A/N: Hello, everyone. Missed me? I'd like to share another one of my stories with you.
I had originally written this a long time ago for another fandom but never posted it. I found it a couple of weeks ago and thought it would be perfect for 5-0, with a few minor changes of course.
This is the result. I hope you like it.
Standard disclaimer applies: I own nothing. This is just for fun. Because yes, writing angst and drama is my twisted idea of fun.
"Somewhere between a good deed and a bad deed
are a thousand shades of gray."
Chapter one
"You're drunk."
"I don't have to justify myself to you!"
"Lower your voice, my daughter is sleeping."
"Don't tell me what to do!"
"Anthony, please..."
"You don't talk to me like that, you hear me? You don't talk to me like that!"
"Stop it! This is not your house, and I don't take orders from you anymore. Now lower your voice!"
Steve McGarrett woke with a start, sitting up in bed amid the tangled sheets.
Heart thumping loudly, a thin film of sweat covering his face, he blinked as his bedroom came into view and ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
It had all been a dream.
A weird one at that, because he could count on one hand the times he'd dreamt about his sister, let alone his sister arguing with somebody.
Mary Ann had showed up the week before, little Joanie perched on her hip, saying it had been too long since they'd spent time together and that she was going to stay with him for a while.
Steve had frowned at that, his 'something's not right' synapses firing at the same speed as when Uncle Vito had showed up to 'fix' the restaurant a few months before. But Mary had sworn everything was fine and he'd backed off, realizing it was indeed good to have her around now that Junior had moved into his own apartment. Slowly, he'd gotten used to it and actually started to enjoy spending time with her.
Plus, having the little girl around had improved his mood considerably. Uncle Steve liked to spoil her every chance he got, and Joanie had him wrapped around her little finger in no time.
Living in their old house together as adults wasn't so bad after all.
Except for the bad dreams that occasionally still plagued him.
Steve was no stranger to nightmares. In fact, he'd had them for most of his adult life, triggered by the job and the stress that came with it. He would fall asleep at night and dream of floating in the tank inside the Arcturus with his eyes, nose and ears sealed. Of losing his team members in a shootout. Of Danny deciding to move back to Jersey because he'd had enough. He also dreamt about his mother at times, about his dad's murder, about what could've been if his family hadn't been dismembered.
Waking up in a cold sweat and feeling unsettled was a routine he'd grown accustomed to.
Just like this time.
Taking a deep breath, he started to ease his head back down to the pillow when he heard the voices again.
"Come on, I just wanna talk to you!"
"We've got nothing to say!"
"Mary, I'm warning you..."
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
What the hell?
It couldn't be a nightmare. Not when he was already awake. He tossed the covers aside and jumped to his feet, feeling his stomach tighten with fear.
"You know I didn't mean that… Please listen to me!"
"I'm done listening to your crap!"
Hastily climbing down the stairs, Steve tried to focus on the conversation but the bits of dialogue he'd put together so far really didn't help. All he could hear was the distress in his sister's tone and someone else he didn't recognize.
"What the hell is going on?"
Mary jumped, startled by the sudden voice. "Steve..."
"Who is this guy? What's he doing here? Huh? What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as he came face to face with a man he had never met before.
Mid-thirties, narrow blue eyes, sun-bleached blond hair pulled back and knotted with a rubber band, he looked like a surfer out of an LA magazine. The murderous glare Steve pinned him with barely registered in his alcohol-muddled brain and he took a step forward, jabbing his finger in the air in Steve's direction. "Who are you?" he dared to ask.
Mary quickly stepped in front of him. "Just stay out of it, Steve. This is between me and him."
Steve ignored her and kept his gaze focused on the other man. "I asked. Who you are. And what you're doing here," he said, enunciating every word slowly and clearly.
"This your brother? The cop?" the man —Anthony, that much he'd learned, briefly glanced at Mary before turning to look back at him. "Or what? You're going to shoot me?"
"Yeah, this is her brother. The cop," Steve hissed through clenched teeth, eyes still dark with rage. "And I don't need a gun to flatten you to the ground."
"I'm not scared of you," he replied as he put his hands on his hips and stared defiantly at him. "Way to go, Mary Ann, have your brother fight your battles for you! Once a loser, always a loser, right?" A harsh laugh escaped his lips. "I can't believe this… I helped you! Gave you and your daughter a chance when no one would, and this is how you repay me?"
"Anthony!" Mary gasped.
