Notes: Thank you, as always, to Mari and Sammy for your friendship and support. I'm in awe of both of you for so many reasons and I'm grateful to have you in my life.
And thank you, readers and REAL McRollers, for your enthusiasm and your feedback. You make writing in the REAL World an absolute joy!
Trust (A McRoll in the REAL World Story)
Catherine was already sorting through the mail as she came through the front door. Steve entered from the lanai with Cammie who headed for the kitchen and her water bowl.
"Wow," Catherine said as she crossed the living room. She held up a red envelope. "First card already. It's only December 3rd."
"Bet I know who it's from," he said.
"Colonel and Mrs. Mills," she confirmed with a smile.
"Yep."
Catherine put the rest of the mail on the dining room table and began to open the envelope.
"She told me once she likes getting them done early," he said as he came to stand beside her. "Her Black Friday tradition is mailing Christmas cards."
She took the card from the envelope and after both had looked at the front, she opened it and pulled out a folded paper.
"And that must be her yearly update," Steve said.
"It's nice to hear what they've been up to. And how their kids and grandkids are doing."
"Do you know she used to put me in that letter? Whatever project I had done for them during the summer while I was renting their spare room made it into the update. She even put a picture of the shed in there in '97. Made me pose by it and everything."
Catherine smiled at the fondness that had crept into his voice.
"I remember helping you paint that shed," she said.
June 1997
Steve was in the backyard of a ranch-style house in Annapolis pouring red paint into a tray. He looked up when he heard the screen door open and saw Catherine step out onto the porch.
Straightening, he smiled broadly. "Hey, Rollins."
"Hey, yourself." She motioned behind her. "Mrs. Mills sent me back."
He set the paint can down and put his hands on his hips.
"I'm surprised she let you out of the house. She's baking cookies in there and loves having a taste-tester."
Catherine paused, trying to appear innocent.
He smiled and asked, "How many did you have?"
"Just two." She smiled and shrugged. "I mean, they were right out of the oven. I didn't want to be rude."
"Of course not," he said with a smirk.
She stepped off the porch and approached him.
"So you're back early," he said.
"Couple days. Had to see what kind of trouble you've been getting up to."
"You're looking at it," he said, waving an arm toward the shed behind him.
"What? The shed?"
"Yeah," he said, waiting for her reaction.
Her eyes widened. "You built it?"
"I did," he confirmed, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.
She opened her mouth and stepped around him to examine the structure more closely.
"Wow . . . Steve." She reached out and touched the wood siding. Looking back at him, she said, "This is incredible."
He gave a little shrug. "Thanks."
"Have you been working on this your whole leave?"
He nodded and said, "Almost three weeks." He shrugged again. "I mean, they could have gotten a pre-made model, but I think the colonel knows I like to keep busy. And this way they got exactly the size they wanted." He motioned at the paint can and tray. "All that's left is the paint. The trim is done. I'm getting ready to do the walls."
"You want some help?" she asked.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise then smiled.
"Sure." He cringed a little. "But you . . . uh . . . you don't want to get paint on your clothes."
She glanced down at her purple tank and denim shorts then looked back at the house.
"Maybe Mrs. Mills . . ." she started.
"Hang on, I've got some old workout stuff in my room you can wear. Follow me."
A few minutes later Steve was back outside, waiting for Catherine to finish changing. She emerged from the house wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his shorts with the drawstring cinched tight. She had knotted the loose material of the shirt at the side of her waist and rolled the sleeves up to her shoulders. Tugging her ponytail tighter, she joined him by the shed.
"I just realized I only have the one roller," he said. "I wasn't expecting help . . ."
"That's fine. I'll use the brush around the trim and you can use the roller for the main body."
He nodded. "Okay. Good plan."
She looked at the shed, her hands on her hips, and said, "But first we need to cover the hinges with–"
He held up a roll of painter's tape.
She smiled. "Perfect. And we'll need that for the corners to make a nice, straight line with the trim."
"Done this before, Rollins?"
"Well, not a shed, but . . . yeah, I've painted a room or two." She shrugged. "My parents would let me pick out a color and help paint when I got a new room. It helped with all the moving around we did when I was growing up. Gave me a little feeling of control, I guess."
She bit her lip suddenly and took the painter's tape from him.
"Here, let me get started with this," she said and pulled off a strip to cover one of the hinges.
He watched her for a moment and then asked, "How was your trip home?"
"It was good," she said, continuing to apply tape.
"Yeah?" he said when she didn't elaborate. "Your parents doing all right?"
