I felt like there was a major missing scene in Ha'i'ole, the first episode of Season 2, so I decided to write what happened, from my own perspective. And I have to mention, re-watching these scenes to get this right was SUCH a bother.
Once again, I don't own any of this franchise. And they have quit taking my calls... what's up with that?
Thanks to sockie1000 and Rogue Tomato for their very beneficial and much welcomed comments and corrections. This wouldn't be nearly as much fun without you two ladies.
~~~ H50 ~~~
Captain's Log, Stardate 09.19.2011
Dr. Max Bergman had ended his not-so-exciting day at work by leaving early. No new bodies in his morgue, which in his business was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because no one had died under suspicious circumstances that day, but bad because he was left with nothing but paperwork and research to fill his time. And there was only so much research even he could do before going stir crazy.
The cases he had seen in the last week had been routine. Ordinary. Mundane. Boring. He already missed working with 5-0 because their cases were always more interesting and challenging and he liked the team. But unfortunately, 5-0 had been disbanded, a team member suspended for theft and their leader in Halawa charged with a double murder.
Max didn't like listening to the news because it was always scary and depressing… and his job was depressing enough. But he didn't have to turn on the news to know that HPD was split fifty/fifty on whether Commander McGarrett had, in cold blood, killed the governor of Hawaii. That was one case Max had hated to perform. Because after performing the autopsy, he had to turn over his findings to the crime unit, which matched the two bullets to McGarrett's weapon.
But Max also knew that if the leader of 5-0 had killed their boss, then he had a valid reason to do so.
Max Bergman would never have admitted it to anyone, but he had a bit of hero worship thing for Commander McGarrett. But he trusted the man's instincts and knew he was not a murderer.
So with nothing necessary left to do in the office, Max called it a day. He was on call, so there was no problem in reaching him if the need arose. He locked his office door and quickly headed to his vehicle, an orange VW "Thing", or as he preferred to call it, for obvious reasons, the British term "Trekker". Starting the engine, he planned his evening. Max had never been a 'people person' and was quite comfortable spending the afternoon and evening alone. In reality, he basked in it. His roommate was on the mainland visiting family, so he was on his own for the rest of the week. No distractions, no conversation, no people keeping him from his work or interrupting his solitude.
The medical examiner smiled in anticipation. Tonight's agenda included a session of a role playing game pitting his skills against the universe. And Max was quite proud of his skills.
By day, he was mild-mannered Dr. Max Bergman, socially inept M.E. of the Honolulu Police Department. But by night, he was transformed into Captain Maximillian, who had graduated number one in his class at Starfleet Academy and was now commander of the Starship Intrepid, whose mission was to preserve peace in the known galaxy.
And like his hero, Commander McGarrett, Maximillian fulfilled his job extremely well. Where Max's life was dealing with the dead and the mysteries surrounding their demise, Maximillian was on a quest to save the living.
Dr. Bergman arrived home, ready to warm his leftover Kung Pao Chicken and prepare for the evening's battle. But, upon opening the green door, he immediately saw the disarray in his house. Broken glass from the window immediately caught his eye, followed by the discovery of the lamp, lying broken on the floor. His eyes spied the trail of blood spilled across the tile floor and he instinctively reached for the telephone and the only weapon he had available, an umbrella.
With trepidation, Max followed the blood trail that led him to the bathroom.
There, Max made quite a discovery. Lying half propped against the bathroom wall was an unconscious – he hoped – Steve McGarrett, dressed in the uniform of an HPD officer. With the 911 operator speaking in his ear, Max mumbled his apologies to her and quickly hung up the phone.
McGarrett must have been released from prison, but was busted down to a beat cop instead of head of 5-0, thought Max, before realizing McGarrett was never a cop to begin with, so he had no clue why he was dressed in the uniform. But, regardless of why the man was here, it was quite obvious he needed help.
Max's help.
He set down the umbrella and knelt in front of the unconscious man, noticing the wide, wet bloodstains spread across the dark uniform shirt. Taking a deep breath, Max placed two fingers against McGarrett's neck to search for a sign of life.
He found life quite unexpectedly when, in a fast move, Max's fingers were bent backward in McGarrett's firm grip.
