Summary: Steve meets Catherine's mother, grandmother, and great-aunt. (pre-series)
Note: Set after The Box Spring Incident, First Impression, and Lunch with the Captain, but stands alone. And apparently I'm still awful with titles.
Nice to Meet You
Tap tap tap-tap-tap. Tap tap tap-tap-tap.
Hearing the same noise begin again beside him, Steve turned his attention to his companion in the back of the cab. Catherine was tapping out a rhythm with her fingers on the seat between them, her gaze fixed outside her window.
He placed his hand on hers, stilling her movement, and she turned to him.
"I think I'm supposed to be the one who's nervous," he said lightly.
"I'm not nervous," she countered automatically. He raised his eyebrows, glancing down at their hands on the seat. She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. "I mean, maybe if it was just my parents."
"I survived meeting your dad intact," he said and she rolled her head slightly to look over at him. "Mostly intact," he amended. He shook his head. "They're not gonna scare me off."
She chuckled a little and said, "I wouldn't be so sure about that." Sighing again, she gave him a half-smile. "There's still time. I could tell them you got called back," she offered, though she was mostly joking.
"Cath, your father asked me to come. That was–" he stopped, pausing before he continued. "I was really honored."
She smiled softly and said, "I told you he liked you."
He returned her smile, and then looked forward, deep in thought.
"Thirty years," he said finally.
She nodded, her eyes growing distant. "Yeah."
"Your father has had an incredible career, Catherine," he said, looking at her.
"I know. I'm so proud of him. I'm proud to be his daughter. He taught me what it meant to serve. To sacrifice for your country." She smiled at him, blinking back tears. "He's my hero."
He smiled and squeezed her hand once before releasing it. Both turned back to their respective windows, each lost in thought.
Before Catherine could raise her hand to knock, the front door opened.
"There she is!"
Catherine smiled broadly. "Hi, Mom." The two women embraced warmly before Mrs. Rollins turned to Steve.
"And you must be Steve." Shaking her head, she chuckled and continued. "Well, of course you are. Who else would you be?"
"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am," Steve said, holding out his hand.
"Call me Elizabeth, please," she replied and shook his hand with both of hers. "You're staying in my house, you call me Elizabeth."
"Okay," he said, returning her smile.
"Come on in and get settled," she continued, waving both in before she shut the door behind them. "Your father just took your grandmother to the store for a few last minute things, but they should be back any minute." She led them down the hallway, turning into the den. "Catherine, space is a little tight with Aunt Louise staying, so you and Steve will be on the sofa bed in here."
"I told you we could stay in a hotel if it's going to be too crowded, Mom."
"No, no, of course not," Elizabeth said, waving the offer away. "Besides, we'll need you both for chauffeur duties and manual labor tomorrow when the rest of the family gets here. Now," she patted the back of the sofa bed, "it's pretty sturdy, but probably best to keep the acrobatics to a minimum."
Steve sighed with a resigned smile. "Never gonna live that down, am I?"
"Not a chance," she said with a smile he'd often seen on her daughter.
Steve glanced at Catherine and said, "At least I know where you got your sense of humor."
"You can leave your bags in here," Elizabeth continued. "Now come on into the living room, Aunt Louise has been dying to see you both," she said, walking back into the hallway.
"Aunt Louise is . . .?" Steve asked Catherine quietly, setting down their bags before they followed.
"My dad's aunt."
He nodded. "Got it."
"Is that Catherine?" A voice drifted in from the living room.
"Hi, Aunt Louise," Catherine answered, entering the room behind her mother.
"Oh, it is," the older woman said. She grabbed her cane and moved to get up.
"No, no, you stay put. I'll come to you," Catherine insisted, coming around the couch to sit beside her. "How are you?" she asked, kissing her great-aunt's cheek before hugging her.
"Don't get old, Catherine, don't get old," Louise advised, patting Catherine's leg.
Catherine smiled sympathetically before she motioned to Steve who had come to stand in front of them.
"This is Steve McGarrett, Aunt Louise."
"Oh my," she said, putting a hand to her chest as she looked Steve up and down. "Well, aren't you . . . tall," she finished with a glance at Catherine before turning back to Steve.
Catherine hid a smile at Steve's expression, wiping her hand over her mouth.
