Steve McGarrett stepped into the apartment on the seventh floor. He was tired and it had been a long day. The living room was in darkness, but that soon changed once Steve turned on the lights. The first thing he saw was Samantha, his beloved Burmese kitten, a gift from Danno five years ago. That made her hardly a kitten now, but a full-grown molly. To Steve, she was still his baby. Samantha meowed loudly, as if in disdain towards her master for leaving her alone. Burmese are very social cats who love attention and hate to be alone.
"I'm sorry, Sammie," Steve replied. "Let me make it up to you." Just a few strokes of Samantha's thick, velvet black coat and a bowl of her favorite chicken livers would soothe her temperance. "Here you go, Honey." Steve placed the bowl in front of her.
Samantha let out a more cheerful, "Meow," as if to accept Steve's token of apology. She stepped forward and started chomping on the chicken livers. The sight warmed Steve's heart, and he kept running his hand along Sammie's back. After a few minutes of that, Steve got up and went into the living room.
The walls were painted a light, creamy orange. The beige curtains covered sliding glass doors that led to a lanai. The carpet was the same shade of beige. The wall on the right, as Steve entered, contained book shelves with fully-stocked shelves of modern and 19th-century fiction, reference books, legal volumes, and other non-fiction. It was an ever-growing collection, which made Steve was glad he still had space left on those shelves for more books.
Steve was not in any mood to read tonight, though. He took off his jacket, hung it on the coat rack by the door, and then stepped onto the lanai to bask in Hawaii's sunset. Despite seeing it every evening since he first came to these islands in the late fifties, Steve never tired of the brilliant, flame-colored orb as it slowly drifted downwards in the sky. The sight filled him with peace, which he needed after a day of chasing criminals and being exposed to the sleazy underbelly of the world.
The last glow of pink sunset faded, dimming the Honolulu skyline into a mass of differently-sized gray blocks. Steve went back inside, slid the glass door into place, locked it, and pulled the two curtains so they met in the middle. He lumbered into the kitchen to see what was in the refrigerator and found yesterday's spaghetti and some garlic bread, which he warmed up on the stove, placed onto a plate, and carried into the living room.
As Steve was eating, he mulled over a case that Five-O started investigating that morning. When you're the chief of police, you have crime on your mind all day and night. It never goes away. You eat, sleep, and breathe crime. He stopped himself, realizing that when he entered these doors, his life was his own, and no one else's misfortunes should permeate here. Let the gumshoeing wait till morning, the top cop thought.
Steve wasn't going to solve a murder tonight. He twirled the last of the spaghetti onto his fork and into his mouth and nibbled the remainder of the garlic bread. He went into the bedroom, painted an ocean blue in contrast to its opposite color in the living room. Taking off his clothes, he tossed them onto the yellow comforter that covered his bed and went into the bathroom.
The warm water from the shower soothed and warmed him. It was a welcoming feeling, which seemed to literally as well as figuratively wash away all of Steve's excess baggage from the outside world. He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, then headed back into the bedroom. He wanted do something fun tonight, but didn't know what. He didn't have long to plan his next move when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hi, Steve," came the familiar male voice. "Are you free tonight? We can really use your help."
"Sure, Admiral," Steve replied. "I'm on my way."
"See you then."
Steve changed into a white shirt, emerald green ascot, forest green cardigan, and khaki pants, stepped into a pair of white walking shoes, and headed out the door.
"See you in a few hours, Sammie," Steve said. "Love you!" Sammie's only response was an indignant meow at being left alone again.
The Admiral was Steve's former commanding officer when he was in Naval Intelligence. Now retired and devoting his time to charity work, he could always count on Steve to lend a hand. As Steve pulled up to the building, he could hear children laughing and music playing. The Admiral came out to greet Steve, shaking his hand vigorously.
"Glad you could make it, Steve," he said. "The children were asking if Uncle Steve was coming tonight."
"I didn't think we'd be doing this again," Steve said. "The orphanage is on limited funds. Hosting a party for the kids each month must be a strain on their wallet."
"Not with the money you and Five-O raised with that car wash and bake sale. You make a great cheesecake." The Admiral opened the door to let Steve in. When the kids saw Uncle Steve, their eyes lit up and they ran to him, nearly toppling him over.
"All right, kids, I missed you, too." Steve took as many of them as he could and wrapped his arms around them. Steve picked up the youngest child, a little girl black-haired girl in a pink dress, and carried her to a chair. Seating her on his lap, with the other children filling up the rest of the space on Steve's lap, the armrests, and the floor, Steve opened up the story book the Admiral handed him and started reading out loud.
"Once upon a time …"