in training exercises, but usually the medics would take care of that. My dad sometimes hurt himself after he retired. Mom used to help him wash up when he was going through his fitness phase, but after she died..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Steve replied as he took off the left shoe and then both socks. He glanced up at Kei after he realized what he had said; the look on his face let Steve know Kei understood how much those words meant. He stood up and sat on the toilet, breaking away from that gaze. "Think you've got it from here?"

Kei nodded, turning away from Steve and unbuttoning his shirt. "Thank you."

"It's no problem." Steve kept his eyes focused firmly on the floor as a shirt fell to the floor, followed by a belt and pants. The shower turned on, and the curtains opened and closed. "Just don't hog all the hot water."

"Yes, sir," Kei said, his voice a perfect mockery of Max.

Steve ignored the comment, going to work on his own boots. Every so often, he heard a sudden intake of breath and a hissed curse; chlorinated water wasn't going to be their friend for the next few weeks. By the time Steve had managed to wrestle off his boots and socks, Kei had finished his shower and was stepping out; he snagged his towel, patting himself off and then wrapping it around his waist. Steve stood, tugging at his belt. His shirt was already gone, thankfully, so all that was left was the southern clothing. He unhooked his belt and began pushing down his pants and underwear when his peripheral vision caught Kei, who was leaning against the bathroom door; Kei's eyes slid from Steve to studying the wallpaper, a casual action that would have meant nothing if it hadn't been preceeded by the formeraction.

Something clicked in Steve's mind, and he felt his face grow hot.

Well... thatwas interesting.

"You don't have to stay," Steve offered, testing the metaphorical waters. "I'm sure Max is pacing in there."

"I don't think I'm quite ready to face those two alone yet. Your partner looked at me like he was going to skin me alive."

"I look at you like that."

Kei's voice was too quiet. "Usually."

Steve hesitated, then undid his belt and went about undressing. Fine. Whatever. There was no problem. Flicking his underwear off to one side with his foot, Steve stepped into the shower and snapped the curtains into place, grateful for the mostly-opaque plastic. He stook a deep breath as he turned on the water, slowly letting it out as the scalding water rolled over his neck, streaming down his shoulders and brushing away the evidence of his misadventure. The wounds on his arm and leg burned, but he clenched his teeth and used his good hand to scrub away the sweat-caked dirt, the gore and an extra layer of skin besides. Even when he knew he'd gotten as clean as he was going to get, he stayed a while longer, the water warming his muscles and working away a small but precious amount of tension.

It had been that way, every day when he'd gotten home from work, if he'd been able. There was something about stepping into those four walls and turning on the water, drowning out the world beyond them. It was a simple comfort, a way to forget everything for a while. At home, he would often just stand and wait for the water to run cold; Steve reluctantly turned off the water, unwilling and unable to use up all of Max's hot water. He didn't want to be any ruder than he already had been, and making Max wait any longer than necessary wasn't acceptable. Steve stepped out of the shower, snatching his towel and wrapping the black, fluffy material around him without bothering to dry off. It was a bit difficult to breath as it was; he needed to get out of there, and Max could just deal with having a slightly soggy carpet.

"Are you alright?" Kei asked, those damnable green eyes looking right through him.

Damn steam, Steve grumped in the back of his mind, latching onto the most convenient explanation possible as his chest tightened furiously. "Yeah. Let's get this over with."

Kei opened the door, turning away... but not before Steve saw the ever-so-slight smirk.

Steve sat on the sofa with his head in his hand, damp and shivering. Max had ignored the fact that he was dripping water everywhere, thankfully, and gotten right down to business. Kei was seated on the floor, the towel over his lap and a large dropcloth under him as Max sat facing him, examining the wounds.

"Luckily, this looks simple. As simple as gunshot wounds ever get, anyways. The bullet seems to have passed through the front here, but the gun was pointed at an angle and it basically went right back out while only passing through a bit of tissue. It's a good thing they were using a mousegun, or the wound would have been a lot worse. Still, it was close range, so it's cause more tissue damage than if it had been a shot from farther away and we need to make sure that it doesn't get infected. It's already suspicious looking, but we can keep it under control with topical antibiotics. Maybe a short round of oral antibiotics just in case."

Kei stared at the needle and thread sitting nearby. "Stitches?"

Max make a derogatory noise. "What crime shows have you been watching?"

"None at all. I was making sure youhadn't been watching them."

"He's questioning my medical knowledge?" Max looked at Steve. For a moment, he sounded surprised, but then he chuckled. "Even you guys don't have the guts to do that."

Danny made a muffled noise from the other sofa; he was laying down with the morning paper covering his face. "We have to put up with you on a regular basis."

Grabbing some tape and various tubes of gunk, Max put some ointment and a bandage on the front wound. "Stitches in this case wouldn't be a good idea. It could seal in the infection, and it would make it difficult for them to drain. Now, Steve's leg..." Max paused, ripping some tape off with his teeth and sealing the bandage up. "That's getting stitches. With as much as he moves, it'll be difficult for it to heal up otherwise."

"Great," Steve sighed from behind his hand, stealing a glance at Kei as he glowered at Max. "Thanks for the warning."

Max mumbled, the tape dangling in his mouth again. He finished up the second bandage, then stood up and held out a hand; Kei took it and stood as Max motioned to Steve. "One down, one to go. Mister McGarrett, would you be so kind as to exchange positions?"

Standing up, Steve brushed past Kei as they switched spots. He shuddered as Max picked up the needle and thread, and a little spray bottle; Max spritzed the wound on Steve's leg, and the area went ice cold before turning numb. He held still as Max went about sewing up the wound, knowing that Max was going to tell him to take it easy for a couple weeks and resenting that the range of motion in his leg was going to be restricted more than it already was... not to mention the range of motion in his arm. The adrenaline rush had faded, and when the caffeine rush from the soda faded, Steve knew he was going to crash. When he came out of that crash, he was going to have to deal with... everything. He was going to have to sitand restand recover. And naturally, that meant time to think. Right now, he didn't wantto think. It would take him at least two weeks to sort out what had happened in the last day.

The sudden stab of pain in his arm shook Steve out of his thoughts. "Damn."

"Sorry," Max said. "Someone was watching out for you both, I think. The bullet went in about an inch, so I don't think it hit any nerves. Do you know anything about the gun or bullet that hit you?"