Recovering, Steve held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."
Louise took his hand, patting the top of it. "And so polite," she said, looking approvingly at Catherine who was saved a reply by the sound of the front door opening.
"Oh, that must be Mom and your father back," Elizabeth said, walking through the kitchen to meet them.
A moment later, Captain Rollins entered the living room.
"Captain, congratulations on your retirement," Steve said and held out a hand to him.
"Thank you, Steve," he returned, shaking the offered hand.
Steve glanced at Catherine, unable to contain a small smile. She raised her eyebrows knowingly then stood to hug her father.
"Hi, Dad."
After releasing her, Captain Rollins nodded toward the kitchen. "Your grandmother's probably already back at it. Steve, come help me with the groceries. 'A few last minute things' turned into several bags."
Steve followed Captain Rollins back into the hallway while Catherine ventured into the kitchen where her grandmother was assembling dinner.
"Grandma," Catherine said, a broad smile on her face.
"There's my girl," her grandmother said, patting her cheek before pulling her into a tight hug.
Elizabeth, who had watched the two men exit the front door, turned back to her daughter with a teasing smile and said, "So that's the famous Lieutenant Steve McGarrett."
"Mom. Please."
"What?" she asked, shrugging innocently. "These are uncharted waters. You've never brought anyone home before."
"Never had anyone I wanted to bring home before," Catherine said quietly. "But you know, Steve and I, we're just," she motioned ineffectively. "We're not . . . I mean–"
Elizabeth placed a hand on her daughter's arm. "Whatever you are or are not, I'm just happy you were both able to be here."
Catherine smiled gratefully.
"Though if you have anything you'd like to announce . . ."
"Mom!"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding."
Catherine sighed and shook her head with a resigned laugh.
"Well, where is he, anyway?" her grandmother asked. "Don't tell me you left him alone with Louise," she continued with a sly smile, speaking much louder than necessary.
"I heard that," Louise called from the living room to laughter from the other three women.
"Dad put him to work," Catherine said. "They're getting the groceries out of the car."
"I had a few more ideas for tomorrow," her grandmother admitted.
"I guess it was a good thing I emptied out the refrigerator," Elizabeth said as they heard the front door open.
Steve appeared in the kitchen holding three large paper bags, followed by Captain Rollins who was similarly laden.
"This is everything," the captain declared.
"Just 'a few more ideas,' was it, Mom?" Elizabeth asked, as she and Catherine moved to take a bag from each of the men. "Set those on the counter," she instructed. "We'll take care of them."
After Steve had deposited the bags, Catherine motioned to him.
"Steve, this is my grandmother, Angeline."
"Call me Grandma Ang."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Steve said. "Catherine's told me you're an excellent cook." He held out a hand for her to shake.
To his surprise, he was pulled down into a hug by the diminutive woman.
"At my age, we don't waste time with handshakes," she informed him.
"Okay, then," Steve said, only slightly flustered, straightening as she released him. He glanced at Catherine who was smiling fondly at her grandmother.
The phone rang and Elizabeth checked the caller ID.
"Oh, that'll be my brother confirming the details for tomorrow. I'll take it in the bedroom. Catherine, see if Aunt Louise needs anything. Dinner won't be ready for another half hour or so," she said as she walked out of the kitchen, motioning for Captain Rollins to follow.
Catherine headed for the living room, glancing back at her grandmother and Steve before she disappeared around the corner. He moved to follow her but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"You stay put," Ang insisted. "How are your knife skills?"
"What?" Steve asked, his surprise evident.
"Your kitchen knife skills," she clarified with a chuckle. She pointed to the bowl on the counter. "Slice up those tomatoes for the salad."
"Right. Of course," he said, covering his embarrassment by turning to wash his hands at the sink.
She began unpacking the grocery bags as he selected a knife from the block.
"I taught Catherine how to cook, you know," she told him, pointing to a cutting board in the drying rack.
"She mentioned that," he said as he pulled out the board. "Your specialty is . . ."
"My ragù. Oh yes, that girl makes it as well as I do. Maybe better," she said proudly. "But don't tell her I said so," she continued with a wink.
Steve chuckled as he began slicing a tomato. "Sounds delicious."
"You tell her to make it for you."