"Yeah," she said breezily. "So where'd you learn to build a shed anyway?"
Steve paused then said with a small smile, "Catherine, you don't have to do that."
She glanced over at him quickly. "What?"
"Change the subject when we start talking about family."
She paused, licking her lips, and looked at him.
"I just . . . I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," she said.
"It's okay that you've got a great family, Catherine." He gave a little shrug. "I don't, but . . . that doesn't mean I mind hearing about yours."
She turned more fully toward him, holding his gaze.
He took the painter's tape from her hand and tore off a strip. "So what'd you do at home?" he asked, handing her the strip with a small, encouraging smile.
She smiled, taking the tape. "You mean besides catch up on sleep?"
His smile widened, and she turned back to the shed to place the tape on one of the hinges as she continued.
"Well, my grandma was visiting . . . not coincidentally . . . so that means playing a lot of gin rummy and watching a lot of Cubs games on TV."
Working together and talking companionably, Steve and Catherine got the first coat of paint done and took a break. They were sitting on the garden bench in the shade when Deanna Mills came outside with a tray of cookies and cold lemonade
"Hey, you two," she said. "I thought you might be getting hungry, and I'm sure you're hot."
Both Steve and Catherine moved to stand but she clucked her tongue.
"Stay put," she said. Reaching them, she held out the tray. "Well, go on. Don't be shy."
"Thank you, ma'am," Catherine said, taking a glass of lemonade.
"Thank you," Steve echoed.
Catherine took a drink and said, "Oh, that's perfect. Nice and cold."
Steve nodded.
Deanna looked over at the shed.
"That looks fantastic," she said. Turning back to them, she smiled. "You two make a great team."
Steve smiled at Catherine. "We do."
He felt Deanna's gaze on him and straightened, schooling his features.
She gave him a knowing smile and then turned to Catherine, angling the tray toward her. "Here. Have a cookie. All that painting, you must have worked up an appetite."
"Oh, no, I really shouldn't. I had two earlier."
"One more won't hurt. I'm sure you do as much running every day as Steve does."
"Really, they're very good, but I shouldn't. I don't want to spoil my appetite."
"Oh, come on, Rollins," Steve said as he picked up a cookie. He broke it in two pieces and held out one half to her.
As she wavered, he took a bite from his own half and motioned for her to take the piece he offered. She sighed with a smile and took it.
He swallowed and gave her a teasing smile. "I know you've got a sweet tooth. Nothing to be ashamed of."
She shrugged to acknowledge the point and, smiling, took a bite.
"I'm going to run a few errands," Deanna said. "Steve, you'll show Catherine where the towels and washcloths are for the guest bathroom? In case she wants to shower before dinner."
"Dinner?" Catherine asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
"Of course. You're staying for dinner, aren't you?"
Steve smirked at Catherine and echoed, "Aren't you?"
"Oh, I don't think I–"
"I won't take no for an answer," Deanna said.
"Believe me, she won't," Steve added.
Catherine smiled. "In that case, thank you very much. I'd love to stay."
"Good. Hal should be back around five. We're having stuffed peppers. They're his favorite."
"My mom makes stuffed peppers," Catherine said, smiling. "When I was a kid I didn't really like the cooked green pepper part so I'd scoop the inside out and take my fork and flatten out the rice on my plate."
"So you used to play with your food," Steve said.
She scrunched her nose and nudged him with her shoulder, still holding part of a cookie and her lemonade.
"I wasn't playing with my food," she insisted.
"Sounds like you were playing with your food," he teased.
She nudged him again and took a drink of her lemonade.
Deanna hid her smile at their exchange.
"Anyway . . ." Catherine continued with a mock glare at Steve before looking back at Deanna. "If my dad was home he'd eat my green pepper for me."
Steve shrugged. "I'll eat your green pepper."
"No, I like it now."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with a smirk. "Sounded like you were angling for someone to eat it for you."
"I wasn't. You leave my food alone, McGarrett."
"Harsh, Rollins. After I shared a cookie with you and everything."
She rolled her eyes and smiled, finishing her half of the cookie.
"Okay, I'm going to go," Deanna said. "Put those empty glasses on here. I'll take them inside."
Steve and Catherine put their glasses back on the tray, and Steve snagged another cookie from the plate.
"I'll see you in an hour or so," Deanna said, turning toward the house.
"Okay," Steve said. "Thanks."
"Thank you, Mrs. Mills," Catherine said.
"Thank you," she said with a glance back. "Hal is going to be thrilled when he sees that shed nearly finished."
After Deanna had disappeared back into the house, Catherine said, "She's pretty great."