"It was a TEC-9," Kei said from the sofa. "The shooter was about a hundred feet away and moving. I'd say it has less to do with luck and more to do with sloppy shooters."

"Then nothing probably broke off in there." Max looked troubled as he began to bandage the arm. "Who would hire thugs like that? It doesn't sound like the typical gangs you hear about in Hawaii."

"No, it doesn't," Steve agreed. He slipped his arm into the sling that Max held out, relieved at the ease of pressure on the arm. "Hey Max, Danny ate all the toast. Do you have anything in the kitchen I could pay you back for?"

"I'm sure there's something I could scrape off the floor."

Steve followed Max into the kitchen, waiting for the the swinging door to close behind him before speaking. "I really need to ask you a favor, Max."

"I figured," Max said as he poured a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. "You've seen my fridge enough times to know better than to ask me for anything you'd find appealing."

Leaning against the counter, Steve thought about how to phrase the question. "I'm really worried about this situation. I'm hoping Chin will have some answers for me in the next few days, but right now, I don't know who is after us, or who exactly they're after. He's sending a body to your lab, and after that gets looked over, maybe we'll have some answers. I was wondering if-"

"Yes."

Steve stopped, his hands in the air mid-gesture. "Er...?"

Max munched on a spoonful of cereal. "You two can stay here for a few days. It's reasonable to wait until you know it's safe to go back to your own residence, and I am a trusted friend. This place is big enough for a few guests, and I'm probably not that interesting to anyone who is looking for you, unlike the other 5-0 members. Besides, that way I can make sure you follow doctor's orders, and it'll be nice to have someone new to watch Star Trek with."

"I..." Steve wilted and didn't finish the sentence. Being subjected to Star Trek was worth what Max was offering in return. "You're a life saver, Max. I appreciate it."

"I'm not loaning you my clothes this time, though." Max looked pointedly at Steve's towel-skirt. "You might want to get someone to bring you a few things. And for the record, there's a couple day-old slices of pizza in the fridge."

Steve breathed several words of thanks, stealing the slices from the fridge and grabbing two white tablets Max placed on the counter on the way out. Danny seemed passed out, the newspaper rising and falling with his breathing. Kei was laying down, but sat up when Steve came back in and settled on the arm of the sofa. He took the offered pizza slice and pill without question; Kei downed the pill dry, though he looked a bit disturbed by the orange sheen of grease across the top of the cold pepperoni.

"Breakfast of champions," Steve snickered. "We're lucky it's not last-night's shrimp ramen."

Kei tried to mask the horrified expression that crossed his face with one of polite gratitude. "Doctor Bergman is a very gracious host."

"He is." Steve toyed with his slice of pizza as he planned his next words with care. "Until we know more about the situation, I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to go back to my home. Max offered me a place here for a few days."

"Very gracious," Kei replied after a stretch of silence.

"He extended the offer to us both."

Kei set the food down on a nearby napkin, lacing his fingers together and setting his hands in his lap. "Do you want me to take that offer?"

"What do you want to do?"

"McGarrett, I'm in a towel, about ready to drop from lack of sleep and I feel like a hunted animal. Even if I wanted to leave, do you really trust me to do so? Probably not. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to decide anything. I can'tdecide anything. I want you to tell me what you want me to do, because I trust your judgment and I will do it. Take advantage of that while you can."

Steve watched Kei for a moment, then stood and went over to Danny; he shook his partner awake. "Hey, man. I need you to do me one last favor."

Danny groaned and sat up, the newspaper sliding off onto the floor. "Yeah?"

"Take these." Steve put his keys in Danny's hand. "Go to my place. Throw some of my clothes in a garbage bag, toss in my wallet and some bathroom stuff. You can have my spare cash for the trouble and gas money."

"The twenty under the bread box?" Danny asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

Steve stared. "... Yes. That."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Danny stretched and headed for the door. "You so owe me a dinner date for all this. Italian. None of that fruit-topped pizza crap."

"That's fine," Steve growled, walking with Danny to the front door to escape the way Kei was suddenly inspecting him. "Thank you."

"It's all good. I'll just catch up on sleep when I'm dead."

With a wave, Danny was gone. Steve locked the door behind him, shaking his head and walking back to the living room. Max was back and closing the blinds, the room darkening in a comforting way; Steve could see the nervous way Max moved, and felt a stab of regret. He'd asked his friend to house not only him, but a man that they all had reason... justified or not... to fear, and with them came any and all baggage they were carrying. If either of them were in danger, as it was obvious that they at least hadbeen, they could bring that danger to Max's doorstep. Steve made a mental note to teach Max a few self-defense moves once his arm had healed, including ways to disabled an armed attacker. And if everything turned out alright, maybe he'd take everyoneout to a dinner date.

"I think it's time to get some sleep," Kei said, still watching Steve; his gaze was less intense than it had been moments before, weariness softening the predatory gleam. "Doctor Bergman said there is the guest room and the sofa. Would you like the bed?"

"The bed would be good," Steve answered. "Max, if Danny comes back in one piece with my things, can you leave them by the guest room door? I'm sure we'll all be happier once we have clothing."

Max nodded, picking up box set of Heroes and a remote control. "I'll be in my room watching TV if either of you need anything. Get some rest."

Steve made his way to the guest bedroom in the back of the house, locking the door behind him. He closed the blind on the window and slipped off the towel, hanging it off one of the four bed posts. He fluffed up the two pillows on the full-sized bed and piled them on top of each other, sliding under the black cotton sheets and leaning against the pillows. Sitting in the bed for a moment, Steve looked around the room; a small clock on the nightstand across the room said it was about 8am. The walls were a light blue with dark blue trim... and a Captain Kirk poster on the wall. There was a door off to the right side of the room led to a small bathroom. It was at that point that he noticed a tiny black box on the inside corner of the window... some sort of security system.

His entire body began to relax, and Steve sighed as he closed his eyes. For now, it was safe, and that was all that really mattered. Hopefully, though, the world would make more sense once he woke up.

The smell of bacon roused Steve from a dreamless sleep.

