A/N: I've been lurking the Hawaii five-0 fandom for the past two months, and I find myself completely in awe of the fabulous authors out there. I really have no idea why I thought I could write fanfic for this fandom, but when the muses start beating the living crap out of me, both during my waking and sleeping hours who am I to argue. This is in fact my first fanfic ever and would appreciate constructive criticism, as I am quite sure it is not on par with everyone else's. It is also un-betaed, so all mistakes and glaring errors would fall directly on me. Title is from the song "Mad World" as sung by Gary Jules.

This is a multi-chapter story and explores some serious angsty themes and the dark nooks and crannies that can be found in Steve McGarrett's mind. Thank you for reading. ~stella

Disclaimer: No money or profit of any sort was made from this story. The characters and persons within belong entirely to CBS. If I owned them, I wouldn't have time to write stories.

Chapter 1: Worn Out Places, Worn Out Faces

The harsh glare from the desk lamp was starting to weaken as it was becoming saturated with the pre-dawn light from the open draped windows of the office. Steve looked with exhausted eyes at the remains of the pen scattered on his normally tidy desk. Bits of plastic and metal lay strewn across the open folders and peeked out from beneath the loose papers of the case he had come to call 'Hell'. He felt a fool for resorting to the childish act of destroying an inanimate object, but wasn't that what he had learned in the Navy; to squelch out those weaker in strength and smaller in their thinking than himself. Nothing could be done now for his act of violence, besides cleaning up the mess, yet he couldn't make his muscles move.

Closing his eyes to the wreckage wouldn't help either. He knows this because when he had tried that very act sometime in the wee small hours of the morning, the pen had taken on the shape of Kono's crumpled and broken body lying in stark contrast to the blazing white sheets of the ambulance stretcher. As long as there is breath powering his body, he would never forget her lost, unfocused eyes flickering about, like a pair of moths seeking out a recently extinguished light. His eyes had snapped open at that time to settle on the bleeding ink from the broken cartridge. He hasn't moved since then nor has his eyes wandered far from his savaged desk top. I'm going to have to reprint the pages beneath before Danny saw them, Steve thought miserably. But seeing the remnants of the pen for what it was – a pen did nothing to stop the sound and voices that had ricocheted around his mind since Saturday.

The screeching tires of the Camaro, the door of the tech van slamming open, the glass breaking from the garage door, the cocking of a multitude of weapons. The worst was the dull thud of a socket wrench hitting toned, brown skin, muffled by the transmission connection feeding into his ear. These sounds mingled with the shouts of his team and those of the suspected drug lords', which in turn melded with Kono's anguished cries. It amazed Steve, even today, how sharp each distinct sound was in his memory. And the words. The words of hate, love, loathing, fear, compromise, and condemnation seemed to cut him to the quick.

Danny's Jersey-toned inflection bit at him with a plethora of words such as "Go, go, go, go.", "We need back-up." "Fuckin' move." And the one that hurt the worst? "Stupid Fuckin' Rambo." Steve had thought that he and Danny were overcoming the boss and subordinate part of their relationship and becoming more friends and equals lately, maybe even more if he was brave enough to hope. So to hear Danny belittling his military background with the barely concealed disdain in his voice and calling him stupid as well, Steve could sense what little hope he had ebbing away. He knew that he should be planning for the upcoming raid, but he couldn't stop the memories or the words from coursing through his mind.

Both Chin's grunts of hate as he lashed out at his cousins' tormentors and the soothing platitudes of peace and wellness for the gasping woman were eventually overrun by the phrases, "Idiotic Military-brained shit" and "Crazy okole with a death wish." Not to mention a liberal dose of sad, but true even more venomous words in their Mother Island tongue.

The most catastrophic words to Steve. The ones that were absolutely a rusty dagger to his soul. The ones that would never leave Steve as long as blood was coursing through his veins was when Chin suggested in voice of unmitigated disdain, that Steve would never live up to the elder McGarrett's legacy.

Steve had felt like he had been gutted like an ahi at the time, but now staring at a destroyed pen, he knew that he had to concur with his father's old partner. He had seriously fucked up this case from the beginning, maybe . . . probably . . . no, definitely beyond repair. He would laugh if the feeling of absolute failure hadn't stole own voice. He would laugh at his acknowledgement and acceptance of the bittersweet revelation that his father had been right to send him away all those years ago. Hawaii was no good for Steve . . . and Steve had proved that he was unquestionably no good for Hawaii.

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~5*0~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

The din on the docks has reached mind-cancelling new levels as the number of emergency personnel in the forms of HPD, HFD, and EMT'S seemed to multiply drastically. What started as 5-0 and a handful of drug runners fifteen minutes ago has grown to nearly 100 bodies, each trying to accomplish their specific tasks without knocking each other into the drink. Granted this was hampered by the addition of the 22 (so far) Chinese immigrants that had been discovered packed into the bowels of the yacht.

Fingering the tape that spanned from the neck of his tac vest to just below his left ear, Danny watched as one of the wannabe baddies was finessed by the M.E. assistants into the shapeless black bags that the coroner used for transport. Early afternoon sun causing the plastic to shimmer not unlike the pool of crimson it lay next to. It turns out that having money enough to do these illegal activities does not necessarily merit a clean, bloodless getaway, Danny thought mirthlessly.

From his sitting position on the back of the ambulance, Danny tried to piece together when this case had become such a clusterfuck. What started as a simple case of suspected straws filled with pure heroin hitting the streets of Honolulu via imported cigarillos from the Philippines, has now turned into human trafficking, murder, illegal aid packages filled with guns, and a drug cartel ran by morons. Filthy, rich morons, mind you.

