No Stranger to Hell

Chapter 4

Sorry, sorry! I missed the deadline and I don't have a good excuse for doing so. I hope you all will forgive me and keep reading. Am working diligently on the next chapter. This one is a little shorter and I'm not even sure if it makes that much sense.

The lovely SPNGran, (who kicked my butt to get this chapter out), took a good shot at catching my mistakes. Of course, I just had to mess with afterward so all remaining mistakes belong to Imaginary Beta. She thought she could coast but forgot about that 'best laid plans' thing.

Disclaimer: Don't get paid for this and, at the moment, don't deserve to be.

*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*

Red Blood and Orange Socks

After two more hours waiting for the results of the blood draw, Steve had had enough.

Threatening to just sign himself out AMA, he'd convinced a reluctant Dr. Farina to let him leave the hospital. He didn't get away completely unfettered; having to promise to follow-up with his own doctor the next day and to adhere to the instructions of no activity other than that which could be done while reclining on a couch.

That last bit had actually made Danny snort in amusement. His partner's well-worn leather sofa had most likely been scene of more activity than just afternoon naps; at least while Catherine was still around.

"At least I didn't have to have my nose cauterized." said the SEAL as the two walked, more slowly than usual, toward the emergency room exit.

"Yeah, too bad. They could have sealed off the holes in your head at the same time; the ones that let all your marbles fall out." said Danny, still not over the annoyance of futilely trying to convince his stubborn partner it would be best to cooperate and let himself be wheeled out of the hospital.

The bleeding had stopped fairly quickly after his nose had been stuffed with Celox gauze. Then, having been there more than long enough to be confident the nosebleed wouldn't start up again, the doc agreed to let him leave. He'd walked out the door with a box of Celox and instructions to not to bend over or do any heavy lifting for a couple of days . . . as if. Right now it was all he could do to lift his feet to walk out of the ER.

Complaining all the way, Danny had followed him out to the Camaro that had been dropped off by the cousins on their way back to the palace. "You know Steven; if you keel over I'm not carryin' your ass!"

"Danny just shut up already! I'm not going to keel over! You are not going to have to carry me! I can walk just fine dammit so back off! You're making me feel like I'm being followed by a yapping poodle!"

That didn't go over well.

There was no way he could persuade or bully the tough Jersey detective into taking him back to work. Danny, bitching all the way, had delivered him home then had to be nearly bodily thrown out after declaring that he was there to see that doctor's instructions were followed. Of course, as soon as Danny left, Steve had every intention of turning right around and driving himself back to the palace.

He first had to get cleaned up. His T-shirt was nearly stiff with sweat and dried blood and his pants were covered in dirt and straw. Boots and overshirt had been stuffed into a plastic patient's belongings bag and he'd gone home in hospital issued non-skid socks. They were bright orange. "Well, at least they aren't pink", he'd grumbled as the only slightly amused nurse slipped them on his feet so he wouldn't have to bend over. What he didn't know is that Queens is one of the hospitals using color-coded socks for their patients. Orange is the color signifying the wearer is a flight risk.*

Tiredly climbing the stairs to his bedroom, he paused at the doorway to stare longingly at the bed. Maybe he'd rest for just a couple minutes before jumping into the shower.

Dropping his bag of clothing on the floor, and without removing his grimy attire, he lay down and closed his eyes. Just for a couple minutes . . .

…..

Every cop on the island had been at that damned fair!

Bob sat handcuffed to the metal chair and looked around at the bare walls for the hundredth time.

Bored out of his skull, he entertained himself with fantasies of caramel mocha cappuccinos with mountains of whipped cream and maybe cocoa sprinkles on top. With the money he was promised, he could have as many as he wanted. He could even get a croissant or a scone to go with it or even one of those gigantic muffins. Life would be good.

He hoped the boss would appreciate what he'd been through. First of all, being around that many kids was no walk in the park. The little brats were so noisy, and whiney . . . and messy. Everything they touched seemed to windup sticky. It was like the little fuckers had been coated in syrup before they'd left home. They were almost as disgusting as those smelly goats.