Rubbing his neck, he yawned and checked the time. It was 4am, and he could see the crescent moon through the cracks in the blinds. Whatever Max had given him, it had taken him down for almost twenty-four hours. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but it had gone from a burning, tearing feeling to a dull throb. He knew better than to expect that to last, so while he could, he limped into the bathroom. He went about his morning routine, ending it with a cold splash of water to the face and a sorry attempt at fixing his hair.

Unlocking the door, he opened it just enough to peek out into the hall. A black garbage bag, stuffed to the breaking point, was sitting right outside. Steve grabbed it and hauled it in, shutting the door behind him. There was a note taped to the bag. Picking it up, he read it and sighed.

Dude, I'm never looking through your underwear drawer ever, ever again. Thanks for the $20. You still owe me.

- Danno

Steve set the note down on top of the nightstand, then opened the bag with one hand and started pulling stuff out. Plenty of clothes, some of his favorite books, a bottle of shampoo in a plastic bag, a couple pairs of sandals and a bag of sour cream and onion chips. At the very, very bottom of the bag was a metal box, the key in the lock. Steve took out the box, checked to make sure the gun was there, and took the key out of the lock as he put the box in the large drawer of the nightstand. Looking at the mess on the bed, he sniffed the air again...

Who the hell was up at 4am making bacon?

Picking up a shirt, he looked at it for a moment before tossing it back on the bed. He opted for a pair of plaid boxers and khaki cargo shorts instead, deciding that his rumbling tummy took precedence over wearing a shirt. After a struggle, he finally got them on and zipped... but not buttoned. Fuck it, he thought with a sigh, grabbing his discarded shirt and a pair of black pants. Slipping out of the door, Steve made his way to the living room and peered around. He could hear movement in the kitchen. A glance at the sofa revealed that the bacon-cooker was hopefully Max; Kei was huddled under a United Federation Of Planets blanket, still asleep. Walking over to the sofa, Steve set the clothes on the table. They'd be a few sizes too big on the slighter, shorter man, but it was better than wandering about in towels and blankets.

With that detail taken care of, Steve wandered to the kitchen, moving as quietly as possible. He opened the kitchen door an inch, and he saw Max standing over the stove, a package of raw bacon on the right side of the counter and a pile of crispy bacon forming on the left. Max was doing some sort of dance as he stood there, waving a fork about as he did so. Steve grinned, sicking his head in the kitchen door.

"Breakfast ready?"

Max jumped, spinning around and giving Steve a look that would have made a guard at Buckingham Palace snicker. "Oh! Mister McGarrett!" He scowled, turning back to the stove. "This isn't breakfast, so much as a pre-travel fuel up."

"You have work at five?" Steve guessed.

"... Yes. "

"Did you get any sleep?"

Max shrugged. "I watched TV and fell asleep around eleven. I'll take a nap during lunch."

Steve entered the kitchen and sidled around Max, taking out the instant coffee, turning on the hot water and making a cup one-handed. "Here."

"Thank you." Max sounded sincerely grateful, and it made Steve wonder if this was how his medical examiner started every work day. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the meds."

"You're welcome, but don't get used to them. I've left one more for each of you in the cupboard, but that's all you're getting until I get home, and after a few days we're going to cut the dose back. I gave you enough yesterday to make sure you'd sleep and to help with the pain as much as possible, but I can't do that again. The ones up there are a lower dose, and you guys will just have to deal with it. I also trust you to be responsible with the house while I'm at work."

Steve nodded. "We won't have a drunken party and burn the house down. I promise."

"I knew someone in medical school who did that to his parent's house."

"Did he get kicked out of med school?"

"No. He went on to become a neurosurgeon." Max mirrored Steve's expression, though with a touch less terror and a touch more disgust. Wrapping some of the bacon in a paper towel, he left the rest on the counter. "Okay. I made enough to share, so help yourself. I have to get going. I want to get there early just in case there are... complications with the DB Chin sent in."

"Why would there be?"

"Same reason there were with Anna Douglas' body. If this is some sort of CIA thing, they have a tendency to make things disappear," he said with a grimace. "I left a file of my notes and a back up of the autopsy in my bedroom. They didn't get everythingfrom me."

"Thanks, Max. Be careful."

Max gave him an assured smile. "It will be fine, Mister McGarrett. You know the number if anything happens. Make sure you get plenty of rest. Tonight's Star Trek night!"

No one had the right to look that cheerful before dawn. Steve gave him a wave as he left the kitchen. A few minutes later, the door opened, shut and locked. Running a hand through his hair, Steve went to the fridge and inspected it. There was orange juice, butter, apples, hamburger buns but no hamburger meat, more bacon, cheese... Steve would have to suggest a grocery run at some point. Taking out the orange juice and then the bread, Steve set about making a more complete breakfast. A slice of bread went into the toaster; the orange juice went into a plastic mug with a TARDIS on it. While he waited, he went back to the fridge and grabbed an apple, gnawing on it while the toaster did it's thing. He was, in a moment of caloric weakness, about to fetch the butter when...

"Good morning."

Steve hated that he jumped. "Morning."

"Did I startle you?" Kei sounded amused. "I apologize."

"I guess part of my brain is waiting for you to change your mind and kill us all." Steve turned, resting against the counter. kei stood just inside the doorway, leaning on the arched wall; the clothes Steve had lent him were a bit baggy, but in the black pants and black shirt, he looked like one of those classic movie villains. When Steve's eyes reached Kei's face, he blinked and looked away, motioning to the bacon. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Kei let the word hang there for a heartbeat, then pushed off the wall and went to the fridge, brushing past Steve; he came back out with another apple, flashing Steve a smile as he left the kitchen.

Steve let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The kitchen was suddenly too warm; grabbing the hot toast as it popped out of the toaster, he tossed it on a plate along with the bacon, scooted it all over so he could fit the mug on the plate and then made his way to the living room, careful to not drop everything. He'd have to ask Max if feeling dizzy was a side effect of the meds. He sat on the unoccupied sofa, setting his plate on the table and busying himself with the food.

"I don't tend to kill people that give me free room and board," Kei said quietly, sprawled across the sofa as he cut off hunks of the apple with a knife Steve hadn't seen him with before. "Just in case you were concerned. I know we don't have the best record together, but I hope that after today, maybe we can smooth out a few of the rougher edges."

