What the Hell Is Going On, Steven?
Present time…
"Okay, people, I know it's a Friday and you all could care less about this English crap, but, please, work with me!" I begged my seniors that stared up at me with blank faces, as I paced in front of the whiteboard. "What is metaphysical poetry?"
Kai Landry, the class clown, sat up from his slump over the desk and raised his hand. "Yo, Mrs. McGee, when are we gonna be done with this poetry shiiii – I mean, crap?"
"When you guys work with me and tell me what I want to hear, Kai." I said, placing my hands on my hips. It seems I was going to have to pull out the big guns; bribery. "Look, if you guys cooperate with me for five minutes, I'll…"
I was cut off from my small plead of cooperation when my phone rang, normally I would press 'ignore' and go on with my class, but the ringtone was the Navy SEALs' ringtone – it was Steve's international cell phone calling me. My comfy, bamboo wedges clomped on the floor as I hurried over to my purse. "Guys, I have to take this, so you have the last eleven minutes to talk quietly to each other."
Stepping into the office, I closed the door as I pressed 'talk.' "Hello? Steve?"
"Charley! Where are you?" Steve asked, hurriedly.
I watched the students through the door window, as I answered, "At the school. Why, what's going on, Steve?"
"When does school get out?" Steve demanded, ignoring my question.
I glanced up at the wall clock. "In like nine minutes. Steven, what is going on? Why do you sound worried? Should I be worried, Steven?"
"Listen to me, Charley, there's no time. As soon as that bell rings, I want you to get your stuff and go the U.S.S Arizona memorial. Do not go home or to my dad's! Do not go there!" Steve repeated, harshly.
I pursed my lips. "No, you, listen to me, Steven McGarrett, you better tell me what the fuck is going on or I'm hanging up, going home and hey, maybe I'll go have a beer with your dad. What. Is. Going. On."
Steve was silent for a couple of seconds before he dropped the bomb on me. "Dad was murdered. Please, Charley, just meet me there."
I sank to the floor when he mentioned his father's murder; tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to stay strong for Steve. "Okay. Okay…Wait a minute. Did you just say that I'll be meeting you there?"
"Yeah, I'm right over Oahu as we speak." Steve spoke to someone on his side. "Charley, be careful and get here. Safely…I love you."
"I love you too," I whispered and hung up just as the bell rang.
III
I hurried through the small crowd of tourist as they were about to take the small ferry out to the U.S.S Arizona to pay their respects to the soldiers that died there; my eyes searching for my husband's familiar figure. Despite the cool breeze, I felt stifling in my white linen pants and turquoise short sleeved shirt, as I began to panic when I didn't spot Steve in the crowds - I had a sensor, it would seem, when it comes to him. Disturbing thoughts were coursing through my head; what if the murderers were waiting for him and Steve was lying somewhere dead. I felt someone come up behind me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up; it was him, it was Steve. The man knew how to make my body aware of him. I took a steady breath before turning to face him; a slight smile was on Steve's face. And, he was in his dress uniform. Damn. I didn't even notice the Asian man standing next to him in the uniform of one of the shops; we were in our own world.
"Hi, there, sailor," I greeted coyly, as I do every time he comes home.
Steve grinned and pulled me close; he nuzzled my ear as he whispered, "I've missed you, Charley. It's been a long six months."
Someone cleared their throat; Steve pulled me into his side as we turned to face the person who interrupted us; my grin widened when I recognized the man. "Chin Ho Kelly!"
"Charley," Chin greeted warmly. "How are you?"
"You know each other?" Steve asked, curiously.
"After you left like a month after we moved here, your father invited me to dinner over at your old house and Chin was there," I explained to Steve, whose face hardened slightly at the mention of his father. Regret was also in his eyes. The whole purpose of us moving to Hawaii was for Steve and his father to reconnect and Steve had missed his homeland. Now, he'll never get that relationship back from before his mother had died.
"Steven," I murmured, concernedly.
Stone Cold Steve was put into place; he looked down at me and started to guide us towards the parking lot. "If you'll excuse us, Chin, we have a funeral to get to."
