The call, when it came, didn't surprise Steve.
Even coming though it did at 3:48 AM on a Sunday didn't give him pause. Odd hours weren't something he considered odd anymore; he woke at the first ring, was fully alert by the second and reaching to answer it at the third. That it was from the governor's office didn't surprise either nor did, once he'd listened to the message, the reason for the call. No, what surprised Steve was his reaction to it.
Steve McGarrett had something of a complicated relationship with Hawai'i.
He loved it, of course, how could he not? He loved the tight-knit people, who were warm and strong and intensely protective. He loved the culture, with all the fullness of its history and embedded idiosyncrasies. He loved the islands themselves, had spent three summers as a teenager playing adventure guide for tourists and feeling like a thief for being paid to hike and ride and swim and camp and go everywhere to do everything in the most beautiful place on the planet.
He enjoyed being back again, and for more than just the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the idea of staying in one place long enough for a month to change. He liked the sensation of walking down familiar streets, of waking up every morning to the sound of waves falling over sand. He was glad for the chance to keep it safe and peaceful.
But it wasn't home anymore. At least, it hadn't been for a long time.
For all that Danny got the worst of it (not completely undeserved what with wearing ties, hating pineapple and apparently being allergic to sunlight and surfing), Steve was well aware he was haole, too. He spoke the language, knew his way around local customs, had even been born on the islands, but light skin and blue eyes meant he was still a foreigner. It hadn't mattered growing up, though, because maybe kids teased and bullied but Steve knew where home was. It wasn't anything but blue skies all year long and a house with the ocean for a backyard.
And it had stayed home, even after everything changed, when the family gained a mother-sized hole and a father-sized ghost. It was home when Mary Ann screamed loud enough to drown out the waves and began to disappear for hours then days then weeks at a time; when Dad responded by working longer hours and never talking; when sports and friends and hiking the ridges failed to calm anything in his heart anymore. It was home until it wasn't, and when Steve left (first to Annapolis and then to the rest of the world) he hadn't felt like he was leaving something behind.
It didn't change when he'd returned or when he'd decided to stay. He was comfortable and sometimes happy, but there weren't any roots there, except the old ones which were too rotted and didn't fit.
That was what he'd thought anyway. So when, seven months after coming back, the call came asking him to leave again, Steve was surprised, almost shocked, at the way his chest seemed to tighten around his heart.
He replied, "Yes, sir" anyway because the request wasn't unexpected and told them he'd be there in an hour and a half before hanging up. He dressed in the darkness with the casual unthinking efficiency gifted to military, law enforcement and new parents at four in the morning. It wasn't a uniform he'd had cause to wear since he'd been back, not the service dress blues he'd worn for his father and for Mekka and for Kono, but the BDUs that had been kept neatly folded on a shelf in his cabinet. He tucked the bottoms of his pants into his boots and tied the laces tightly before reaching for duffel bag that sat, already packed and ready, at the back of his closet. He hefted it with ease and moved silently through the house.
The neighborhood was quiet and fairly secluded, but he checked windows and doors as he moved through the house (the "champ" toolbox, in particular, went into the bolted footlocker his father had kept in the garage).
Steve threw his bag into the passenger seat and climbed into his truck, shaking his head when he almost turned right at the main road, toward 5-0 headquarters, instead of left for Wheeler Air Force Base. He felt a brief frisson on surprise again when he realized he was wondering about how to let his team know where he was. Logically, he was aware that he didn't exactly have time for an explanation and that Governor Jameson was going to debrief them when they got in on Monday.
Abruptly, he pulled off into the shoulder and reached for his phone. He couldn't justify calling them, not at oh-dark-thirty on a Sunday, when they'd gone sleepless and hungry the past week in order to close the Akehele case, not when it wasn't exactly urgent. Still, something itched between his shoulder blades at the thought of not telling them personally. So, an email seemed the best compromise (Kono checked hers with all the enthusiastic regularity of a rookie, Chin's was connected to his phone so he'd get a new mail update in the morning, Danny still hated email and all its unholy ilk and would just have to hear it from the other two).
He managed a quick message, paused for a second and then added a P.S. before getting back on the road.
Author's Note: I know that the first chapter reads a little slow, but the next chapter will have more action, I hope. Thanks for reading.