Steve didn't reply. Breakfast first... He still felt light-headed, but the food gave him something normal and grounding to do. He finished his own apple first before setting the remnants down on a napkin left over from the night before, then stacked the bacon on the toast. Kei didn't say anything else during this time, silently eating the slivers of apple that he'd cut away from the core. The quiet wasn't the same sort of quiet that Steve was used to- there was something more to it, a slight tension. It felt almost like it did after he and Danny would get into an argument, when they were both waiting for the other to say something. Yet there was no anger, no sense of obligation to say what needed to be said. Calm. Anticipatory, but calm.

Finishing off his meal with the orange juice, Steve played with the mug, turning it in his hands and watching the way the light bounced off the plastic. Standing up, he set the mug down and went to Max's room. He found a few paper files, a thumb drive and a tape recorder with a blank tape inside. He sent a silent thank you to his friend and went back to the living room with the tape recorder, setting it between himself and Kei. Hitting the record button, he leaned back on the sofa and allowed himself to sink into the part of his mind where he was a cop, and Kei was a suspect. Nothing more, nothing less. After all, when had he become anything else? Steve ignored that puzzling question from the back of his mind.

"My mother died in a 1993 car bombing, when I was sixteen. How old were you at the time? What were you doing?"

Kei eyed the tape record, the apple gone and the knife now turning slowlt between his fingers. "I was about nineteen. I had finished a two-year business degree at a Tokyo junior college around that time. My father was involved in trading illegal weapons, and he decided to make it a family tradition."

"Is that how you got involved with the Yakuza?"

"Yes. I was involved in one way or another from the time I was about fifteen. The family my father was part of needed younger people who knew about weapons. Guns, bombs, chemicals. They found my interest and education in business helpful. Combined with what my father knew of law, we made a good team as I was growing up. Hiro Noshimuri decided I would be useful to him. I worked with him and his brother for quite some time."

Steve took a breath and released the anger that flared up at the Noshimuri name. "Did you make the bomb that killed my mom?"

The twirling knife froze between Kei's hands. He looked at Steve, his eyes searching the cop's face; he flicked the knife closed. "I'm sorry, Steven. I had no idea what that bomb was going to do. They told me to do it, so I did it. My father was killed not too long before then. They told me they were getting back at the people responsible."

"Did they tell you who was responsible?"

"Shelburne."

Damn it. Steve rubbed his face. "And of course, they didn't say who exactly this Shelburne person is or why they did it."

"No," Kei said, ripping the stem off the apple. "They didn't. And as you know, I have been looking for that person ever since. I don't know what your father had to do with all of it, but there's a reason I told you to not dig too deep. Can you see what's happened?"

He narrowed his eyes at Kei. "You think my dad's at fault for all of this bullshit?"

For several minutes, Kei said nothing. "Your father found out about drug smuggling that was happening. Prostitution. Several unsavory things that were happening right under the noses of HPD, and in some cases, things that our valiant protectors and defenders decided to indulge in themselves. There were so many times that the government of Hawaii looked the other way. Your father got tired of it. He was trying to curb Yakuza influences in Hawaii when he stumbled upon the tie between the Yakuza and our departed Governor Jameson. Of course, he started figuring out that money was going into various pockets." He paused. "I was the one that told your father about Noshimuri. In that sense, I suppose you could say that my actions led to your father's death. I didn't know he was going to stumble on such a powder keg. Miss Jameson had her hands in too many cookie jars, and when your father realized what had been happening, he threatened to blow the cover on everything."

"And that was when Victor Hesse killed him."

"No, no. That's when your father took a bribe. He took it for the good of you and your sister, of course, but he still knew a threat when he saw it and knew to keep his mouth shut. Jameson slipped him some money to keep quiet, fed him some story about her noble intentions and apparently got sick of having loose ends. That was one thing she taught me, you know. Always tie up loose ends, Wo Fat. You never know when one will unravel the whole curtain. She set Hesse on your father."

Steve couldn't move. A cold feeling started at the pit of his stomach, spreading outwards. He struggled for words, trying to put the picture together. "Why did you kill her?"

"Because you were her dog for as long as it suited her, and then she wanted you dead. She was such a vicious little thing. Willing to turn on anyone, as long as it would be good for her. No honor at all. You will notice, I shot her that night... not you." Kei's voice turned deceptively casual. "Do you think that was wrong of me, to kill her?"

The poison laced in those words turned the coldness in Steve's body to heat. He met Kei's eyes, a shudder moving through him at the raw, unbridled malice etched across that face. The tape recorder was on; Steve looked for the puzzle piece that could... that would... explain that fury. "She wanted you to kill me."

"Yes."

"And you... you didn't want to kill me, so you killed her."

"Yes."

"Did you plant the bomb that killed Laura Hills?"

"No."

"Did you kill Victor Hesse?"

Kei didn't reply right away. His expression was still... too still. "Victor Hesse was stabbed to death over drugs by a convicted serial rapist and child molester, who is now facing life in prison. The have the evidence to prove it was him. I'm sure you saw that on the news." Those eyes could put a hole in Steve's chest. "Is there anyone else you'd like to ask me about?"

"Jenna Kaye's fiance..." Steve trailed off. The memory of Korea still haunted him. Jenna's look of anguish, the hatred and betrayal. How Kei had threatened to kill her if Steve didn't agree to go with him, if Steve didn't tell him who Shelburne was. Kei had spared Jenna after Steve agreed, but the last time he had seen Jenna, it had been clear that the emotional wounds had left scars on the young woman.

"To tell you the truth, murder isn't my usual style, McGarrett. I want what I want, and it's hard to get what I want if I kill everyone that I could use. Am I a good person? Not by the standards of the law. I don't pretend to be a saint." Kei turned his gaze to the apple in his hands. "Miss Kaye's fiance was killed by Korean rebels days before you or I even got there. Apparently he'd gotten loose and tried to escape, so they shot him. That wasn't part of the plan. I wanted to use him as bait to draw her in, and I wanted to use her as bait to get you. In exchange, they would get a nice sum of money and a hand in some drug deals that were going on."

"Why am I so important?" Steve snapped. "What's so special about me that so many people have had to suffer?"

"Ah, now that's a good question," Kei said softly. "You see, McGarrett, I think you are Shelburne."

"... What?"