I glanced back at Chin and gave him a sympathetic smile; Chin nodded in understanding and went in the opposite direction that we were going in. I jerked away from him and glared. "Well, that was rude of you, Steven."
"We don't have much time, Charlene. My father is dead and the bastard who killed him is roaming around on my turf; excuse me if I'm a little pressed for time," Steve stated, as we came up to his truck. "Keys, Charley."
"Why do you get to drive?" I demanded indignantly; pulling them out of my purse and handing them over to Steve before he could answer. This routine was also familiar.
He unlocked the truck, opened the passenger door and boosted me up into the seat. Just because I was short, doesn't mean that I couldn't get into the truck by myself, but he likes to try and make me swoon. "Because, you drive as good as I play basketball."
My jaw dropped slightly, as he skirted the truck to the driver side. "What are you talking about? I'm an excellent driver! I've never gotten a ticket unlike someone I know."
He cracked a smile at me, as he cranked up his truck. "Sorry, but I don't bat my eyelashes at the cop and then, stick out my chest."
I blushed when his eyes dropped to my chest briefly. "Hey, I suffer from the size of these things; I should at least be able to use them any way I want. And, it just so happens that they are great at getting out of tickets."
He chuckled and continued to drive. The further he drove the more tense he became; I glanced at him worriedly. "Steven, what happened?"
Steve glanced over at me briefly before turning his eyes back on the road. From the tightening of his knuckles on the wheel, I knew that Steve didn't want to tell me, but tough. "Steven?"
"We've been tracking this guy, Victor Hesse, for years. We were in South Korea when we captured his brother, Anton, and as we were driving him back to the plane, I got a call from my father, but it was Victor Hesse on the line. He was holding dad hostage for his brother's freedom and then, he mentioned that if my father's life didn't work that he'd find my pretty, little wife and use her for bait. We were ambushed and Anton had gotten away from me while I was busy trying to help my team out, he had managed to get a hold of a gun; I had no choice but to shoot him. Victor called me back and then, my father was dead." Steve spoke in monotone; the guilt he felt crushing away at him.
I took off my seatbelt to scoot closer to my husband. "Steven, it was not your fault. You had no idea that Hesse was going to come after your father or me. You're human, not Captain America."
He sighed as he pulled into the cemetery. "Just drop it, Charley."
"Fine," I snapped. "But, we will talk about this. Later."
"Oh, joy," he muttered, sarcastically, as he got out of the truck.
III
"Steven," I hissed, as he stalked towards his childhood home like a man on a mission. And, if I knew my husband, he was. "This is very illegal. You're military, not HPD!"
He turned to me sharply. "Charley, if this makes you uncomfortable then go wait in the truck like I told you earlier."
"And, leave you to be arrested? Till death do us part, husband; besides…" I stopped short at the sight of blood splattered across Steve's high school trophies, I peeked up at Steve and he was vacant. "You don't have to do this part, Steven."
"I'm fine," he placated me, as he stepped into his father's office area.
(AN: If you noticed in the summary, Charley's maiden name is Zukov, which is Russian. Her father is Russian, mother is American; you'll find out the details later, but just so you know, italics in the dialogue will be her speaking Russian. It's easier than translating.)
"Liar," I hissed in Russian.
As Steve investigated the crime scene, I looked around for anything out of place or missing – not touching anything, of course – because I was just here five days ago when Steve was last here about six month ago. Steve went to his father's desk and I noticed that a space was cleared away; Steve did too as he poised his hands over the empty space as if there was a lap top there. Something was missing from there. Something red… "His toolbox!"
"What," Steve demanded from his position of taking a picture of a fingerprint that he had just uncovered.
"Right here, there was one of those big, red toolboxes. I think it was a 'Champion' brand, but all it said was 'Champ' and your father kept whatever in side of it a secret." I explained, indicating the spot next to the desk. A flicker of recognition flashed through his eyes when I said 'champ.'
Steve crossed over to me, cupped my jaw and pressed a hard kiss to my lips. "Charley, baby, you're amazing."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Well, duh! So, I'm assuming that this toolbox is important."
"When Victor Hesse called me, I was allowed to speak with my father and he kept calling me, 'champ' and my father never called me that." Steve explained, as he paced in front of me; rubbing his hands over his face.