He winced and said, "I'm not sure how well that would go over." He glanced at her. "Me telling Catherine to cook for me," he clarified.
"Then I'll tell her."
"Oh, no, you don't have to . . ."
"Catherine!"
Catherine poked her head around the corner. "Yes, Grandma?"
"Why haven't you made this boy my ragù yet?"
Surprised, Catherine stepped into the kitchen, glancing over at Steve who held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. She looked back at her grandmother. "Oh, well, you know, Gram, we're not usually even in the same time zone. Let alone somewhere where I can make ragù."
"You're in the same time zone now," her grandmother pointed out.
"Grandma, dinner's already in the oven." She sighed at the look she received in response. "Okay, I will make Steve your ragù very soon. I promise."
"Good." Ang patted Steve's hand. "You'll enjoy it. I guarantee that."
Steve glanced between the two women, trying to decide on a safe response.
"Can't wait," he said finally.
Ang looked satisfied, turning back to the groceries while Catherine raised her eyebrows at him. He shrugged helplessly. She rolled her eyes and disappeared back into the living room.
Steve leaned over and whispered, "You may have gotten me in the doghouse there, Grandma Ang."
She chuckled. "Well, if I have, I'm sure you can find a way to get yourself out."
After dinner, Steve found himself seated next to Aunt Louise on the couch, alone in the living room.
"I dated a Navy SEAL once," Aunt Louise announced suddenly.
Steve swallowed his discomfort. "Is that so?" He tried to surreptitiously look into the kitchen for Catherine.
"Of course, they weren't called SEALs then."
"Right," he nodded, his gaze skittering around the room.
"You're much more handsome than he was," she assured him.
"Um . . . thank you, ma'am," he said haltingly. "Have you seen Catherine?"
"Now tell me about your family," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I bet your mother is so proud of you."
Steve paused. "My mother died when I was teenager," he said quietly.
"Oh, you poor boy. What a terrible thing for you and your siblings, to grow up without your mother."
"Uh, sibling," he corrected. "I have a younger sister."
"It must have been so hard for your father, raising two children alone."
Steve shifted uncomfortably. He started to respond when Elizabeth's voice interrupted them from the doorway.
"Steve, could you come put these pans up? I'd rather not get the step-stool out."
"Of course," he replied, standing quickly. "Excuse me," he said to Louise before he followed Elizabeth back into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry about that," she said quietly.
Steve noticed there were no pans in sight. He nodded in realization.
"Catherine told you about my family."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Not much. Just enough to know you probably wouldn't want to be answering a lot of Louise's questions. She's sweet, but . . . a little nosy."
Steve shrugged, shaking his head as he looked down, and said, "Perfectly normal questions."
"Even so. The pain of losing a parent young . . . that never really goes away."
Steve looked at her, realizing she was speaking from experience.
She nodded. "My father died when I was in high school. Heart attack. It was a shock, he was quite young. I was . . ." she paused. "I was devastated. But my mother, she was so strong," she said with a glance in the direction of the room where she knew her mother was resting. "I don't think we would have gotten through it without her. And yet, I can't help but think of all the years I've missed with him . . ." she admitted, her voice fading.
Steve was silent as he took in her words.
She gave him a small smile and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go on like that."
"No, no, not at all," he insisted quietly. "Thank you for telling me." He smiled slightly. "Have you seen Catherine?"
"Oh yes, she's just in our bedroom, going through an old box of her things. Go ahead in there. Last door on your left. I'll distract Louise."
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
She touched his arm briefly before moving around him to re-enter the living room.
Steve followed the hallway to the last room, stopping in the open doorway. Catherine had her back to him, a box on the bed in front of her with several items already spread out on the comforter.
He knocked lightly on doorframe. "Hey."
She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Hey." She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I got distracted in here."
He shook off her apology and nodded toward the box. "Whatcha got there?"
"Oh, just some old stuff my mom saved for me."
He motioned his intention to join her and asked, "Do you mind?"
"Of course not," she said with a smile.
He approached and stood beside her, looking at the items on the bed. He reached for a figure skating medal on a ribbon and held it up to examine it.
"Not a word," she warned.
"Hey, first place. I can get behind that."
She smiled in response.
"I'm not surprised," he continued. "You try to hide it, but you're as competitive as I am, Rollins."