"Oh, I don't blame you for the death of my father. It took some time to figure it out. Part of the bribe that your father took was sending you and your sister away so you'd be safe, but the cutting edge of that sword was that there was always someone nearby to keep an eye on you. To keep you ignorant of what was going on, to be there to throw the trail in case you got too close. Your father did everythingfor you... including working with the person who killed my father."

And then, the piece slid into place; Steve leaned back against the sofa, his heart reeling. Dad's friend Joe. Joe, the upstanding Navy guy. Joe, the nice guy who was always there for him. Uncle Joe. Joe, who was the one saying Makoto was dead but not letting him see the body. Joe, who wanted to contain Shelburne. Joe, who threatened Steve to stay away. Joe, who had lied about being Shelburne. Joe, who wanted to be the one to kill Wo Fat. It couldn't be Joe, shouldn'tbe Joe.

Steve stood up, turning off the tape recorder. He took his dishes into the kitchen, leaving them in the sink. Kei came in behind him, taking the wet dish from Steve, who was trying to scrub it with one hand and getting water everywhere. Steve let him; all he could think to do was turn and head to the front door. A walk. He needed a walk.

Kei was between him and the door before he knew it. "What are you doing?"

"I need to get some air."

"I can't let you leave, McGarrett."

"Get the fuck out of my way," Steve snarled. Even with a sling on, Steve could put up a fight... and the look on Kei's face told Steve that the other man knew it. And yet, there Kei stood, not budging. It was admirable... and infuriating. "I mean it. Now."

"Don't walk out that door, don't know what's waiting out there for you."

For a brief, shining moment, the anger roared to life. Steve wanted to hit him. He wanted to push him away, grab him and throw him down and make him suffer. Make him suffer like Steve had suffered. Like everyone else had suffered. Steve hated him right then, hated him more than he hated anyone.. and then the wave crested, fading into a terrible ache. Sorrow rolled up from the core of his body and threatening to break out from the carefully constructed cage he'd made for it. Anger was one thing. Anger he could handle. But this? Not this. This wasn't anger. This was someone killing his father all over again. This was someone destroying the one person he had trusted, growing up. This was grief, and Steve sunk against the wall as tears flooded his eyes.

"I'm glad you killed the bitch," Steve whispered. "Are you happy now? I'm glad you fucking killed her, because if you hadn't, I would have. My father was a good man, and she... they did this. They deserve to be shot like a bunch of animals. They're not even human."

"Give me the word." Kei rested on his knees next to Steve. "Use me as your weapon, and I will bring the heavens down on their heads. For you, and for me."

Steve looked up at those words, his vision blurring as he blinked back another wave of emotions. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing all of this?"

"I have washed walls in blood for you. I have broken, beaten and haunted the nightmares of people for you. Shelburne. The mysterious Shelburne, the one string that could make the all the puppets dance. The person I have desired and feared, run from and hunted all of these years." Kei's voice shook. "All I want is the chance to work with you. To be near you."

When Steve finally spoke, it sounded hollow and far away. "I am going to my room. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave me alone."

He don't know how he got to the bedroom; he felt numb, and as he lay in his bed with the hours going by, even the pain in his shoulder... returning in full force... seemed like it was happening to someone else. Steve watched the world passing by through the cracks in the blind, letting himself fade in and out of sleep. Each time he started to drift off, Kei's voice would come back to him.

To be near you.

It was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways. Did the guy really expect to just turn over a new leaf and be welcomed with open arms? Did he really think that after everything that he'd done... hell, even if he'd been born with a halo and wings... that Steve would be interested in something that sounded like that? After all, there was Kono... at least, maybe if she wasn't with Adam and Steve didn't see her like a sister. There was Catherine; there was also Lori, who had even said that she liked him. All intelligent, strong and beautiful women... and all of them great friends.

Steve looked towards the nightstand, and the note Danny had wrote. I'm never looking through your underwear drawer ever, ever again... You still owe me. A hint at what Danny had found when he went through Steve's things. Steve hadn't thought to warn Danny. He'd never told Danny anything about that part of his life. Danny was a hot-blooded, lady-loving American guy. But still, he'd ended the note like he ended every other note, voicemail, or text message.

He didn't have to admit to or accept anything. He could act insulted. He could act disgusted. His entire life in a military family, and years upon years in the service, told him plenty of things about people like that.. It would make perfect sense from anyone's perspective if Steve was pissed off and grossed out. All Steve felt, though, was confused... and exposed.

Because somehow, Kei had known. And now...

It was a fact of life living in a military family and spending decades in the services that being gay was not okay, and on the offchance that individual people tolerated or even supported gays, it wasn't something that anyone would talk about. Not in a positive light, anyhow. His father had never spoken a word against gay people, but he'd never spoken up to defend them, either. No one knew he grew up hating himself for what other people said people should or shouldn't be like; all anyone knew was that he was a military brat with the typical military upbringing and the typical military mindset. He acted like the stereotypical heterosexual man that his fellow officers had assumed him to be, trying to get him to join in on the bullying the less masculine officers got to go through. When he'd tried to defend them, Steve had been barraged with more slurs than he knew how to deal with at that young age- fag, queer, cocksucker.

Steve learned to shut up, turning an eye to the hypocritical harassment committed by people who were supposed to be the country's finest. And hypocrisy was astounding; the same officers that yelled "fag" the loudest were often the ones he'd catch sucking each other off in a back room when they thought no one would notice. One night he'd caught two particularly cruel guys in the act; it had been about five minutes before, angry and humiliated, they realized he had been standing there. Of course, they begged him not to tell anyone. They said he didn't know what it was like, what they had to deal with every day... but Steve did know, and so he hadn't outed them. Instead, he'd made them promise to stop antagonizing other people.

That night, he'd gone back to his quarters and done things to his body that he'd never allowed himself to do before; he let his mind wander places he'd tried to resist going for all his life. He went to sleep tired, spent and furious with himself. He spent another good part of his life denying himself the pleasure he craved, working himself to death so that he was too tired and too busy to think about anything beyond the call of duty. On the few-and-far-between days he had broken down and let himself indulge in a one night stand or let himself have a wild weekend, he'd felt sick and dirty. He'd run away and hide every time, taking his frustration and confusion out through training, punishing his body until it was bruised and bloody.

... And now, it was time to stop.