"Ow, ow, ow!" Bergman exclaimed in pain and surprise, when wild blue eyes opened, frantically scanning the small room.
"McGarrett? It's Max. Bergman. You are in my bathroom."
McGarrett finally focused in on the M.E. and released his hold on the fingers. "Max." The one word was breathy as the commander tried to take a deep breath, wincing at the pain it caused. He blinked, trying to focus before his eyes slid shut once again. He reached one shaky hand to his head, the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.
The hand dropped, and McGarrett opened his eyes once again and looked at Bergman. "Sorry, Max. Think I broke a lamp."
"No worries. It was my roommate's," Max replied.
"And a window."
"The window was mine," Max replied, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Steve's breath hitched and his eyes slid closed. "Needed… a doctor I… could trust."
He trusts me. Max was elated at the thought, but couldn't afford to bask in it. The blood he followed into the bathroom was still oozing from the wound in McGarrett's stomach.
"You are bleeding most heavily," he stated the obvious while reaching again for the telephone. "I will call 911."
"NO!" The blue eyes opened once again as McGarrett sucked in a painful breath. "No, no hospital. Just… stop the bleeding. I… tried. It… kept coming."
Max nodded his head in agreement, watching the panic subside from the other man's eyes. He continued to speak to his patient while he worked, unbuttoning the shirt. "I need to inspect the wound." Beneath the uniform, bloody gauze had been wrapped around the commander's torso. Max peeled it back to find wadded up paper towels saturated in blood. "Paper toweling is not the best means to stop bleeding," Max mumbled, shaking his head.
The M.E. stood, staring down at the wounded man. "I will get bandages and antiseptic and return." He took one more look at McGarrett, noticing the pallor of his face and the sweat beading on his forehead. Shock, most definitely.
Upon his return, Max once again dropped to the floor in front of Steve and opened up the pads of gauze. McGarrett appeared to be unconscious once again, but as medical examiner, Max always talked as he worked on his 'patients' and this time was no exception. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and went to work. "Commander, I must remove your shirt. It may be more judicious to cut it off, if I may. I fear it is already ruined."
"Do it."
Max was surprised to hear the weak voice, but watched as McGarrett's eyes opened. His patient nodded at him in understanding before he took a steadying breath and closed his eyes once again.
The shirt and the soaked bandages and towels were quickly removed, and Max picked up the bottle of antiseptic and poured some onto pads of gauze before staring back at his patient, who hadn't flinched while he worked. "Commander, I believe this will be quite painful. I need to clean the wound."
This time, the eyes didn't open, but McGarrett quietly replied, "Knock yourself out, Max."
Bergman quirked up one side of his mouth. "I fear that feat would be counterproductive to stopping your bleeding. But I will endeavor to be quick."
Max took a deep breath and pressed the gauze onto the wound, hoping to cleanse it enough to get a good look at it. "Small, round wound. Rather deep," he muttered. Must be a gunshot wound, Max assumed to himself as he continued to hold the gauze in place.
The only indications that McGarrett felt the pain was his clenched jaw and balled up fists. He made no sound, which Max found amazing, knowing that it must be nearly unbearable.
Dr. Bergman was distressed at how quickly the blood soaked through the gauze. He tossed the saturated gauze into the sink and liberally poured antiseptic on another stack, pressing against the wound. McGarrett jerked, whacking the back of his head against the wall, sucking in a breath of air.
"I need to apply more pressure to stop the bleeding," Max explained.
Steve nodded his understanding before his head lolled sideways onto his shoulder.
"Commander?"
Max raised a bloody, gloved hand to check for a pulse once again, feeling a weak, but steady blip beneath his fingertips. Satisfied that McGarrett had simply passed out again, he renewed his effort to stop the bleeding.
It took several minutes, but he finally removed the gauze and examined the wound, which he discovered was not from a bullet, but a stab from a small object. Dr. Bergman packed gauze inside the injury, placed thick pads over it and finally wrapped gauze around the commander's torso, taping it all in place.