Dropping his head down to avoid actually having to continue seeing the carnage that was set off by these imbeciles and his very own idiot –McGarrett, he winced at the pull of the tape on the fine hairs near his hairline. The bandage covered the angry blistered skin burned by a glancing bullet. It stung like a bitch and would more than likely leave a faint scar, Danny thought, but at least it was the most minor injury he had had in a while and definitely not fatal. Neither of his wounds were, he reasoned, but the cut that circled from near the outer elbow to inner wrist of his left arm was going to require 'a bit of darning' as Nana Williams would have said.

"Detective Williams? The voice floated down from the cavernous depths of the ambulance he sat on. "We're getting ready to roll, Detective. We suggest that you ride on in with us and get that cut seen to. We've got like two min –."

"Yeah, yeah, let me . . . gimme a sec . . ." Danny muttered as he pulled himself to standing with the aid of the door. Sighing, he climbed up onto the step that he had just been sitting on when he realized he wasn't going to see anything from the ground and started scanning the crowd for Steve.

"We've got someone else in this bus. If you want to wait, which we don't recom -."

Danny glanced down at the EMT that was trying to hurry him and thought that it was impossible that this kid was doing this job, let alone even be allowed to obtain a drivers' license. He should be working a shave ice stand and trying to get to second base with some Becky Sue behind the surf shack. Hell, Danny thought miserably, after today, I might be working at the shave ice stand, but maybe not so much the Becky Sue. "Yeah, gimme a second, will ya? I got to let my partner know where I'm at."

Grunting, Danny pulled himself taller with the top of the loose door and let his gaze take in the melee that was slowing taking over the docks. He spotted a few of the HPD guys he knew before he settled his roving gaze on an extremely sage Chin, who in turn was nodding sympathetically at a noticeably frazzled Chinese man. From the bandages ringing the man's wrists and the wild expression his face held, Danny guessed that he, until a short time ago had thought that he was never going to see sky again.

Danny knew that if he called Chin over to let him know where he was going, there was a good chance that one of two things were going to happen; a) he would give Danny an ample amount of grief for interrupting his interrogation and then not give the message to their boss or b) he would offer sympathy for the pain Danny was in and then not give the message to their boss. Yep, Chin was not the man to play Mercury for Danny.

Chin was going to be out of that role for a while, especially since he and Steve have said maybe six words to each other since last Saturday and it was unlike they would speak in the foreseeable future. Saturday was the day that Kono caught the business end of one the cartel clowns' wrenches while working an angle undercover. The rest of the team had barreled into the garage in less than a minute, but that was enough time for the next 6-8 weeks of Kono's schedule to be cleared for physical therapy. Danny grimaced at the thought of pitting to the two men together over a measly message and took to skimming the crowd again.

He spotted Steve a few seconds later. He stood beyond the chaos of the dock and past the yellow cordon tape that flapped gaily in the costal breeze. Beyond even the growing ring of spectators and looky-loos. Steve stood stock still, feet shoulder width apart, free hand clenched behind his back, and dark head hung so low that Danny couldn't even see the bright reflection of the water between his chin and his sternum. Danny could only guess that Steve was getting the ass chewing of the century and it was a pretty safe guess as from whom.

He wished that he could actually be by his partners' side right now, if not for moral support, then for the idea of brother-in-arms or something like that. The past several months had been a series of up and downs like Danny had never experienced in all his years of policing; but through it all he knew, with not a single speck of doubt in his mind that Steve would always be there with him, to reassure and push him, to commiserate and celebrate. Over the course of the past couple of days . . . No . . . the past week or so, since they had first caught wind of this case, Steve had seemed a bit more distant, less sure of his actions. A very peculiar side of Steve that Danny had never seen before. One thing for sure though, he speculated as he watched Steve start to pace a little, he didn't like seeing it now and hoped never to see it again.

At first, Danny had thought that he was just overly tired and more than a bit disgusted with himself for the botched undercover raid and that he was projecting that onto Steve. Skewing reality or whatever. But with Kono hospitalized and Chin playing the role of the invisible man, Danny had more one-on-one time with Steve than usual. And in the past week Steve had morphed right before his eyes, but it seemed as if he was just now realizing it.

Gone was the slow, affable grin that Steve would adopt when Danny said something that amused him or berated him for his lack of knowledge on rules and regulations. Also AWOL were the bewitching hazel eyes that saw seemingly into his soul, seeking out all those troublesome thoughts and ideas that Danny fought to hide so that he could keep on getting a paycheck every two weeks. But for the life of him, Danny couldn't get his mind around the difference between the old Steve and this new hollow one.

"Detective -."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, one more second. Please."

"One more minute, sir, then we gotta roll."

Danny glanced at the kid again, scrunching his eyebrows and curling his lip at the word 'sir'. Glancing up at Steve again, Danny felt winded at the sudden realization of what his friend reminded him of.

It seemed that Steve had become hollow, kind of like the cracked shell that Gracie had picked up the last time the team took to the beach. Chin had explained to her that it once was a nice cozy home for a hermit crab, but the crab, in the interest of comfort and size had moved on to a bigger and better shell, thus leaving the smaller, damaged shell behind. Looking again at the slumped shoulders stance of his boss, Danny frowned at the image of Steve as a broken shell of a man.

"Detec-"

"Right. Okay, okay, I hear ya." Danny felt a very serious twinge of regret in his next decision. Lowering himself down with the help of the door and the youngster masquerading as an EMT, The detective granted himself another sigh, "Okay, let's go. I'll shoot him a text from the road."