Sitting up, Steve reached under his pillow and took out the cell phone that had been tucked into his bag of belongings. He flipped to Danny's number, staring at it before hitting the dial button and putting the phone to his ear. It rang... once, twice, three times. Half-way through the fourth ring, the phone went to voicemail.

"Hey Danno. It's Steve. Call back when you can, okay? There's something I need to tell you."

It was about 1pm when the phone began to buzz.

Steve set down his tattered copy of The Dhammapada and picked up the phone, letting out a long breath as he answered the call. "Hello?"

"You wanted to talk?" Danny asked from the other end of the line. "I've got about an hour for break."

All the courage Steve had worked up two hours ago faded. Danny didn't sound any different; he sounded like grumpy ol' Danno, with a thread of concern running under the gruff tone he tended to have. Even so, who knew what he was thinking? What he would think?

"Steve?"

"Thanks for picking up my things yesterday," Steve started, grasping at the nerves of steel he'd built up during SEAL training. "Sorry for any inconvenience."

"Don't mention it."

"Danny, about the note..."

"I was just kidding, man. You don't owe me anything."

"I meant the first part of the note." Steve hesitated; Danny wasn't saying anything yet. "I don't remember what I had in there, but I'm really sorry if uh..."

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"You can just tell me. Seriously, nothing you're about to say can be worse than how pathetic you sound right now. It's killing me."

"Okay, okay. Look, it's just... I'm having a lot of problems figuring my life out right now, and I've never had to explain that to anyone before. It's been a fucked up day, and I didn't know who to talk to about this."

Danny made a noise that sounded like a chuckle. "I kind of guessed that when I found a magazine of scantily dressed sailor men under your boxer-briefs back when you got yourself messed up by Hesse, but I thought maybe I'd help things along a bit this time."

"...You knew this whole time?"

"I knew. You didn't." He coughed, and Steve could almost see him try and be supportive. "Rachel's best friend came out to us just before Gracie was born. I'm cool with it. If you need to talk it out with me, that's fine. I don't know how helpful I can be, but I can listen."

Steve glanced towards his locked door. "It's not exactly a part of my life that I wanted to accept. I've had too much time to think around here. Maybe it's for the best."

"What's got you spilling your rainbow guts over it now? Did Max hit on you? He's got a thing for Kirk. I guess you're sort of the smart-ass ship leader type."

"No, no," Steve rushed. "I'm... I'm not interested in anyone right now. I've just been looking back at my past and coming to term with some things, you know? I had a chat with Wo Fat and uh... I'll be honest, some of the shit he said scared me."

"Like what?"

"He told me Joe White killed his father, and that Joe was put in charge by someone to keep and eye on me and my sister so we didn't go looking for answers. He thinks Joe's dirty."

There was a long stretch of silence. "Okay," Danny said, his voice lowering. "In about five minutes I'm going to be surrounded by a lot of angry cops and government folks, and it's been hell here, so I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you mention that name at all. I want you to be careful. By bringing him up, you're going to rattle a lot of cages. You're already playing with fire, and I don't want to have to come ID you in the morgue because you were right and tried to go off and do this on your own. When I get done with work, I will be more than willing to talk about this with you... but I can't right now. Will you be okay for a few more hours?"

"Yeah," Steve mumbled. "Thanks for worrying about me, Danno."

"I have to. I'm happy you're ready to fly your pride flag, and trust me, once this storm goes over I will be so, so happy you're finally getting a cure for that sorry mood of yours. But wait for the rest of us before you dig too far into your past. You're literally the most reliable pain the ass I've ever worked with, and I'd like for it to stay that way. I gotta go. I've got people coming in and they seem to think they're important."

"Stay safe."

The line clicked, then issued a dial tone. Steve leaned back against the pillows, his pulse racing from anxiety and a renewed round of pain in his arm. He knew he should get one of the pills that Max had saved for him, but that would mean leaving his room and possibly running into Kei... and at the moment, that wasn't an option. He was surprised how the phone call had gone; Steve was happy that Danny seemed to accept him, but Danny's reaction to him bringing up Joe was troubling. Danny had, like all of them, trusted Joe. That Danny didn't sound shocked made Steve wonder what had been waiting for Danny when he'd arrived at work, what Max had found and what... if anything... they'd uncovered throughout the day. If Joe really was dirty, keeping Kei around would be better for everyone; if Kei was willing to be on their side, he would be an asset. There was a lot of things for him to answer for, and it would take time for real, lasting trust to be forged... but it was possible. It just required him and Kei to work something out, and he knew that the rest of 5-0 would try if Steve was able. Steve was willing, but the talk with Kei had opened old wounds and shaken up everything that Steve thought he'd known. If Kei was telling the truth and if he was right, Steve knew exactly what sort of storm that Danny saw brewing.

If, if, if.

Sighing, Steve stood up and took some breaths, going through some of the easier yoga moves he knew; he needed to move, to get the nervous energy out. Closing his eyes, Steve focused on the movements, ignoring the trickle of guilt and fear creeping into his mind. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

Steve glared at himself in the bathroom mirror. It had been about seven hours since he'd spoken to Danny; he'd finished an hour of yoga, read, taken a long nap and then attempted to shower. He thought it would have been simple enough to wash his hair. Turns out, it was a lot less simple than he'd thought, considering the guest bathroom wasn't made for people over six feet tall. He managed to get his hair wet at least, but anything else was out of the question. Abstaining from the pain meds hadn't been a wise idea. After he dried off, he went about bandaging his arm, and was in the process of trying to get the sling on right when the doorbell rang.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he poked his head out of the bathroom. The doorbell rang again... twice. Muttering under his breath, Steve struggled to get into some pants, grimacing as he finally managed to put a shirt on by himself. He would have to just suck it up and run the risk of seeing Kei; he needed to know who was at the house. The doorbell rang a few more times before Steve got to the door; peering into the peephole, Steve saw a short, familiar figure waving a pizza box and two bottles of beer around.

"I'm not supposed to let in strangers."

"Hey, kid, c'mon. I have free candy."

Grinning, Steve opened the door and ushered Danny into the room. "You're a life saver. Got out of work early?"