He breathed a sigh of relief when his task was done. Sitting back on his heels, he thought of his next move. McGarrett needed rest, which he wasn't going to get while propped against the bathroom wall. The couch was the closest horizontal surface to get the man comfortable, so Max's next goal was to get him into the next room. Somehow. He also needed to watch for symptoms of shock and the coroner could do that much better without his patient sprawled on the bathroom floor. Max stood and removed his gloves and washed his hands. Thinking of his new, brown leather couch, Max then retrieved a washcloth and cleaned the blood from the commander's hands and his neck, where he had checked for a pulse. Max was more than willing to help in any way possible, but he drew the line at blood stains on his furniture before the payment plan had been met.
Through his ministrations, McGarrett didn't move a muscle. Max tossed the cloth back into the sink and left the bathroom for a few moments, gathering needed items before returning to his patient. He knelt once again in front of McGarrett, hesitant to attempt to wake the larger man. Max's fingers didn't want to feel the SEAL's wrath once more.
He reached out a hand and shook the unconscious man's shoulder, once again trying to wake him. "Commander McGarrett?"
He received a grunt in reply.
Bergman blew out a breath and tried once again, placing his other hand against McGarrett's jaw, tapping it lightly.
His patient turned his head away from him. "What?" he growled, low in his throat.
"McGarrett, you must wake up," Max replied, tapping the jaw once again.
"Why are you hitting me?" the commander asked, slowly opening his eyes.
"Not hitting," Max amended. "Waking. I need your help to get you someplace more comfortable."
The blue eyes slid closed. "Nah, 'm good."
"Commander! You must wake up. You trusted me enough to come here, now let me help you. I am observing symptoms of shock and need to keep a close watch on you. "
The blurry eyes opened once again and glared at him. Max could tell that the man was confused and didn't understand his instructions.
Max knelt close, holding McGarrett's attention, not backing down beneath the death stare. "I need you to stand up. We're moving into the living room."
McGarrett looked around, seeing he was still in the bathroom and did as he was told, turning until he was on his knees, one hand holding tightly to the vanity.
"Almost there," Max told him, pulling the commander's other arm around his own neck and pulling him upward. "Lean on me and we'll make it out of here."
Steve stood, shakily, on both feet, hanging on to both Max and the cabinet to remain upright.
"This way, Commander. Follow me."
With a shuffling gait, the unlikely duo slowly made their way to the couch, where Bergman gratefully lowered his patient.
McGarrett began to slide sideways before Max stopped him. "No, not yet. I need you to drink this."
Steve's head rolled on the back of the sofa. "Don' want it."
"While you are more vocal than my other patients, you have approximately the same pallor and have lost almost the same amount of blood. I cannot give a transfusion, so it is imperative that you hydrate. Now, open," he ordered, poking two Tylenol into Steve's mouth then holding a cup to McGarrett's lips, "and drink".
His patient managed two sips of the water before pulling back from the cup. "No more."
"Now you can lie down, and perhaps drink more later," Max told him, helping him turn sideways on the couch. The wounded man was asleep before he was even stretched out on the sofa. Bergman raised McGarrett's feet onto the couch arm, attempting to reduce the symptoms of shock.
Max stood back, surveying the room, and then his patient, trying to make sense of his afternoon. He cleaned the bathroom and took the bloody, shredded shirt to the utility room before checking once again on Steve. He sat down in the side chair and watched him, unsure what to do next. He had performed the medical skills to the best of his ability, although he knew McGarrett needed a hospital, a transfusion and antibiotics. All of which apparently wasn't going to happen. The practical side of Max said, 'Call EMS now, while he is asleep', but he couldn't make the call. Because that wasn't what the commander wanted.
So, he watched him sleep, comforted in the fact that this was a natural sleep brought on by exhaustion and was not unconsciousness from his injury or blood loss.
Max pondered the injury once again. Small weapon. Most likely dirty, from the look of the edges of the wound. Long – the wound appeared to be deep, although he was relatively certain there was no major internal damage. He would have to ask the wound's origin when McGarrett was better.
The medical examiner was brought from his musings when McGarrett groaned in his sleep, his head rolling on the couch arm.
Bergman reached for the cup of water and raised Steve's head so that he could drink. "Here, Commander. A few more sips."
