A.N. – This story was written in response to a challenge celebrating Jack Lord's 94th birthday. The title of this story is borrowed from the wonderful Beatles song written by Sir Paul McCartney. Thanks to Tanith2011 for beta reading.

When I'm Sixty-Four

It was an annual birthday ritual. Steve McGarrett pulled the old scrapbook off his bookshelf and settled himself in a comfortable chair on the lanai of his beach house to review its contents: the story of his life in newspaper clippings, photographs and other keepsakes. Since his retirement from Hawaii Five-O, the elite state police unit, he had plenty of time available to spend on this walk down memory lane each year.

A warm ocean scented breeze tossed the single lock of silver streaked hair that hung over his forehead as he took a sip of his coffee then set the mug down on the table beside his chair. From the chest pocket of his vibrant long-sleeved aloha shirt, he retrieved his reading glasses, unfolded them and perched them on his nose. He fingered the old leather cover of the album on his lap and sighed. Sixty-four years old! Where did the time go?

His mother had purchased the book long ago, probably when he had started school. After she had passed, Steve decided to keep the memento when he had found it among the few personal items she had left behind. Then out of love and respect for the woman who had given him life, he had continued adding to the collection over the years. Doing so made him feel closer to her.

Opening to the first page, he studied the now yellowed photo from his first communion, a couple of newspaper photos of his teenage self in his high school football uniform followed by his black and white portrait in cap and gown. Such a serious expression on that young face! On the next page, there was a small article about his appointment to the US Naval Academy and then an announcement of his graduation and commissioning from the 'Our Men in Uniform' section of their local New York paper, along with a few snapshots from the proud occasion.

The years he had served in the Korean War were sparsely represented by only a few old letters tucked in their envelopes, stuck between the pages of the album. Steve carefully unfolded and reread each letter that he had penned to his mother in the early fifties. They spoke of his daily life as a naval officer at sea before his ship went down. The tough former cop swallowed the lump forming in his throat while he slowly refolded the old letters; they were his mother's final contribution to the scrapbook.

Steve set the album down, rose from his chair and wandered back into the kitchen to refresh his coffee. When he returned to the lanai, the ambient sounds of surf and rustling palm trees were joined by a distant siren. It had taken a few years, but the sound of a siren no longer caused his adrenalin to surge. He sank back into his seat and picked up his scrapbook, turning to the next page while he sipped from his mug.

Steve's own contributions to the scrapbook began with a clipping from The Honolulu Advertiser. Dated September 1, 1959, the article under the photo taken from his naval personnel file declared that the governor of the new state of Hawaii had appointed Steve McGarrett to head the newly formed state police unit called Hawaii Five-O. It wasn't long before Steve had the new unit running like a well-oiled machine. It had been hard work, but well worth it. Two envelopes tucked in the album held letters from presidential citations he had received which praised his leadership and effectiveness.

Steve's career with Five-O had been so much more than a job. It was a vocation, an intense calling that had consumed the majority of his waking hours, leaving little time for something as mundane as clipping articles for a scrapbook. The select clippings that he did manage to save were the ones that held the most meaning to him. A prime example from 1967 announced the appointment of an HPD officer named Dan Williams to the position of second-in-command of Five-O. Steve adjusted his reading glasses and grinned as he studied the newsprint portrait of Williams. Barely thirty years old at the time, the fresh face beneath the head of close cropped curls looked much younger. But there was also a toughness that Steve could see in that face. Best decision I ever made, Steve mused.

Seemingly out of place among the articles about Five-O was a small card in a blue envelope. The bespectacled stork and blue teddy bear on the card evoked a sadness that Steve couldn't put into words. He opened the card and read the birth announcement of Thomas John Whalen, his nephew, the child who never had the chance to grow up.

With a sigh, Steve put the card back in its envelope and leafed through a pile of clippings that still needed to be sorted, arranged and mounted in the book. Name after name brought back case after case, creating a timeline of sorts of his police career: Joseph Trinian, Bill Cameron, Curt Stoner, Honore Vashon, the People's Attack Group, Charlie Bombay, Tony Alika, Wo Fat. Steve McGarrett had served the state of Hawaii well.

Then there was the newspaper clipping that still hurt: Chin Ho Kelly's obituary. Steve read through the story while a multitude of memories filled his heart.

