Chapter 4 – All Out in the Open

When Jen had stepped off the plane, only a few short hours ago, she never could have imagined that she would be sitting in the kitchen of Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett, a mystery man from her days with the Agency, or that she would actually be trying to sort out how to tell him about all the things she had thought she would take to the grave.

Yet, here she was, sitting on a bar stool in Steve's kitchen, watching him cook up a storm, a cup of hot tea in her hands.

"So," she broke the silence after a few moments causing him to look up from the pan of lasagna in front of him, "Lt. Commander huh? And if my real estate buddy can be believed, a former Navy Seal? I can only assume military intelligence?"

"Yeah," he admitted, equally unnerved by the fact that he could actually talk about these things with her, "Almost a decade in the Navy, then almost five years in military intelligence, before I finally retired. I'm still a reservist, so I maintain the rank, but these days my day job is somewhat more mundane. I head a police task force for the Governor, called Five-O."

"It's a natural transition isn't it?" she noted, "Intel to law enforcement, I mean. A lot of the same skills set, and we still get to put criminals behind bars, just without all of the isolation and secrets…"

"Yeah, I guess it is," he agreed, but then he noticed something, "We?"

"Ah," she said, "You caught that, huh? I made the same transition after Rose was born. I actually ended up working for the FBI, the Behavior Analysis Unit out of Quantico."

"So, you're a bad ass Bureau profiler?" he was quite impressed, but not surprised, having observed her undercover skills first hand, "But then what brings you to my island?"

"Was a profiler…" she said, again unsure how to explain.

Steve finished prepping the lasagna and put the pan in the oven, set the timer, and made his way over to Jen, sitting down beside her, "What happened?" he asked her for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

"Nothing at first," she hedged, "I took back my life as Emily Prentiss, Supervisory Special Agent in the FBI. I became a part of the BAU team; really they became like family to me. I got the fresh start I was looking for. For about five years, everything was perfect. Or at least as perfect as things can ever be when you work insane hours, travel nonstop, and spend every waking minute with your team, mostly dealing with serial killers…"

"Sounds like a glamorous life," Steve laughed, but didn't let it go, "What changed?" He suspected Doyle's escape was what catalyzed her major shift in locale, but that had been almost four years ago, and he wanted to know why she was suddenly here in Hawaii living under a fake name.

"Ian Doyle escaped from prison," she began, confirming his suspicions, "He found out that Lauren Reynolds had really been a spy, and had survived. He started hunting down my old team, killing them and their families. By the time we figured out what was happening it was too late; all but three of us were already dead. Clyde and Tsia, the other two surviving members of my team, made their way to DC and we prepared to make a final stand together. Tsia was meeting an old contact of mine to secure fake IDs for us in case we needed to disappear on short notice, and Doyle found her. She was dead before Clyde or I could get to her."

"I'm so sorry," Steve took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. This was just yet another painful memory for her that was associated with her former profession, and she couldn't help feeling a sudden profound sadness for her loss.

"Clyde wanted to tell my team at the BAU what was going on, to ask for their help, but I wouldn't let him. They were the closest thing I had to a real family, and I knew that if Doyle found out about them, he'd use them to get to me. Hotch, my boss, he has a son, Jack, who reminds me so much of Declan. And JJ, our media liaison, she has a son, Henry about the same age. They would have been in danger because of me, and I just couldn't let that happen," she begged him to understand, and really, he did. She put her friends and their families ahead of herself and her fellow agent. She protected the innocent lives at the risk of her own. It was truly honorable.

"What happened to Clyde?" he asked gently, sensing that her old friend was long dead now.

"I tried to get him to leave the country, to run, but the old fool just wouldn't listen," she explained, a stray tear sliding down her cheek as she was yet again overcome by her emotions, "Doyle caught up to him while I was procuring automatic weapons. He was dead before I returned. He died alone…"

Steve wrapped his arms around her tightly, rubbing soothing circles into her back, "He knew what was coming Jen. He made his choice to stay and fight. It wasn't your fault."

"I wish I could believe that…" she whispered, "But he was in London, safely removed from the whole thing, and Doyle didn't even know who he was. Whoever was feeding him his information hadn't mentioned Clyde. He came to DC to help me, to protect me. And Doyle found out about him because of me, and killed him because of me. He died alone, an ocean away from home, because I wasn't there to help him."

"As horrible as all of that is, that's on Doyle, not you," Steve insisted, "You survived. You protected your friends at the Bureau. You brought down the bastard to begin with, and gave his children a chance at a real life away from all the violence and death. You did that. You. And all the horrible things that that man did cannot negate who you are, or all of the good you have done."

She couldn't believe how good to felt to hear those words. Those were the words of support and encouragement she had desperately needed back then, and there had been no one to say them, no one to help her deal with all of it.

"Thank you," she said simply, letting all of her emotions seep into that two little words.

The two of them simply stayed like that for what felt like hours after that, holding onto each other, Jen trying to quiet the sobs which racked her slender frame, Steve doing what he could to soothe her guilt and pain.

They only finally pulled apart when the oven chimed, letting them know the lasagna was ready.

"Go ahead and freshen up," Steve told her, pulling her to her feet, "The bathroom is down the hall, on the left," he pointed out, "I'll get dinner ready and we can talk more over food, ok?"

"Yeah, ok," she agreed and made her way down the hall, trying to pull herself together.