Shouts and Whispers
This is Danny's side of it; a follow-up to "I Can't Make You Love Me". It may be best to read that before you read this one if you haven't already done so. Again, not a romance writer. Doing the best I can. Would appreciate your feedback.
Imaginary Beta did her usual. I hope we can all live with it.
Disclaimer: No remuneration, moolah, dinero, Benjamins, lettuce, bread, dough or any other produce or bakery goods were received as payment for this story.
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Disposable
A salty metallic taste filled his mouth as he fought to stay conscious. This was not good.
The sound of gunfire no longer cracked across the clearing on the other side of which they'd made their stand. Did his team make it out? All he could manage was to lie here listening to a bubbling sound that was strangely timed to each inhale and exhale. Opening his eyes seemed much too difficult at the moment.
He could hear someone coming; their feet trampling through the undergrowth where he lay. He knew he should try to get up and run but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. There didn't seem to be any room in his lungs for the air he so desperately sought.
They were nearly on him.
He was only supposed to be gone for a week this time. Danny is gonna be pissed.
Not wanting to give his position away he tried to keep his teeth from chattering as it grew colder and the light filtering through his closed lids began to wane.
Dark tendrils slithered along the edges of his consciousness. Before they tangled into a solid mass obliterating the last bit of light, he wistfully thought - Will she care?
…
It was nearly ten PM and he was dog tired. Without Steve around the mantle of command had been dropped upon his shoulders and it was pretty fucking heavy. He should be more appreciative of his annoyingly arrogant partner. He should be less critical and maybe be willing to let him listen to that abominable noise he calls music as much as he wants when he returns. Well, at least until I can't stand it anymore. Steve's taste in music was horrifying but, yeah, he could put up with his partner's crap choices for a while.
He'd just picked up his keys and was heading toward the door when the phone rang.
"Dammit!" he said to the empty room as he stopped in his tracks and turned back toward his office. Picking up the receiver he barked "Detective Williams"
"Detective Danny Williams?"
"Yes it is." he replied, surprised it wasn't a voice he recognized. At this hour he'd expected to hear someone from HPD. "Who's calling?"
"I can't tell you my name but I'm a friend of Commander McGarrett and I felt it was right to call someone about this . . . I mean it would be wrong not to . . . I umm . . . I don't know if there'll be any official notification so . . . ." The caller cleared his throat, "I don't know if Steve has any family but he'd mentioned you a couple of times. I thought maybe you'd be the best one to contact."
Skin prickling with heat as blood rushed into his head and his stomach clenched he waited only a second for the mysterious caller to tell him what this was about before blurting, "What's happened to Steve!"
"Detective Williams, I'm sorry to tell you this but Commander McGarrett . . . Steve . . . is missing in action and is presumed dead."
….
He studied the watery violence of the ocean as dark and ominous clouds boiled and billowed overhead. Weather predictors said a storm was coming - a big one. He could feel the vibration through his body as waves boomed and thundered onto the shore. Even the most fearless of those who reveled in balancing on fiberglass planks slipping along a wall of curling water would shrink from challenging this sea.
It had been a week since that cryptic conversation. The caller had whispered an "I'm sorry" before abruptly hanging up. There'd been no time to ask any questions and though he'd tried, the call had been untraceable. He hadn't even told Gracie yet that Steve would never be returning home. She would take it hard. Gracie adored her uncle. How could he tell her she'd never see him again?
The sea rolled on unconcerned as he stood at its edge and wondered where his friend had finally failed to stave off what seemed to stalk him since they'd met. Afghanistan? Pakistan? Somewhere in South America? He'd probably never know.
He knew the military usually provided news of such dire happenings in person; desolation conveyed by practiced procedure accompanied by condolence and form 1770-020. He'd even held out hope the mysterious caller was wrong; that Steve would be returning to his beloved islands and his ohana.
Perhaps it was only because of his unrelenting inquiries regarding his friend's fate but he'd finally gotten a response. Yesterday, people in Navy uniform, one male and one female, both officers, had shown up at headquarters. In near locked step they'd marched past Kono and Chin as dark dread-filled eyes tracked them across the tiles to his office.
Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett is missing in action and presumed dead. It's official now. Five-0, his ohana, would never be the same. Nothing would ever be as it was.
He'd known all along it could end this way but hoped against hope it wouldn't. Steve had tried to warn him.
Long ago, during a late night stakeout preceded by very little sleep and way too many cups of coffee he'd been bitching to his boss/friend/brother about being stuck with extra duty. This was an evening when he was supposed to be having dinner with his daughter. Steve had felt bad about it but there was nothing that could be done. The Five-0 leader himself had been up nearly thirty-six hours straight filling-in for an injured Kono. That fierce and youngest member of the team had trashed her ankle while chasing down a suspect and, despite her protests, was home with pain meds, an icepack, and a TV remote.
Maybe it was unguardedness brought on by lack of sleep but Steve had been almost chatty that night.