"And, where would this toolbox be?" I asked.
He paused and looked past me through the window. "The garage."
Steve placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the door that led to the garage; he wasn't going to leave me alone for awhile, it seems. I took in the sight of his father's garage; it was a typical one with tools and other various lawn or car care equipment; Steve paused at the car under the tapestry. He took a deep breath before whipping it off and gazing at the car that he and his father were building together when he was younger; it was beautifully, black and sleek. "He was going to give it to me when I graduated high school."
I rubbed his muscular back. "Well, it's your now, Steven."
He peered at me from over his shoulder. "When the house is cleared, I want us to live here."
Even after months of fixing up our apartment, I didn't argue because I didn't have the heart to. "Okay. Okay."
Steve caught sight of the toolbox and went to examine it while I caressed the car with soft hands; I was always a sucker for classic cars. The sound of Jack's voice had me looking over. "I can't continue this investigation within the police department from the inside. I don't trust the people I work with, so I'm gonna have to do this on my own. It's all about the key; I just don't know what it's for…"
I had begun to walk over to Steven's side when there was a creak of the floorboards; Steve hastily put the tape recorder back in the box and closed the lid while I glanced around the garage for an escape route that wouldn't cause too much ruckus, but it seems the person was on us already. He was short for a man, but handsome with slicked back hair and blue eyes, as he pulled his weapon out. "You! Hey, hands up; don't move!"
Steve was quick and had his weapon pointed at the man, demanding, "Who are you?"
I inched towards Steve and the guy's gun swung in my direction; I held my hands up in surrender as Steve snapped, "Hey, don't aim at her; look at me! Who are you?"
"Who are you? I am Detective Danny Williams," this 'Danny Williams' challenged, as Steve sidled in front of me; blocking me from the detective's view.
"Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett. This is my father's house."
"Put your weapon down," Williams demanded, tersely. "Right now. That's my final order."
"No, you put your weapon down," Steve argued, his 'no nonsense' voice thickening his voice.
"Show me your I.D.," Williams demanded, angrily.
"I'm not putting my weapon down," Steve stated calmly.
"Well, neither am I."
I peeked around his side, as Steve sighed. "Use your free hand, take out your I.D."
"Oh, please, after you." Williams said, sarcastically.
"At the same time?" Steve suggested.
Williams cocked an eyebrow. "At the same time? What, like on a count of three?"
"Sure, three's good." Steve complied.
They both slowly lowered their weapon and a pulled out there I.D as Williams counted to three. When he saw Steve's identification, he sighed heavily and completely put away his gun. "Listen, um, I really sorry about your father, but you guys can't be here right now. This is an active crime scene."
"Doesn't seem that active," Steve countered, as he grabbed the toolbox.
"Steven," I warned. My husband really needed to learn how to play nice.
"I can't share any information with you," Williams informed, stepping closer to us.
"Hesse wasn't here alone when he killed my father. Someone was sitting at his desk, there was a spaced cleared away for a 13 inch laptop. My father hated computers."
Williams looked annoyed as he gestured to the door. "I'm gonna ask you again. You both need to leave."
Steve lifted up the toolbox and grabbed my arm strongly, but not enough to bruise. "You got it."
"And, you can leave the box; that's evidence – you know this." Williams commanded; sounding very agitated.
"I came with this," Steve stated, simply. I rolled my eyes and waited. Men and their pissing contests.
"No, you did not come with it," Williams argued. "I see the dust void right here on the counter. What's in the box?"
"How long you been with the Honolulu police?" Steve asked, mockingly.
"None of your business. What are you; Barbara Walters?" Williams asked, sarcastically. I could see that it was taking a lot of restraint not to hit Steve.
"No, it is my business if you're investigating my father's death," Steve insisted, strongly.
I grabbed my husband's arm. "Steven, let the man do his job and stop being an asshole!"
"Yes, thank you!" Williams exclaimed, sticking out his hand for me to shake. "Detective Danny Williams."
"She knows that, she was standing right there," Steve snapped, but I elbowed him aside and shook Danny's hand. "Charley McGarrett and I apologize for my husband's behavior."