"I'm not sure that's possible."
He noticed a pile of photos in the box and pulled them out. Flipping past a picture of a teenage Catherine putting on skates, he raised his eyebrows and chuckled at the next image. She cringed, trying to snatch it before he got a good look, but he turned and blocked her with an arm, his laughter energetic.
"Shut up, shut up," she laughed, smacking him in the back.
"That is a major corsage."
She sighed, rolling her eyes and said, "Tommy Decker. He was a little eager to please."
"And did he try to . . ." he glanced back at her, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"Hell no," she answered immediately.
Steve chuckled as he turned back toward her. "Scared of your dad?" he asked.
"Scared of me," she corrected.
He nodded approvingly before flipping to the next picture.
"Nice braces," he said with a smirk and flashed the photo for her to see.
"Oh, stop." She sighed, sitting on the bed. "I swear she put these in here on purpose, knowing you'd be here."
"What is this from?" he asked, looking at a picture of Catherine in a football jersey and eye black.
She laughed, taking it from him. "Senior year. Powder puff game," she explained. "Wow. I'd forgotten all about that."
"Did you win?"
She looked up at him with feigned shock at the question. "Are you kidding? MVP. Come on."
"Nice."
He sat beside her and flipped to another picture, smiling at what he saw.
"Early recruit?" he asked, turning the picture toward her as she leaned against him for a better look.
She chuckled at the image of her much younger self with her father's cover on her head obscuring one eye.
"How old were you here?" he asked. "About five?"
"Yeah, maybe six. He'd always put his cover on my head when he came home."
He smiled at the nostalgic tone in her voice before looking at the last picture of Catherine in a soap box derby car.
"Nice goggles."
She shrugged and said, "Safety first."
"I suppose you won this, too," he guessed, eyebrows raised.
"Uh, no, actually. Came in third."
"But you beat them the next year."
"No, we had moved by then," she said quietly.
He nodded but stayed silent, handing the photos back to her. She placed them in the box and pulled out a cassette tape, turning it over to reveal the cover.
"Chicago?" Steve asked, surprised.
Catherine paused, staring at the cassette in her hands. "When I was a little girl," she started slowly. "When I was scared, you know, worried about my dad or nervous about starting at another new school, my mom would play this for me." She shrugged. "It always made everything better." She paused again before smiling at him. "The two constants in my life: Chicago . . . and my mom."
"Your mom is . . . something special. Your family's special, Cath," he said, his voice sincere.
She smiled, swallowing with a nod. "I know."
"Thanks for letting me see all this," he said, motioning to the box beside her.
She turned to face him more fully. "Steve, thank you for coming."
"Of course," he replied easily.
She put her hand on his forearm and held his gaze. "No, Steve, really. It meant a lot. That you'd use your leave and come out here. Meet my family. Answer some potentially uncomfortable questions. I mean, you know this was just round one, right? The rest of my family arrives tomorrow." She sighed, squeezing his arm. "It just . . . thank you."
He smiled and nodded. "You're welcome."
He leaned down and kissed her, moving a hand around her back to pull her closer. She shook her head, breaking the kiss.
"Oooh, nope, nope," she said with a chuckle.
"What?"
"This is my parents' bed. That's just . . ."
"Right," he said, standing quickly.
She stood as well, smirking at his reaction. "Come on, sailor. I bet they're setting up a rousing game of Rummikub right about now." She started for the hallway.
"Cath." He waited until she turned back before continuing. "I'm glad I came."
Her smile was bright in response before she moved into the hallway and out of sight.
Steve looked down at the box once more. He reached in, pulling out the Chicago cassette and stared down at it. Palming it against his thigh, he left the room to see Catherine standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
"I'll be right there," he said.
She nodded back at him before stepping into the kitchen as he continued to the den.
Later that night, Catherine was sifting through her bag for her sleepwear while Steve was in the bathroom down the hall.
She narrowed her eyebrows when she felt something hard in the bottom of the bag. Surprised, she pulled out the Chicago cassette tape, a slow smile forming on her face as she looked at it.
Glancing in the direction of the bathroom she sighed fondly. "What a softie."
Note: Thanks to my mom for talking through some of these scenes – and for being one of my constants.
Hope you enjoyed!