His patient obeyed and swallowed although he never acknowledged Max's presence before falling back to sleep. Once again, Bergman returned to his watch, wanting to do something else to help.
Think, Max. What should be the next move?
Finally deciding on a course of action, Max reached again for the telephone, an instrument he despised, but unfortunately was necessary. Before he could change his mind, he found the number he needed and dialed.
"This is Kelly."
"Detective, Max Bergman here."
"Yeah, Max. What can I do for you?"
"Perhaps it is what I can do for you, Detective," Max replied. "I have… acquired an item that may interest you."
"Max, no riddles please. We're pretty busy."
"Very well then. McGarrett required medical assistance and is now asleep in my living room."
"What?" Chin exclaimed, and then Max heard Chin's voice muffled in the background, "Danny, let's move. We need to get to Max's – Steve is there." Back on the phone, he asked, "How bad is he?"
"He is… not well. In fact, he has lost copious amounts of blood. But with rest, he should be fine."
"Max, can you look out the window? Do you see a police cruiser?"
The M.E. walked to look out the broken window. "No, should there be one?"
"No, that's good news. Have you talked to anyone else?"
"No one, other than Commander McGarrett."
"Don't call anyone else, Max. We're on our way. And thanks."
"No problem." Bergman hung up the phone and started to sit once again when Steve's eyes blinked, closed, then slowly blinked open once again.
"McGarrett?"
"McGarrett?"
"Max… after patching me up, I think you can call me Steve."
Bergman almost choked when he repeated 'Steve', but was pleased his patient was lucid and able to stand on his own two feet, although he was surprised to learn McGarrett had been 'shanked' in prison that morning. And then showed up in his house, wearing a police uniform.
Max definitely would need that full story at a later time.
Much later that afternoon, Max once again entered his home and stared at the living room, not quite believing what had transpired. He was amazed that the window had already been repaired, but Detective Kelly had called Kamekona before they left to hide the police car. Apparently, Kamekona had enough cousins to cover every trade that might possibly be needed, and one was adept at window repair. Dr. Bergman got a dust pan and broom and cleaned up the broken glass from the floor, reliving the day's events.
Had anyone told him 24 hours ago that on this Monday, he would have aided and abetted a felon, willingly harbored a fugitive, knowingly helped hide a police cruiser, and last but not least in Max's eyes, lied to the police, he would have called them crazy. Although truth be told, Max was quite proud of the lie… he had told Chin Ho he would get carsick if he couldn't drive. Max just didn't want to give up control of the car. Until today, mild-mannered Max Bergman's crime spree consisted of jay-walking one afternoon to get to class. And he felt so badly, he re-crossed the street at the corner and stood there, waiting until the light changed once again so that he could cross legally. After spending one day with 5-0, Max considered himself a felon. But what he had done that day felt right. And that felt good.
While putting away the broom, Max made another discovery. He had spent an entire afternoon and evening without even turning on his computer, and in the course of the day had interacted with several other people… and enjoyed it. He sat down on his couch and thought of the ramifications of actually liking the interaction with 5-0 and of being able to contribute something worthwhile.
Max received another surprise that evening when his phone rang. He recognized the number as 5-0 headquarters and immediately answered, expecting to be called in to work a case now that the team was reinstated to duty.
"Dr. Bergman."
"Max – it's Steve."
"Commander, how are—"
"It's Steve, remember? And I'm OK. I, uh, want to thank you for your help today—"
"That is unnecessary," Max interrupted. "I was most pleased that you asked for my assistance."
"Well, I'm sure you have questions, so if you aren't busy, we are celebrating the return of 5-0. If you want to stop by headquarters, the beer is on us. We'd like to have you."
"That would be… good," Max replied, glad that McGarrett couldn't see the grin on his face. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said goodbye and reached for his car keys.
A few minutes later, he sat at a table with his peers, downing a cold beer while listening as they pieced together the full story of the day's details.
Sitting there, listening to their banter, Max Bergman concluded one more important detail: Captain Maximillian's fantasy life was nothing compared to what Max Bergman was experiencing at that moment.
And Max liked it very much.
ljw: 10.3.11