They'd conversed of times past; Danny's remembrances of Gracie's namesake, Grace Tillwell, his Newark PD partner who'd been killed in the line of duty - of the guilt he still felt for not being able to save her.
Steve had spoken of Freddy Hart and his own deep and everlasting regret for not being able to keep his brother-in-arms and best friend from becoming a casualty of a covert mission.
Danny had reminded him, "You almost didn't make it home yourself."
Steve had chuffed a wordless response and remained silent for several minutes. Then shifting in his seat he'd turned toward him and with eyes filled with sadness said, "You know, for the longest time, my only solace was that at least I knew what had happened to him".
"There was that" agreed Danny who could think of nothing else to say.
"I know it took me a while but I finally got him home to his family."
That sentence now echoed in Danny's mind.
Perhaps Steve would never come back to Hawaii - his home. Perhaps he'd lie alone forever in a foreign land with no one to mark his final resting place. Danny knew he would never, could never, stop searching for him. But here, alone, with only the surging water to talk to, Steve's words churned in his head like seaweed caught up in swirling tangles in the waves pummeling the shore.
You know, Danny, there may come a day when I may not come back from deployment and there'll probably be no official word as to what happened to me.
He remembered staring into those sincere hazel eyes; his own probably reflecting a mixture of anger, frustration, and something that may even have been resignation but his only reply was, "That's just fucked-up."
His friend had answered softly, "Yeah, but it's part of the territory."
Steve had tried to warn him. He just didn't want to listen.
This, right now, was beyond fucked-up. Since that phone call every day had been too long; every night longer still as sleep was pursued and rarely captured. It was as if everything had been paused like a video waiting for someone to click 'play' and then it would be okay to breathe again.
He'd immediately contacted Joe White who was shaken but told him he'd try to get more information. Every day that passed without word made it ever more likely his brother would never be returning to his beloved islands. He'd live-on only in memories. It would sting like a salted wound forever.
…
Several weeks ago:
Steve wouldn't talk about it and when questioned would withdraw even further into himself. Danny no longer asked. It had finally come to a head one night after the Governor's annual gala to promote Hawaiian commerce. Attendance had been mandatory and the resentment of having to be there rolled off of Steve like a San Francisco fog. Trying to get him to loosen up, Danny had plied him with booze. It had worked maybe a little too well.
They'd taken a cab back to McGarrett's and Danny had crashed on the couch. At nearly dawn he'd awoken to tend to an overly full bladder and on the way back from the bathroom noticed a breeze as though a window or door was open somewhere. Even in his still somewhat inebriated state he'd made a cautious search before realizing there was no threat. The French doors that opened onto the back deck were ajar. In the grey light that signaled dawn he spied his friend slumped in one of the chairs overlooking the water.
Steve deserved his solitude but, ever the worrier, Danny decided to check on him. Making enough noise so as not to startle the SEAL, (never a wise move); he plopped into the chair beside the man who sat staring out at the still slate colored ocean.
"Hey babe." he greeted
"Couldn't sleep?" Steve asked without turning his head.
"Not when this friggin' ocean is pounding away, no. Where did you move the TV to?"
"Cath wanted it upstairs and umm . . . I haven't moved it back down yet. Just got too busy I guess."
Danny nodded though he doubted Steve noticed in the gloom.
As the sky continued to lighten, they sat in silence for several more minutes before Danny asked, "You want me to make some coffee? Something furry slept in my mouth last night. Some of that Kona-blend battery acid you like to brew would be a good idea right now."
Steve didn't respond. It was like he'd never heard him. After a long pause Danny reiterated, "Steven? I asked if . . ."
"Danny" blurted Steve in a cracked voice, "What makes me so easy to throw away? What is wrong with me that makes me so disposable?"
"Babe, you're not . . ."
"She lied to me! She said she loved me!"
Taken aback by his friend's sudden forthrightness Danny paused a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. "I know this is going to sound pretty cliché but it's not you Steven. It was never you."
Steve murmured, "I gave it everything I could and it still wasn't enough."
Danny had no answer for his friend. The two sat looking at the ocean until the water turned to ribbons of color as dawn stole over its surface.
…..
The note had appeared on his blotter this morning. No one had seen who dropped it off. Just like everything else about Steve's mysterious 'missions' there would be no answers. Seated at his desk, he'd unfolded the single sheet of white paper and had read only the first two sentences before his eyes spilled over and everything became a watery blur.
Written in Steve's neat script; as precise and contained as the man himself is . . . was . . . were the words: Danny, I'm sorry you have to go through this . . . The idiot was apologizing for his own death.
Steve's note directed his friend to look in the desk in the study. There resided all the needed documents: forms to be filed with the government, a will, and various documents required to get things settled. The information was well thought out and neatly organized. All had been spelled out in clear, concise terms. There was even a sticky note attached to the last page of the instructions: Danno, bet you thought I couldn't get all this paperwork done, right? Though his eyes once again misted over, Danny actually chuckled.