"Not talking about it! We're going to have a few minutes of leisure before we start talking business. Max stayed behind but told me to send you my regards. Also, Kamekona dropped by the station and wanted you to try a new recipe." Danny said as he set the pizza box down on the living room table. Holding a beer in each hand, he stopped and looked at Steve. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Steve held up the sling he couldn't manage to get on. "You'd think that after all these years, I'd know how to put a damn sling on right."

Danny set the beers down and walked over, shifting the velcro around and making sure it was fitted correctly. "Inept as you may be, you'll be happy to know that all your friends at 5-0 are happy that you're alive, and can't wait to see you back. Kamekona wanted to come by with me, but I managed to convince him otherwise."

Steve froze. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Hell no. That's all on you, buddy. Nah, I just told him you had a nervous breakdown and need a bit of talking to. Apparently that's not his thing. Who would have known, right?" Danny paused, looking around. "Where's your buddy?"

"Wo Fat? He's probably in the kitchen or shower," Steve shrugged. "Max isn't exactly a chef, and there's not much to do right now except sleep. The pills Max gave us would take out an elephant."

Danny flopped on the sofa and popped the pizza box open. "Yeah, that sounds really tough. Don't look at me like that. Here, pizza. I even put fruit on it, just for you."

Looking at the double pepperoni with pineapple, Steve shook his head and picked up a slice. "I'm not trying to complain. I know you guys are out there doing some really thorny work. It's just been kind of tense around here. I don't know what the fuck happened. Two years of trying to hunt each other down, and then he pulls the rug out from under me. He told me that he thinks I'm Shelburne."

"Isn't Shelburne supposed to know the guy who killed Wo Fat's dad?"

Steve chewed his bite of pizza. He knew this was going to hurt, and there was no way to make it hurt less. "I know who did it."

"Steve." Danny stared at him, then looked around again and back to Steve. "Does he know you know?"

"He knows I have an idea."

"Who the hell is it? If we can find the son of a bitch, maybe Wo Fat will stop being so... sociopathic."

"Danno, it's Joe. Joe told me he did it."

Twisting open a beer, Danny took a swig and rubbed his face. "So that's how Joe's involved in all of this? You're telling me that Joe... Joe let a powerful Yakuza family think that your dad killed one of them. Let them think that his friend killed one of them. And he just sprung this on you one day, like you guys were talking about your favorite flavor of Jello?"

"Pretty much." Steve finished the slice of pizza. "Wo Fat told me that my dad took some sort of bribe to try and keep me safe, but Joe was in on everything and kept me and my sister out of the loop. He was there to make sure my dad behaved. When I got out of their reach, that's when dad got killed. Joe just told me this, he lied and said he was Shelburne. Hell, he just told me that he lied so that I would stop looking for Shelburne. If that's me, maybe he wants me to stay blind. To trust him."

Danny downed a second slice of pizza while he thought. "I don't like this. It's all too... Wo Fat practically begs you to arrest him, and now he's here with Papa Steve Bear to defend the den. And it just so happens that the minute you catch him, every other criminal in a one hundred mile radius flips their shit and comes after you both? I hate to say it, but if he's telling the truth, then the two of you working together would be a disaster for some people."

"If he wants to."

Danny picked pineapple off his half of the pizza and put them on Steve's half. "Is that what you want?"

He smiled slightly at the onslaught of pineapple; the smile faded at the question, and Steve considered taking one of the beers that Danny had brought. "He acts like he wants to get closer to me. I don't know what to do about that."

"And is that a bad thing?"

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Danny shrugged, gesturing with a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. "I just want to know if I should be saying Mazel Tov or offering to shoot him in the groin."

"I don't want you to shoot anyone in the groin."

"Well, okay then. That's a good start. Can I give you a bit of advice?" Danny asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued on. "You're confused. It's okay. I know I sure as fuck would be, in your situation. But considering everything that's happened over the last two years between you two, it makes sense in some creepy way that there'd be a... a connection, if you will. And when you ignore all the blood and guts the guy has spilled, you know, you've both lost your fathers and Wo Fat seems to think the same people were responsible for both. In his mind, he's a victim. You both are. And I think that if I felt that way, and if I was trying to do a 180 and get on the right side of the law, I'd want to be closer to you, too. You're a good guy. If anyone could help someone like Wo Fat clean up his act, it'd be you."

Letting Danny's words sink in, Steve looked out the window and watched planes fly in the distance. "That's a bit more forgiving than you were earlier."

"I didn't know earlier what I know now."

"What?"

Danny took another drink. "I believe Wo Fat when he says that Joe is involved. And after my day at work, I know that the guy Kono shot is Ted Lansing, who was acting as Adam Noshimuri's lawyer. A search of his last known address revealed the gun that killed Douglas. She was Wo Fat's CIA handler. She was trying to help him get out of the business, Steve. That's why this Lansing asshole killed her. He was in it with the Yazuka, and Wo Fat knew too much for them to just let him go. Lansing twisted everything around to try and get Adam to kill Wo Fat. Adam's been trying to help Yakuza members clean themselves up. It all fits together. Especially since Max uncovered a partial print off of the ring on Hiro Noshimuri's finger. Ten Lansing."

"...Wo Fat was telling the truth."

"Yep. My guess is that Lansing tracked Noshimuri down, killed him, and then forced Douglas to make that phone call to Wo Fat so that the guy's prints would be in the room. He then sent the parts to Adam."

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. "And why do you think Joe's involved?"

"Because I dug around some more, and it turns out that Lansing and Joe were friends at some point. They've known each other since about 1990."

"How?"

"That's the thing. Joe's name was in a list of contacts, but the only two pieces of information we found in Lansing's files were a letter from 1990 about Joe's service record, and a note from Joe in September of 1993 about... get this... Shelburne. It said that Shelburne had been officially relocated."

"That..." Steve tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. "That was a few months after my mom died. That's when my dad sent us away. Why did this Lansing guy get so sloppy?"

Danny scratched his head. "I don't think that Lansing thought he'd have to be concerned about Shelburne for much longer."

Steve put his head in his hand. So, Kei had told the truth about Hiro Noshimuri... and it looked like he was telling the truth about Shelburne. He needed to ask Kei what he knew about Joe and Lansing, and it would be best to do it while Danny was there. It would be easier, and maybe Danny could use any information Kei had when he went back to work. Steve stood up, and it was then that he saw the clock. It had been a little over an hour. He didn't hear any noise in the kitchen, nor was the water running in the bathrooms. The TV was on, and if someone wasn't used to the sounds of the house, the sound of the TV would mask the fact that the rest of the house was silent. Steve knew the house; he knew what it sounded like when it was empty.

