Wow! Thanks for all the flattering reviews. It took me forever to get this story written because I'm more comfortable with action and humor. Angst comes hard and this story is nothing but. It's also not a linear story but the chapter titles will give you a vague idea of the order of events. Vague, because Danny only has a vague idea of what day it is. And, yes, we will get to the rest of the team eventually, but don't think that will end the angst.

Chapter 2 – Before

Time passed, a couple of days, Danny guessed but it was impossible to tell when the Tiger Twins in their stupid striped shirts beat him unconscious then drugged him unconscious and then beat him some more. They gave him no food but occasionally poured water (drugged, of course) down his throat so he had to swallow it or drown.

His head spun and he burned and shivered by turns as if he had a terrible fever.

Danny's emotions were all over the place. He blamed it on the concussion he knew he must have and the drugs that made him sweat and twitch. He knew it, but couldn't control it. It was like riding a wild horse or trying to surf the Banzai Pipeline. One still, small observer in his mind held aloof, recognizing the problem and locking down the words his enemies wanted to hear, because a life was at stake, maybe two — three if he counted his own. For the rest, Danny had never been afraid to show his emotions. He threw them in his captors' faces. He cursed and giggled, wept in heartbreak and raged in fury.

But he never answered their question.

Not for two days.

Not even when they broke his leg.

The femur in his right leg.

With a crowbar.

Danny passed out from the pain. When he woke, he was no longer tied to a chair. In fact the chair was gone, as were the two Hawaiians. Danny was lying on the bare wooden floor of the bare room. There was no furniture, no rug, no lamps. The only light came through small cracks between the boards that covered up the windows.

He had all his clothes, even his tie and his shoes, but there was nothing in his pockets, even his wristwatch was missing, so he couldn't judge the passing minutes except by the rhythmic pounding of his head.

His leg also throbbed, unless he tried to move it, whereupon it screamed in agony. He could feel the broken ends of his thighbone grating against each other, but thankfully they hadn't slipped out of alignment. Still, he didn't have a prayer of walking on it. But the way his head spun from the drugs, he probably couldn't have walked anyway. His bruised and beaten body ached, but nothing else seemed to be broken. The sharpest sting came from a mere cut lip and a puncture mark on his arm where he must have been injected recently.

Swell, more drugs.

On the bright side, no one was beating him at the moment.

He was entirely alone, until the two Hawaiians yanked open the door, letting painfully bright sunlight flood into the room. Danny raised his hand to protect his watering eyes and saw the two tormentors throw Steve McGarrett into the room and slam the door again.

"No, no, no," Danny sobbed, dragging himself to his fallen friend who lay limp and unmoving. "No. Steve!"

"Are they gone?" Steve asked quietly, without opening his eyes.

Danny wept with relief. "Yes." He wiped his eyes with his forearm.

Steve opened his baby blues and scanned the room without moving. Satisfied they were alone, he bounded to his feet and quickly checked the door. "Locked," he said unnecessarily.

Steve came back to his battered friend and crouched beside him, one hand on Danny's shoulder. "You OK? I mean, you've looked better." He mouth quirked, trying win an answering smile from Danny.

"Felt better," Danny admitted. He gulped to control himself and said in a semblance of a normal, scolding tone. "What are you doing here? I was counting on you to rescue me!"

Steve grinned and shrugged. "I let them capture me," he said easily. "It seemed like the quickest way to find you. I can get out anytime," he said confidently. "Navy SEAL, remember?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "You know you're insane, right?"

"Yeah, I missed you, too." Steve squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I'm going to get you out of here, Danny."

Danny clawed at Steve's knee. "Go. You've got to go. I'll only slow you down."

Danny cudgeled his hazy brain to marshal his arguments. Steve took the "leave no man behind" philosophy seriously. But Danny couldn't walk, couldn't even stand. His leg was broken. He reeled like a drunken man just trying to sit up. He would be worse than dead weight in an escape. Steve could make better time without him and could bring back help.

Danny opened his mouth to explain, but was forestalled when Steve agreed with him.

"I can't take you with me," Steve said. "But I'll be back as quick as I can with help."

Danny was shaken to his core. Steve would abandon him, without argument. Steve would take the sensible course and call for backup and rescue. In his confusion, Danny wondered if he'd actually made his arguments out loud and persuaded Steve to be sensible. That would be a first, he thought with an inward chuckle.

"Not like you to actually listen to me," Danny said.

"I listen, when you're right. You're just usually wrong," Steve answered.

Danny huffed a laugh, then clutched his stomach as a spasm of cramps rippled through him.

"Breathe. Breathe," Steve soothed, holding Danny's shoulders to support him. "Slowly."

This close, Danny noticed bruises on Steve's face, a swollen cheek and a split lip that was just scabbing over.

"I guess you met the Tiger Twins," Danny said, touching the split lip. "You hurt?"

Steve shrugged. "I've had worse. They were asking me about some old case of yours from New Jersey, but they seemed to believe me when I said I had no idea. I think they plan to use me as leverage to make you talk, but I don't plan to stay around to find out. What's it all about, anyway? Is someone else in danger? Is there someone else I should warn?"