Steve took a step back, shock registering on his face. "What's he talking about, Mare?" he asked, completely thrown off guard by the revelation. He opened his mouth to say more but no sound came out so he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The stranger in his living room wasn't making any sense and all he wanted to do was wipe that smug grin off his face.
"She didn't tell you about me, did she? Why am I not surprised? Come on, sweetheart, tell him about us. Tell him how good we are together!"
"This is Anthony Morris," Mary said as she rolled her eyes. "We, uh…we had a thing."
"You had a thing…" Steve repeated in disbelief. "That still doesn't explain what he's doing in our house in the middle of the night."
Anthony laughed. "A thing? Don't sell ourselves short, what we have is much more than that!"
"Had," Mary punctuated. "I told you it was over and I was moving back to Hawaii."
Moving back to Hawaii?
Steve's eyes widened at the news that somehow, in the week they'd spent together, Mary had neglected to share. He felt like a spectator of a badly acted movie and the more he learned, the less he understood.
"That's why I came, alright? To take you and Joanie back to LA. There's a plane leaving tomorrow at 8, we can be home in—"
Mary gave an exasperated sigh, although the look in her eyes betrayed a hint of fear. "There's no home, Anthony! There's no you and I. We're done. Over. History."
"You don't get to decide when we're done! I decide!"
Steve saw a flash of fury in the younger man's eyes and stepped protectively in front of his sister. "Did he hurt you?" he asked as realization dawned on him. The look she gave him broke his heart into a thousand pieces.
Maybe not tonight, but definitely in the past.
"You have three seconds to leave this house," he warned, wishing he could end the guy right then and there, the intensity of the desire balling his hands into fists at his sides.
Why hadn't Mary talked to him about whatever mess she'd gotten herself into?
The days of reckless behavior and drug addiction had seemed to be over since she'd become a mother. She was not the same troubled young woman who had come back into his life after his father's death, and he was having a hard time reconciling the image of grown-up, level-headed Mary with the woman who had gotten involved in what he was now sure to be an abusive relationship.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Anthony Morris lunged at him. "She's mine!" he screamed, striking a punch that was easily deflected by his much more skilled and sober opponent. "I'm not leaving without her!"
"Son of a bitch!" Steve's anger grew into a full-blown rage and he punched the guy in the face, sending him sprawling on the floor before he could even realize what was happening.
"Steve, stop!" Mary tried to grab him by the shoulders, but he twisted out of her grasp and lunged after him again.
"You're not taking her anywhere, you hear me?" he hissed, hitting him again. "You're not taking my sister anywhere!"
Anthony rose shakily to his feet and although inebriated, was able to put up a decent fight, trading a few blows of his own. The two men fought under Mary Ann's shocked gaze until a well-placed hit to the solar plexus knocked the wind out of him and he landed on the pavement again. As he lay there in a daze, blood running out of his nose and lip, Mary finally grabbed hold of Steve and steered him away.
"Leave. Right now!" he yelled as he struggled to get free. "And don't ever come back!"
"You're gonna pay for this!" Anthony snarled, wiping the blood off his face.
"I said stop it! Both of you!" Mary kept herself between Steve and the poor excuse for a man she'd partnered herself with, one hand against her brother's chest to keep him in place, the other gripping his arm. "Steve, look at me," she said, feeling his heart pound madly beneath her palm. "That's enough. It's over. Get out."
"What?" Steve stilled, staring at her with shocked, bewildered eyes.
"Leave."
He blinked, wondering if she had lost her mind. "Are you kidding me?"
Mary Ann's gaze didn't waver. "I'm not. Go cool your head off, I'll deal with him."
"Me? Seriously?" He gave the man another dirty look, hoping to never see him again and vowing to kill him if he did.
"Now."
Realizing his sister's decision wasn't open for debate, Steve let out an angered breath and raised his hands in surrender. "I can't believe this..."
As Mary looked at him, tears glimmering in her eyes, he slumped his shoulders in defeat, grabbed his car keys from the side table next to the couch and, without another word, went out the door.
Night had wrapped the island in a dark blanket, a gloom so deep even the street lamps weren't able to fully penetrate it. A cold breeze sliced through it like a sharp knife as rain clouds rolled across the horizon.
Steve jammed his hands into his pockets and hunched over as he walked from his truck to "The Shack", one of Waimanalo's many neighborhood bars. Roused from deep sleep and catapulted into a living nightmare he hadn't had time to change, and the shorts and t-shirt he was wearing weren't warm enough for this kind of weather, even in Hawaii.
