Welcome to my new story. I really hope you enjoy it. I have reviewed it several times, but please excuse the grammar or spelling errors that may still exist. All constructive criticisms are welcome.

It's a story that has been spinning in my head for several days. As usual, I'm going to publish the new chapters every 1 or 2 days. Thank you very much for reading.

Disclaimer: All the characters and situations inherent in the Hawaii five-0 TV show are owned by its creators and CBS. They are taken back for entertainment purposes only. No money or goods have been exchanged in the publishing of this story.

THE BIG C

Chapter 1: Spiral Fall

The dark moonless night surrounds him, the cold of the desert makes his trained muscles shudder for a fraction of a second ... A cold that stings the bones and clogs the mind. The air, dry and sandy, scratches his throat leaving it red hot. Tries to breathe to clarify his ideas; three, five, ten inspirations and again focuses on the mission.

He makes a quickly inventory of his body. His muscles are numbed by the endless minutes he takes in the same position: Lying on his stomach with his legs slightly apart, on an uncomfortable bed of grass and sharp rocks, that ruthlessly attack his abdomen and thighs, in that inclement mound of red ground. The Barrett M107 rifle leaning on the bipod and pressing firmly on his right shoulder, very close to his chin. His right eye glued to the night vision telescopic sight, which has been focused, for the last 90 minutes, on the small group of houses that hang lazily from that hill more than 950 yards from his position.

Suddenly, he observes the man who goes out the door of a small house, located at the southern end of the village; he looks at him as he stops by the entrance, for a minute or two, turning his body 360 degrees, to try to detect some imminent danger. Then, the man sits down on the old, rotten trunk of a hazel tree, lights a cigar and begins to exhale slowly small wisps of smoke.

Carefully, looks through the high resolution monocle, to verify the target's identity. Satisfied, adjusts the distance and calculates the wind speed. "I have the target in sight," he says quietly, closing his eyes for a few seconds and breathing deeply to reduce his heart rate; points and with a deep exhalation, he shoots. The bullet crosses mercilessly the man's head, who falls to the ground a second later "The target has been eliminated ... I repeat, the target has been eliminated".

Steve opens the eyes and begins to look around to locate himself. After the first seconds, his breathing slows down. He's in his bedroom, in his house. Nervous, slides sideways to sit on the edge of the bed; his palms press firmly his eyes to try to overcome the impending headache that threatens to show up; his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin covered with sweat. Slowly, moving in the darkness, he reaches the bottle of water that invariably has on his bedside table and drinks all the contents in one swallow.

Takes his cell phone to check the time, 03:30 am. Repressing a curse, he hides his head in his hands. "The same ..." he thinks frustrated. This scene has been repeated almost every night for the last two months. To divert his attention, tries to focus on the breathing of the restless bundle that sleeps at the foot of his bed. He reaches out to meet Eddie's warm hairy skin and scratches the dog's head behind the ears. Eddie, upon feeling the contact, straightens its head to stare at him and trying to discover if there is any reason for alarm, to return to rest on his front legs and close his eyes a minute later.

"Who could be like you, my friend?" He asks softly, thinking about how easily Eddie can go back to sleep. He drops backwards on the bed, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes, hoping to follow Eddie's example and sleep, at least a couple of hours.

Danny is behind the wheel of the Camaro. He yawns loudly, while tuning into a radio station that doesn't broadcast depressing news. He has returned from New Jersey last night and has not had a good night's rest. Since he said goodbye to Brooke, a couple of months ago, the scenes have come back to his mind, again and again. The gunshot ... the hospital ... Uncle Vito recognizing the Ray's snapshot on the screen, Brooke throwing the ashes to the wind.

Parks the car in its usual place; The Silverado is already there. Danny watches, through the windshield, the tall figure of Steve, who walks slowly until he disappears through the doors of the Palace. "Every day is the same ..." he sighs.

The diminished Steve's body, still retains the deportment and his characteristic movements, but he has lost some weight and new lines have appeared on his face, as witnesses of what is happening in the recesses of the tormented soul of his friend. Danny thinks that, not long ago, he would have moved heaven, sea, and land to find out what has been bothering Steve over the past few weeks... but not now.

In silence, while drinking his coffee, tries to remember the last conversation between them that was not related to the restaurant, or the last time they both sat on the beach to hang out, while they drank cold beer. Danny knows that the distance between them is, for the most part, his fault, but he cannot help it. It's something like a defense mechanism ... a pretext for not facing reality. He knows that, in the end, he will end up asking and will have to receive, frustrated, the usual response "I'm fine, Danny. There's nothing to worry about".

Then Danny will have to push, take Steve to his limits so the man ends up declaring himself defeated and saying what has been happening.

Debating with himself, he finally leaves the car and walks towards the building, to face the inevitable.

A few minutes later, he pushes the glass door of Five-0's headquarters and walks slowly through the deserted area, slightly lit by the dim morning light that comes in through the windows. Deliberately, he quickly gets into his office, preventing his legs from taking him to the office on the corner, where Steve is sitting with his eyes lost. This has been the situation for weeks. Each one avoiding being alone with the other, trying to delay as much as possible, the moment in which they will finally have to talk.