When rummaging for a pen in the top right-hand drawer he'd come across several sheets of folded paper. He withdrew them, flattened them out on the stained blotter, and immediately realized it as an unfinished letter. The handwriting seemed to vary wildly in neatness but it was recognizable as Steve's. Feeling like a voyeur he warred with himself about reading it but eventually decided that he had to in case it was something that should be passed on to its intended recipient. The words written on those simple sheets of paper devastated him.
He'd known that Steve had missed Cath – a lot. He'd seen that haunted expression that sometimes overtook his friend's face when he sat in his office staring into space; not knowing that anyone was watching. But he truly had no idea how much pain Steve was in.
Without remembering opening the back door to step outside, he found himself standing on the deck in the very same place Steve had no doubt stood countless times before.
Suddenly angry as though it really was all Steve's fault, he turned and punched the wooden support post again and again as the skin of his knuckles split and bled. He knew he'd been warned. The bastard had told him this could happen. Why hadn't he listened and quit while he was ahead?!
Breathing hard while his hand stung and began to swell; the wind off the ocean whipped through his hair and clothing. Each strong gust seemed to shout in anger as it rattled the palms and swayed the trees. Each smaller ebb seemed to whisper a lament.
…
She pulled the scarf off her head and with reddened and raw hands unfolded the wrinkled, sheet of paper that had been handed to her by the old man. She'd left the SAT phone with him for safekeeping while she'd joined a group of women in the village. They'd gathered to do laundry. It was a good place to listen to gossip. Perhaps she'd hear something that would be of help in finding this latest stolen child. She'd just appear to be one of several newcomers who'd fled their homes after husbands and sons had been either killed or conscripted. Speaking the language fluently, her skin now sufficiently weathered, and having dark eyes and hair, she blended in well enough when dressed in traditional clothing. Even though this particular village consisted of mostly females and old men, it wasn't a good idea to reveal her true identity. The Taliban could arrive at any moment.
Atiq spoke British accented English he'd learned long ago when living over the border in Pakistan. In the old man's shaky handwriting was a series of numbers she recognized. Stomach tightening in dread she punched it into the sat-phone and waited for Danny to pick-up. She hadn't spoken with Steve in months. It had to be something serious . . . really serious for his partner to be calling.
"Williams." answered the familiar voice.
"Danny, what's happened? Is Steve okay?" were the first words she blurted.
There was a pause, longer than just the usual delay when talking to someone nearly eight-thousand miles away. Her heart did its best to beat out of her chest while she waited for a reply.
"No." was the one-word answer. Before she could ask what happened he added, "He's been missing for over three weeks."
"What?! Where?!" she asked, trying to regain some calm. Her training required she do so despite wanting to scream into the phone.
"No idea. You know how it works." was Danny's deadened answer.
"Yeah, I know." she barely managed to croak out through a tightened throat. She is aware of how it works – too well. She knew even without asking that this was a mission gone bad and they may never know what happened to Steve.
"Do you have any way to receive mail? Email or whatever. There's something I need to send you." said Danny in a clipped tone. "This is something that you should see in other than texted message form."
"Umm, yeah. I have someone who can take messages for me. I just have to make arrangements to get them. I can give you the email address." she rattled off the email address of someone she knew who dared to keep an account. Steve had known of it but their communication had almost always been by text and a few infrequent phone conversations. They had to be really careful.
"I'm going to scan something and send it. You'll want to read it." said Danny
…
Ending the call after getting the information he again wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maybe Catherine didn't need to read it. Maybe it was cruel but . . . fuck it! This entire situation was cruel
It's cruel to Steve's ohana who may never find out what happened to someone so treasured, and cruel to the woman who very possibly never knew how much she was loved and now had no more time to make it right.
Had Catherine ever really known how Steve felt? How could she not? It was obvious to anyone who knew him. He was strong and stoic in pretty much everything but there were no words needed when those expressive eyes revealed what he'd never intended anyone to see. How could she not know what her leaving would do to a man who could only partially hide a tender core - a heart more vulnerable than he'd ever care to admit.
Hitting 'send' he slumped back into his chair. Have I done the right thing
Suddenly jumping up from his chair he yelled "DAMMIT!" and grabbed up the first thing he laid his hand on to throw at the glass wall of his office. The stapler, an ill-fated missile, hit the thick glass and broke apart; the clear barrier having successfully repelled the attack.
As little pieces of metal clinked across the floor, Chin and Kono came running.
"Danny? You okay brah?" asked a wide-eyed Kono
"No." said the detective as he stood there red-faced and breathing hard; trying to contain his anger at Steve, Catherine, the U.S. government and the world in general.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
There will be at least one more part to this story. Not promising any ETA. If you've read my stuff, you know that meeting deadlines is not one of my talents.
Reviews would be very much appreciated.