"Danny, I hate to be an asshole, but I need to take my meds and lay back down. I need a while to process all of this, and the pain's starting to get to me."

"Sure. It's a lot to take going to be okay?" Danny asked as he stood up, making his way to the door. "I could send Kamekona by with a big basket of shrimp chips."

"I'll be okay," Steve forced a smile. "Thanks for coming over, Danno. Hopefully things will get back to normal soon."

"Things were ever normal?" Danny asked, raising an eyebrow as he left. "See you tomorrow, Steve. Feel better soon."

"Night."

The moment the door shut, Steve went to his room and shoved his feet into a pair of sandals. After using every curse word he knew, he managed to get himself into a black, hooded sweater. He grabbed his phone and the house keys that Max had given him, and went to get his gun. When he opened the drawer, Steve stared at the gun box. It was open, and it was empty. Storming into the kitchen, he looked for a weapon. Any sort of weapon. He found a potato peeler and stuck it into his pocket; it would be good enough if someone came at him without a weapon. If they had a gun...

Shaking his head, he put that out of his mind and left the house, locking the door behind him. He started by looking around the outside of the house. In the fading light, it was difficult to see much of anything, but the small backyard was clear of anyone... or any signs that someone had been there. Going back to the front yard, Steve looked along the softer, grass-free dirt near the flower beds that ran down the front walk. There was a slight impression near the end of the walk; his eyes followed the direction, and there was a bit of fresh dirt on the sidewalk heading to the right. Where would Kei be going? For a walk? It was possible, but he must have left sometime when Steve in the shower; he was sure he had heard someone in the house when he woke up. Kei should have been back already.

He thought of what was down that direction. The man had to be heading somewhere. But all that was that direction was more houses, a highway and... Steve paused. There was a memorial park that way. It was secluded, quiet and dark, and more importantly, it was less than fifteen minutes away by foot. Steve put up his hoodie and took off at a jog; the sooner he got there, the better. He tensed up at every passing vehicle, looked a little closer at anyone that walked by and scanned the shadows as best as he could. When he got to the park without incident, he stopped and breathed; the shock that had traveled up his body from the jogging had jostled his arm, and it felt like it was on fire from the shoulder on down.

The distraction from his arm almost made him miss it- a small movement by a tree within the park. There was just enough light that he could see the outline of a figure. Without a second thought, he moved towards three tree... and stopped when he heard a familiar click.

"Kei?" Steve asked, his voice wobbling a bit more than he liked. "Is that you?"

Stepping a little out of the darkness, Kei lowered the stolen gun. "What are you doing here, McGarrett?"

"I was going to ask you the same question. What the hell are you doing?"

"I have to leave."

"What are you talking about?"

Kei shook his head. "There's a loose end, McGarrett. I think we both know what it is."

"You cannot go after Joe White yourself." Steve moved closer; he could see Kei now, and the emotions crossing his face were unreadable. "If I recall, you tried that once before. What good did it do?"

"He's in hiding and I can find him. He doesn't know that I've figured it out. If you come looking, he'll know, and I have no doubt that he'd kill you."

Steve hesitated. "You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, I can," Kei said with narrowed eyes. "Those people weren't just after me."

"How do you know?"

Smoothing his hair back, Kei glanced around as if he thought someone was listening; maybe someone was. "Adam Noshimuri told me exactly what Ted Lansing wanted him to do... to us both."

"Adam? When did you talk to Adam?"

"You were asleep." For a fleeting moment, Kei smiled, but then it vanished. "Adam is a safe person to trust. His men will be here soon, and then I am going to find Joe White. Would you like me to bring him back to you, as a gift?"

Steve shivered at the purr in Kei's voice. "I want you to stay here where it's safe."

"And do what? Sit around like a helpless pup and wait for Joe White to find us? It's not any safer here. This is something I can do, McGarrett. I'll be fine; it will take time to find him, and by the time I do, I will have healed. This is the life I have known. It's what I'm good at."

"Then wait a little while, and I'll come with you. We can work together."

"You're needed here, with your family."

Steve felt his chest tighten. "You can be part of that family, Kei."

He stared at Steve for a long time before looking away. "Do you really think I can be forgiven?"

"Yes. I do." The uncertainty in Kei's words broke something in Steve that was already painful and fragile. He closed the space between them, searching those green eyes and feeling overwhelmed at both the sadness and determination he found there. "Kei, I want you to have a better life than this. That's all I want for anyone. I know that Adam is a good, respectable man... and if he is doing this for you, then I know you're not like the other criminals I've put behind bars. You have a chance. I can help you. Please."

Kei met his gaze, and a wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned close, and Steve closed his eyes as Kei's breath moved along his neck. One soft, lingering kiss was placed on his cheek; Steve felt his heart jackhammer in his chest. When Kei pulled back, Steve could see a black car parked a few yards away. A man in a dark suit was watching them, leaning against the car with the back left door open. Steve glanced from the car to Kei, and with a shuddering breath of defeat, stepped away to let him go.

"You really are a good man, McGarrett. I wish I could be." Kei turned and walked to the car. He stopped before getting in, gazing over his shoulder at Steve. "Goodbye, Steven."

And then he vanished into the car. The man by the door shut it, then walked around and climbed into the driver's seat. The car rumbled as it drove away down the long street, then turned a corner and was gone. Steve didn't know how many minutes it was before he felt like he could breath, and it was a few more before he could move. The walk back to Max's house seemed longer, quieter. Everything ached, and by the time he got to the house, his vision was blurred... from fatigue or tears, he couldn't tell.

"Where have you been?" Max's voice demanded from the porch. "I got home and you both were gone. Where's... Mister McGarrett?"

He just looked at Max; the words finally made their way out. "I need your help."

Max stood, coming to Steve's side and putting a hand on his back. "Come on in. I'll make you some tea, and you can tell me everything."

They walked into the house and shut the door. The last drops of sunlight slipping away from the sky of Hawaii and giving way to the gentle darkness; from far away, an owl sung.