After gathering courage, Danny gets up and leaves his office, walking to his friend's office, to push the door a few seconds later. "Hey ..." Greets, trying to sound casual. Steve raises his head and Danny can see his emaciated face, the unmistakable dark circles that have become daily and the eyes injected with blood, due to lack of sleep. The man sketches a stiff smile and says "Good morning ..." then, turns to look at the screen of his computer, to avoid holding the inquisitive Danny's look.

The detective gets into his friend's office and collapses on the sofa, breathing loudly. Steve asks him "Rough night? What time did your flight arrive? "

"Damn ten at night! I think I'm getting old." Danny answers. "Those long flights and the endless stops at the noisy, crowded Los Angeles Airport are really affecting me."

"How is your dad?" Steve's voice sounds genuinely concerned.

"The same ... Chemotherapy sessions have not helped much. Only now he's more tired and has less will to continue fighting", Danny tries to hold back the tears accumulating in his eyes. "It's hard... you know?"

"Yeah, I figure..." Steve makes a pause, as he looks at Danny, giving him some time to compose himself "Danny, if you need more time ... to be with him, it's okay. We can talk to the governor and ask for a temporary license."

"No, Steve ... I don't need a damn temporary license! I need to be at home and see my children ... I can't just leave them for a few months. " Inevitably, Danny's tone of voice rises, making him sound more angry and frustrated than he really feels.

Steve's gaze narrows in pain as he notices Danny's anger. Slowly he lowers his head, sighing. That's the way his friend has reacted over the past few months, at Steve's slightest attempt to help him. Silently, Steve decides that the best thing is to end this conversation for now, and turns to look at the screen again, feigning a great interest in the long list of unread emails, which has accumulated over the weekend.

Danny closes his eyes, cursing himself for his overreaction. After calming down, looks at Steve, who, deliberately avoids looking at him. "I'm sorry ... It's just that, seeing Mom suffering from slowly losing the love of her life and my sisters trying to pretend that everything is fine ... it's driving me crazy, buddy. It's killing me! I didn't want to react like that, Steve ... I'm sorry. "

"I understand, Danny," Steve says, without taking his eyes off the computer, "If I can do anything ... whatever, to help you, please just let me know, okay?" Danny can see that Steve's emotional walls are rising inexorably to protect him from his friend's verbal attacks.

"Steve ..." Danny tries to open a gap in those walls "Talk to me, buddy ... I really need to know what is happening, because this silence between us is killing me ..."

"Silence?" Steve finally looks up, "There's no silence, Danny. We're fine." Steve tries to get his voice to reflect a confidence he's far from feeling. "It's just that I'm tired. The trip to Nigeria and the tension for not knowing if I would find Joe alive, really exhausted me ... But I'm fine now."

"You're really a very bad liar, my friend. I know you and I know that you are far from being fine. I just want you to talk to me." Danny has returned to sit on the couch, and looks at Steve, pleading.

"What am I supposed to say to you, Danny?" Now it's Steve who gets up from his chair, but his tone of voice remains impassive. "I talk to you every day ... I really don't know what I'm supposed to tell you." He walks to the door, quickly leaving his office and walking down the hall, muttering a "Good morning" when he meets Lou who, at that moment, leaves the elevator. Two seconds later, the bathroom doors close behind him.

After numerous arcades, he sits on the cold white tile floor, waiting for his legs to recover their strength and nausea to disappear. Huge drops of sweat dot his face and his hands tremble uncontrollably.

The bathroom door opens, and Danny gets in, blocking the lock behind him. Looks around and find Steve shaking, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and breathing hard. Alarmed, he takes a couple of paper towels and leans to wipe the sweat from his friend's face.

"I'm fine ..." Steve whispers, anticipating the questions that crowd Danny's mouth, fighting to get out.

"Yes, of course you are." Danny gives up his tirade and sits down on the floor next to Steve, summing up all of his concern in one question, "Are you going to tell me now what's going on?

"I'm fine, Danny. It's just that the episodes of dizziness and nausea came back, and I'll have to take those horrible pills again. "

"Have you go to see the doctor?" Danny looks inquisitiveness at Steve, tries to figure out if his friend is lying to minimize the truth. Steve nods silently. Danny tries again asking, "And?"

Steve denies with his head and shrugs but says nothing. Danny insists, "You know, you'll end up telling me Steve, why don't we save all the conversation in ping-pong, from you not wanting to say anything and from me insisting until you say it?"

"You have too many things to think about right now, Danny." At that moment, Danny notices that Steve has not used his nickname even once. Things must be terribly wrong, Steve ends, "You don't need to add anything else to that list."

"You're not something else on the list, Steve." Danny puts his hands on Steve's shoulders and say, "I need to know what's going on. "

Slowly, Steve takes a crumpled envelope from the back pocket of his pants, opens it and takes out a sheet of paper, handing it to Danny, who takes it and begins to read. As his eyes move along the text, his face pales and he feels panic begin to tighten his throat.