Danny thought about the case. It had started so long ago with a call out to a drive-by shooting at the home of a known gangster, the son of one of the most powerful mob bosses in a state known for mob bosses. Patrol Officer Danny Williams interviewed the scared young wife, the mob boss' daughter-in-law, whose two-year-old daughter clung to her. A new father himself, Danny treated Helen Kaminsky like a human being instead of a criminal. She didn't know anything and her husband stonewalled the cops, as they expected. The investigation didn't get anywhere and several back-and-forth retaliatory shootings later, the incident faded from mind.

Until Helen called Danny one day and offered to give information about her father-in-law. She was a widow now, her husband killed in one of those shootings. She wanted the violence to end before it claimed her child.

Danny was the only cop she trusted. He arranged for her to talk to a trustworthy judge. She didn't dare testify against her father-in-law in open court and she didn't know much that was really damaging, but she'd accidentally discovered where he hid his records. It was enough for the judge to issue a search warrant. The evidence in his papers was sufficient to bring down the mob boss, but even from jail he'd had enough clout to try to find the person who'd given away his secrets. He never suspected Helen.

Last Danny heard, she was making a new life out of the mob's shadow. The boss wasn't much interested the woman and her girl. A grandson would have been different, but a granddaughter was hardly worth thinking about. Kaminsky would have no trouble executing the mother of his granddaughter if he found out she was responsible.

Everyone involved in the case was under a gag order to not reveal the circumstances, especially the name of the witness. Even Danny's involvement should have been secret. Somehow the mob boss' people had learned Danny's name. Now they were after Helen's.

Sick from the beatings, confused by drugs and weakened by sudden hope, Danny almost told Steve about Helen. He'd worry about the judge's gag order later. He trusted Steve like a brother.

And he teased him like a brother.

"Sorry. Can't tell you. It's classified," he joked weakly.

And Steve made the wrong face.

Danny expected exasperation and "we don't have time to fool around now," but he got fond indulgence. Danny gaped in shock. He'd only seen Steve's indulgent face once, directed at Grace on Christmas Day. Why, Steve almost looked like he understood what Danny meant! How could that be?

Memories of movies about pod people and robot impersonators slithered through the fog in Danny's brain, but the detective came to the fore. The detective needed more evidence.

"Steve" saw Danny go pale with shock.

"Hey, you going to be sick?" he asked in concern.

"No, dizzy," Danny complained, which was the truth. He let himself fall and trusted the Steve impostor to catch him, which he did.

"Easy, Danny. Take it easy."

So close to his suspect, the detective looked for any discrepancies. Was that a faint plastic surgery scar at the corner of the mouth? Did the voice have a faint accent? Didn't that "take" sound a bit like "tyke," a little bit Australian?

But it was Danny's nose that picked up the telling clues. There was a hint of aftershave and a manly scented soap, when the former commando habitually used unscented soap and deodorant so the enemy couldn't smell him coming. And there was a whiff of gin, which was three times wrong because Steve couldn't abide the flavor of gin, rarely drank anything stronger than beer and wouldn't dull his senses when his best friend was missing.

Danny's head lolled back against the shoulder of this man who smelled all wrong.

This wasn't Steve at all. It was just a different sort of interrogation.

Covertly studying his false friend, Danny spotted a pocket in the cargo pants that seemed weighed down. His captors had taken everything in Danny's pockets. They would have searched Steve, right? They wouldn't have left him with something so heavy.

As "Steve" tried to settle Danny more comfortably, Danny slipped his hand into the leg pocket and pulled out a small, flat automatic, a perfect hideout pistol.

"Is that a gun in your pocket, Steve, or are you just glad to see me?" Danny said coldly.

Steve shrugged easily. "I lifted that off one of the guards. I told you I could get out whenever I wanted." And damned if he didn't smirk a genuine McGarrett smirk.

Uncertain all over again, Danny hesitated. Was this the real McGarrett? Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was wrong.

"Come on, Danno," Steve said kindly. "The way you're shaking, you might hurt someone. Better give it back."

The bigger man caught the gun to bend it gently out of Danny's hands. He knew Danny was badly injured and couldn't put up much of a fight. Despite thinking that, he forgot that Danny was badly injured. As "Steve" twisted the gun, Danny's whole body twisted. The broken ends of his femur slipped apart. Danny screamed in agony, his hands clenched convulsively around the trigger.

The blast was loud, louder than he expected from the small gun. Steve's grip dragged Danny down, crashing to the floor in a red wave of pain. Wheezing for long, long moments, Danny sagged across a motionless pair of legs. Eventually the detective rolled to his back and laboriously pushed himself backwards until he could sit in the corner braced against the wall. Panting, head swimming, he wiped the back of his hand across his sweating face and surveyed the scene in front of him — the still body with the familiar face and a mess of gray and red where the top of his head should be.

"And don't call me, Danno," the detective whispered while tears ran down his face.

To Be Continued