He'd been driving around aimlessly for the last hour or so, wandering from one neighborhood to another to try and calm himself down, still having a hard time believing his sister had asked him to leave. Didn't she realize the man was trouble? That people never change and stab you in the back the first chance they get?
But more than that, it was the guilt that was eating at him.
How had he not seen this?
They talked regularly on the phone. She seemed happy, with a steady job and a daughter that had drawn out the best in her. And yet she'd failed to mention this guy to him, and whatever role he'd played in her life. Did they argue like that back home? Did they yell at each other with Joanie in the room?
Shaking his head, Steve stepped inside the dimly lit bar. Not too crowded, not too loud, it was the perfect place to just sit and forget about his own problems for a while.
He wasn't in the mood to socialize so after a quick look around he decided on one of the sheltered booths in the back, behind the bar. As he inched his way across the room he noticed a familiar figure sitting at a table not too far from him, eyes closed, head between his hands.
Surprised, he scanned the patrons to see if there was anybody else he recognized before approaching the table.
"Hey. You alright, man?"
Lou Grover raised his head and blinked at him until recognition set in. "McGarrett..."
From the shot glasses lined up in front of him Steve could tell he'd been there for a while.
"What are you doing here?"
A half-laugh escaped the former SWAT Captain's lips. "Whatcha think I'm doing, man? I'm getting drunk. Totally and completely wasted," he said, raising his glass as if to cheer to the occasion.
Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tell him that he was doing a pretty good job so far. Something in the older man's body language and behavior was wrong. He looked… defeated, a word he never thought he'd use to describe him, and there were tears glistening in his eyes.
Lou was a good friend, a brother that had helped him through rough times, and seeing him like this, sad and vulnerable, made his chest tighten with an all-too-familiar pain.
"Bad day?" he asked as he slid into the booth in front of him.
Lou's mouth curved into a sad smile. "Yeah, you can say that. Today's the day, you know? Five years since the night that changed my career. Hell, my whole life. Little Christian would be seven years old…" A shadow crossed his features and he fell silent for a moment. "I'm sorry man, didn't mean to drag you down with me. It's just… I didn't want Renee to see me like this so, you know… I'm sorry."
A blonde, petite waitress stopped by the table, breaking the awkward silence. "What do you want?" she asked as she smiled at Steve.
"Whatever he's having."
She nodded. "Two whiskeys, then."
They watched her leave and return a few moments later with their drinks, the smile still plastered on her face.
"Enjoy."
Steve thanked her and she disappeared again. Ice cubes rattled softly as he sighed and stirred his drink with the stick. This was not how he'd imagined to spend his night. One minute he was in bed, sleeping in a house that was finally alive and happy, and the next he was woken by a stranger opening up a can of worms about his only living relative.
Yes, whiskey sounded quite good at the moment.
"So what brings you here, man?" Lou asked. "Five years, I've barely ever seen you drink…"
Steve pretended not to hear the question and leaned back into the booth, wiping one hand across his face.
A minute ticked by.
"Is it your boy Danny? 'Cause you know, you need to cut him some slack. He loves you, man. He'd do anything for you."
"Yeah, I know."
"Then let it go, man," he advised, picking up his glass and downing its content in one big gulp. "Whatever he did, just…forgive and forget. Life's too short. I know that for a fact…"
Nodding, Steve stared into his own whiskey as if searching for something to say. Drunk Lou was something he wasn't used to, and sharing his sad story with him right now didn't seem like a good idea.
"That's good, man, that's good," the older man went on, oblivious to his friend's struggle. 'Cause on that roof, man, at the pier… man, you couldn't keep him still."
Steve's head shot up at the unexpected words. He didn't know much about what his team had done during those six long hours he'd spent in the sensory deprivation tank. No one liked to talk about that, least of all him. It was another page he wished he could just scrap from the book of his life.
Knowing his partner, that long wait must've been hell. Danny worried about everyone he cared about in a desperate attempt to protect them from harm. Steve knew that, and yet even after all these years, the man's affection and loyalty to him were still a surprise.
He downed the rest of his whiskey and lowered his gaze.
"Want another one?"
"Sure," he shrugged, and both men fell silent until the young waitress came back with another round.
Lou ran one finger around the rim of his glass. "You gotta stop putting your life in danger, man, because I…we can't bear to lose any more people we care about."