He nodded.
"And Colonel Mills, too," she continued. "Once you get used to his sense of humor."
"Yeah," Steve agreed quietly, his gaze on the house. "I lucked out finding them." He glanced at her. "They said they'd rent the room to me next summer leave, too."
"That's great, Steve" she said genuinely. "I mean, I wish you could go see–" she stopped. "I . . . I'm sorry, I know you said it's complicated . . . with your family. That it's not really an option."
He paused, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees. His eyes stayed on the cookie in his hands as he turned it over and over.
"My mom used to make really good chocolate chip cookies," he said quietly. "Sometimes she'd have 'em warm . . . waiting for me and Mary when we got home from school."
He swallowed and fell silent.
"It's okay," Catherine said. "You don't have to talk about it."
"I want to," he said suddenly. He looked up at her. "You're . . . there's something . . ." he swallowed again. "It's easier to talk to you, Catherine. I . . . I trust you."
She remained quiet, watching him.
He took a deep breath.
"I want to tell you what happened."
Catherine gave a little nod and said quietly, "Okay."
Steve paused, still leaning forward.
"I told you that my mom died when I was sixteen."
"Yeah. You said it was a car accident."
He nodded.
"After she died, I came home one day and my dad . . ." He dropped his head for a moment, tapping the cookie against his palm, and then looked up. "My dad didn't usually drink during the day, but there was a bottle of whiskey on the table and a nearly empty glass and . . ." He exhaled a shaky breath. "He told me he was sending me and Mary to the mainland the next day. That Mary was going to live with our Aunt Deb and that I was going to the Army and Navy Academy."
Catherine shifted, her brow furrowing but she waited, sensing there was more he wanted to say.
"He said it wasn't safe for us. But I don't know what he meant, and he wouldn't explain . . ." Steve closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard. "He wouldn't explain why he was breaking up our family."
Glancing over at her, he continued, "At the airport he said it was for the best." He shook his head, gazing out at the yard. "I haven't seen him or my sister since that day. Because apparently that's for the best."
She heard the hurt behind his words and stayed silent, watching his profile.
"So that's my family," he said, looking over at her from his hunched position.
Catherine put a gentle hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to straighten. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
He stiffened momentarily then returned the hug fiercely, the cookie in his hand falling forgotten as his arms went around her. He laid his head on her shoulder, and she realized this was probably the first real hug he'd experienced in a very long time.
When Steve finally released Catherine, he noticed a small spot of paint on her cheek.
His smile was soft when he said, "Can't take you anywhere, Rollins."
She raised her eyebrows in question, and he pointed.
"Almost looks like the barbecue sauce from that rib dinner you had when we met last year."
She rubbed at her cheek and smiled. "You mean that rib dinner you didn't think I'd be able to finish."
"Yeah," he said quietly.
After a pause, he continued, "I told you about my mom that day. That she died."
"You did," she said with a nod.
"I don't . . ." He shook his head, looking down. "I don't usually do that."
"That's understandable."
"The only other . . . Freddie's the only other person who I've . . ." his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. "And all he really knows is that my mom's gone and I don't see the rest of my family." His eyes found hers. "You're the first person I've told everything."
She put her hand on his arm.
"Thank you for trusting me, Steve. Then and now." She squeezed his arm. "If you ever want to talk . . ."
He held her gaze and nodded slowly.
"Thanks."
She gave him a small smile.
He returned the smile and looked toward the shed.
"That paint's still gotta dry," he said. "We should get cleaned up for dinner. Maybe after we eat we could put on the second coat. Or tomorrow . . ." He looked back at her. "I mean, if you want . . . you don't have to–"
"Well, like Mrs. Mills said, we do make a great team."
He smiled.
"Yeah, we do."
Present Day
"I wonder if they still have that shed," Steve said thoughtfully.
"Oh, I'm sure they do," Catherine said. She smiled. "Probably needs to be repainted by now."
He chuckled. "Maybe next time we're in that part of the country."
"Because we still make a great team."
He smiled at her. "Yeah, that hasn't changed."
She returned his smile and leaned up to kiss him.
When she pulled back, he asked, "You know what else hasn't changed?"
She raised her eyebrows in question.
"I still trust you with everything."
She inhaled and swallowed her sudden emotion.
Smiling, she pulled him into a tight hug, and he wrapped his arms around her, tucking his face into her neck.
"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes closing as he held her closer.
"Thank you."
Hope you enjoyed!
Note: Thanks to Mari for Hal and Deanna Mills (who first appeared, though not by name, in her outstanding story Safe).
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