Chin...this isn't easy for me to say but…I love you like a brother…

Steve's eyes misted and a sudden tropical rain showered the lanai as if the heavens were joining him in his grief. He quickly closed the scrapbook, grabbed his coffee mug and moved inside. He set his mug down on the kitchen counter and glanced at the clock. Half the morning had passed and his stomach was rumbling.

He made himself a sandwich and emptied the last of the coffee into his mug. He returned to the living room and sipped his coffee while he watched the rain, wondering what he would do with the rest of his day. Golf was out; his favorite course would be too wet until mid-afternoon, too late for eighteen holes. Maybe sailing? Painting? He shook his head. Retirement…too many choices!

Steve left the window and decided to flip through his record collection: numerous classical recordings, but mostly jazz. He selected an album, removed the vinyl disk from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. After turning a few knobs on the hi-fi and carefully lowering the tone arm, the living room was filled with the lush, full-bodied voice of Eadie Jordan singing Honeysuckle Rose. Steve sat down on the couch, took a couple of bites of his sandwich and opened the scrapbook to where he had left off on the lanai.

Bypassing the remainder of the police articles, he found the few more personal items. There were four postcards from Nicole Wiley, all displaying various views of downtown Chicago's skyline. Steve read through each short note, picturing in his mind the beautiful brunette he had risked his life to protect in Singapore. His physical attraction for the frightened witness had been so powerful, it had taken all that he had to keep his head and keep them both alive. But after Ravasco's trial, they had gone their separate ways. I wonder what she's doing now… Steve picked up the program from a fashion show and brushed his fingers over the words on the cover: 'featuring designs by Cathi Ryan'. Oh Cathi, he whispered wistfully. The strains of Eadie Jordan's rendition of Stormy Monday echoed the emptiness in his heart for the woman he had loved.

A decaying rubber band held together a stack of 'Congratulations on your Retirement' cards; he put them aside in favor of reading the announcement from The Honolulu Advertiser. It was front page news back then – the retirement of Steve McGarrett, the great detective, long-time head of Five-O, truly a man who was larger than life! Paul Jameson had left the office of governor at the same time, so the state was likely in for some big changes. A smaller article from the same edition named Dan Williams as the new head of Hawaii Five-O, listing all his qualifications and more importantly, the blessing of his predecessor. The photo of Williams bore more lines on the still boyish face along with some grey creeping into the sandy curls. Time certainly does march on.

There were a couple of clippings about high profile cases that Five-O had solved under the leadership of Williams. These filled Steve with as much pride as did his own accomplishments. The last item in the album was a simple white card with black lettering – the engraved invitation to Dan's wedding. It had been a small ceremony without much fanfare, but Steve had served as best man. Danno, you really hit the jackpot! he thought with a grin. While Steve had given up on finding a long term relationship in his own life, he was delighted by his friend's good fortune. Linda Williams was one of those rare women who, like Mrs. Kelly, fully understood what it meant to be married to a cop and a Five-O cop at that. She had dedicated herself to supporting her husband's career and possessed the requisite high tolerance for the inevitable canceled plans and lonely nights fearing for Dan's safety.

Steve set the album down on the couch and finished eating his sandwich, chased by the last swallow of now cold coffee. Noticing the monotonous scratching of the phonograph needle circling the concentric margin of the record, he got up, removed the tone arm and shut off the machine. Before he could get his plate and mug to the kitchen sink, his telephone rang. He pocketed his reading glasses then picked up the receiver and issued his standard clipped greeting, which hadn't changed in years.

"McGarrett."

"Steve, it's Dan…"

Williams' voice sounded strange to him, an odd mixture of extreme fatigue and elation.

"Howzit, Danno? Are you okay?"

"I'm great! Linda went into labor last night…Steve, I'm a father!"

"That's wonderful!" Steve's voice was full of emotion. "Is Linda okay? And the baby? It's a few weeks early, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is, but they're both fine. Linda's exhausted and sore, but very happy. Steve, can you come to Leahi? I want you to meet your new goddaughter – Clara Stephanie Williams."

"I'll be right there, Danno! If I still had a siren, I'd use it!" Steve's ear to ear smile could be heard in his voice.

"Great! And Steve…happy birthday!"

Steve hung up the phone and swiftly collected his wallet and car keys from the table by the door. Before he left, he glanced back at the open scrapbook on the couch, still displaying the wedding invitation on the left page and a blank page on the right. He now knew exactly what he would put on that blank page. He exited the beach house and closed the door behind him. Life wasn't over for Steve McGarrett, not by a long shot.

Pau