Steve tensed, unsure of what to do. Alcohol usually brought out words and feelings people wouldn't dare voice out loud when they were sober and the conversation was veering into unwanted territory, making him uncomfortable, which on top of his current predicament was the last thing he needed.
"Lou…" he tried.
"I know, man, I know…" the older man replied, following his own train of thought as if Steve hadn't even spoken and completely misinterpreting the signals his friend was sending. "But there's times… like seeing you on that plane…all that blood…I thought you was dead for sure."
Lou's words hit home and Steve froze. His friend's brain had now taken him back in time to another incident, to that fateful day where his own life had changed. Three gunshot wounds, a liver transplant and countless medications later here he was, nursing a drink in an anonymous joint, trying to get himself out of the awkward situation he'd landed himself into in a sad attempt to escape an even more complicated one.
"I'm fine, man, don't worry," he said, finishing his second whiskey. It was more of a reassurance to himself than the former SWAT leader, who nodded solemnly at the statement. His gaze was focused somewhere ahead of him, as if he was watching a scene unfold before his very eyes. "You should've seen him… He was beside himself with worry."
"He was?" Steve asked, genuinely surprised to hear he'd been the cause of Danny's distress.
Lou gave him a 'you've got to be kidding me' look and took another sip of his liquor. "Trust me, he was all over the place. Barking orders, yelling at the paramedics, completely disregarding is own safety. He grilled that guy Dae Won for information and got the name of his handler in less than five minutes. Never seen anything like it."
Steve sat there, stunned, hearing for the first time what had happened after his partner had landed the plane. It was something he and Danny had never discussed. The few times he had tried to push for answers he'd barely gotten a word or two out of him so he had willingly dropped the issue, not too eager himself to hear the details of one of the worst days of his life.
Knocking back the rest of his drink, Grover stared at him with inquiring eyes. "What, you don't know about it?"
"No, man, I... He never told me."
"Mmmm…" The older man let out a sound that was half growl and half sigh and raised an eyebrow at him, then started again. "When we got you out of the plane and saw you like that, we knew it was bad… Took four paramedics to stabilize you and rush you to Tripler with a code three. Now, Danny, he had busted ribs of his own, cuts and bruises, but he refused all medical help." He rubbed the palms of his hands in circles over his tired eyes. "Soon as we got you there he went right back out, straight to HQ to question that son of a bitch. He had this look in his eyes…" he let his words trail off, looking away as if suddenly ashamed.
The waitress stopped by again, and they asked for two beers. Steve put the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back and chugging half of it down.
"That day I realized he'd do anything for you. Just ask the guy who shot you…"
Steve's chest tightened. "What you mean?"
Grover stilled, staring at the confused look on Steve's face and realizing he had no idea Danny had almost blown the guy's brains off. It was surprising to learn how little the Jersey native had shared with his partner about that awful day and, despite the alcohol clouding most of his judgement, he decided not to add anything more.
"Nothing. Just sayin' I understand him a lot better now… since that day. And I respect whatever relationship you two have going on." He picked up his bottle, realizing it was empty, and waved it around to get the waitress' attention. "Hey, I'm ready for another," he said when she met his gaze.
"I don't think that's a good idea, man."
"It's alright, brother. Took a cab here, I'll take another."
Steve nodded, satisfied that his friend wouldn't be driving himself home. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands.
"What happened to your hands?" Lou asked, noticing the cuts and bruises on his knuckles.
"Nothing," the former SEAL shrugged.
"Nothing... Looks like the same nothing you get every time your fists happen to connect with someone's face..."
Steve's eyes narrowed, and Lou took that as a not-so-subtle hint to drop the issue. He slid out of the booth and stood up, swaying slightly as he did so. "I'm gonna hit the head."
As soon as he walked away, Steve sighed and closed his eyes, knowing it was time to leave and dreading it at the same time. Now that the anger for what Mary had said to him had worn off, he realized he should've never left her alone. Reaching for his pocket, he dug out his cell phone and dialed her number, listening as it rang once, twice, three times.
"Come on, Mare... pick up."
Five, six times.
Nothing.
He got to his feet and tried again, tossing a wad of bills on the table to cover all their drinks as he started to leave.
Still no answer.
"What's up?" Lou asked, coming back from the men's room.
Steve mumbled a 'later' and headed for the door, already focused on his sister and why she wasn't answering her phone. He hurried to his truck and slid into the seat as a rush of images and possibilities filled his mind. Pressing hard on the accelerator, he swung away from the curb and disappeared into the night, praying it wasn't too late to make up for another mistake.
TBC