Danny looked incredulously between us. "You're married to…him?"
Steve looked ready to retort, but I pressed a hand against his chest. "Yes, I know, but trust me, he has some redeeming qualities."
"I'm sure," Danny muttered.
"Back to our discussion, please," Steve snapped, as he pulled out his phone. "I'm taking over this crime scene."
"What," Danny and I asked, confusedly.
"Uh, yeah, Governor Jameson, please, tell her it's Steven McGarrett," he told whoever answered the phone; I looked at my husband with questioning eyes. What the hell was he doing? "Governor, I'll take the job. Let's just say I found something that's changed my mind. Oh, no, immediately. I'll transfer to the reserves and run your task force…Right now? Okay." Steven faces away from us and held his right hand up. "I, Stephen J. McGarrett, do solemnly declare upon my honor and conscience, that I will be ready to confront danger in the line of duty, to support and defend this country, no matter what the cost, and will act at all times, to the best of my ability and knowledge, in a manner befitting an officer of the law…Thank you, Governor."
He glared at Danny. "Now, it's my crime scene."
We gaped after him, confused about what happened, but I regain sense and hurried after Steve's long strides. "What the hell was that?"
He ignored me and got into the truck; I pulled myself up without assistance and turned to him. "Seriously, Steven, what was that?"
"Did you have to undermine me like that, Charlene?" Steve snapped, ignoring my question.
I made a face at him. "Undermine you? I did not! You were being a complete dick to a guy who was just doing his job. And, the whole Governor thing? When did she offer you a job to run a task force?"
"She met me at Pearl Harbor and asked me to do the job, with immunity, her backing and no red tape. At the time, I was more concerned on seeing you. But, with that Detective, who was just doing his job, I thought it was a good idea." Steve shrugged, as if he just didn't mock me. I glared at him from across the cab of the truck.
"You know I hate it when you do that," I hissed at him.
Steve glanced over at me with a cheeky grin. "I know."
"Why did I marry you again," I sighed in defeat.
"Because you love me." Steve pointed out, audaciously.
I laughed at his response. "Nah, you were great in the sack."
"Just great?" Steve cocked an eyebrow at me.
III
Later that night, I was propped up in bed as Steve was washing his face and brushing his teeth; I was curious about what this job could mean. He walked out of the bathroom in just his black boxer briefs; I cocked an eyebrow as I took in the sight of my much put together husband, but damn it, I was going to be strong. I pushed up my glasses, as I asked, "So, if you're on the reserves, does that mean you won't be called away?"
Steve grinned at my choice of pajamas; one of his tee shirts. "So, that's where all my shirts disappear to. But, yes to your question, they can't call me away unless I take myself off the reserves."
I tapped my lips thoughtfully. "So, that means I get to have a husband and not some rowdy sailor on leave?"
He laughed as he started to crawl up the bed; mischief sparkling in his eyes. His warm, calloused hand skimmed up my thigh, as he inched up towards my mouth. When our lips were just a breadth away, Steve whispered huskily, "Well, you know what they say about sailors on leave?"
My lips curved into a smirk, as I moved my face in closer; our lips brushing against each others. "Mmm, no, what do they say?"
"No one knows how to rattle a headboard better than a sailor on leave," he murmured, nipping at my chin.
"Oh, really? Is that what they say?" I asked, breathlessly as his lips rubbed against my soft throat; I could feel my body responding instantly. This man should seriously be illegal. And, he's all mine.
"Mhmm," Steve hummed against my pulse point. "Oh, and Mrs. McGarrett?"
His hand was so distracting, as it crept up the inside of my thigh. "Yes, Mr. McGarrett?"
"I don't recall you asking to borrow my shirt." Steve nipped my shoulder in rebuke, as he pulled my glasses off and set them on the nightstand.
Chuckling to myself, I sat up from my slump; Steve pulled back to accommodate my movement. His eyes were dark with hunger, as I gripped the hem of his shirt and said coyly, "Well, we can't have thievery now, can we?"
He helped me pull the shirt off and then, he pounced.
III
AN: Okay, there's the second chapter. I hope you like it and don't forget to review!