Second of all, his wrists are still smarting from being cuffed so tightly by that shrimpy little blonde asshole. He'll have to look him up when he gets out of here. On second thought, no, maybe not. He didn't seem to be any easier to take out than McGarrett.

Bob wriggled uncomfortably in the metal chair. Third of all, I'm stuck here, handcuffed to a chair in this fucking room with blue lighting that makes everyone look like the undead, and I have to pee - really bad. He decided that maybe fantasizing about drinking cappuccinos isn't such a good idea right now.

…..

Last night's activity having included two drug/booze-fueled gang fights and the crash of a party bus, the ER had been flooded with casualties and the lab overloaded with samples awaiting tests. Reports for several of her patients had come back only late this morning and there were some that hadn't yet been posted. At the very least, results should have been available to Dr. Calder who'd taken over when she'd ended her shift at midnight.

Plopping onto the rolling chair at one of the ER's computers and setting her coffee cup next to the keyboard, (an official no-no but everyone ignored the rule), she punched in her code to access the database. Clicking once again on the file organized by patient name and medical record number she found that results were still pending for some of those she'd treated last night. Swearing under her breath, she searched for the lab's report for one patient in particular.

Having been an ER physician for a few years now, she didn't usually take her work home with her. Dwelling on thoughts of her patients and their reasons to have need of an emergency room wasn't healthy but this particular guy had been on her mind until she'd finally fallen into an exhausted slumber in the wee hours.

It bothered her that she'd let him coerce her into discharging him. Once he'd realized she wasn't affected by his intimidating glare; (one that probably scared the crap out of everyone else), he'd changed tactics and loosed a barrage of charm that she doubted no woman with blood in her veins could resist but she had – much to his frustration.

The lack of lab results had delayed release of more than one of those who really didn't need to be here. She supposed she couldn't blame the commander for pushing for his freedom despite her edict to stay put; otherwise he'd still be here awaiting results of the blood draw. But no matter his account of how he may have acquired the bruising or the reason for the nosebleeds, she had a bad feeling about it.

If he was determined to leave she couldn't stop him. Those stories she'd heard were apparently true; the guy is a total pain in the ass when he wants to be. Finally, when he'd pulled the IV out of his hand and swung his legs over the edge of the bed while growling at his partner to get his clothing, she'd given in. Securing his solemn promise that he'd see his own doctor the very next day, she'd agreed to release him. He'd have left AMA anyway.

Her irritation likely evident when she'd left the room to start the process for discharge, Detective Williams had nodded at her reassuringly. There is no doubt he would urge her patient do as instructed but the poor guy must have his hands full being partnered with someone so bull-headed. She felt sorry for him.

Clicking on the page that would reveal the results of Steven J. McGarrett's bloodwork her lips tucked into a grim line as she read the numbers. "Shit" she muttered.

She reached for the phone next to the computer and her hand bumped the venti sized cup sitting next to it which tipped it onto the keyboard. "Shit!" she yelped. "Someone get me a towel stat!"

The next ten minutes were filled with swearing and wiping coffee from what seemed every surface in the room. Finally finished with the mop-up, she tested the keyboard and was relieved to find that it didn't seem affected. When it had been turned upside-down, French roast with extra cream had cascaded forth.

Still muttering to herself about her own clumsiness she again reached toward the phone on the desk. She'd only punched in the first few digits of the patient's contact number when the hospital's loudspeaker system announced a code blue in the ER waiting room. Growling in frustration, she jumped up and hurried in that direction.

…

Lori Weston blinked at the sun rising over the Pacific as the redeye approached HNL. It would be good to see everyone again. Besides missing the warm weather, (especially since it's barely above freezing in DC right now), she missed her former teammates. Though her tenure with Five-0 had been brief, she'd felt a part of something that was making a difference. Hawaii couldn't have a better team keeping it safe from those seeking to do harm to its people or its commerce but, unfortunately for her, she'd missed one of the team a bit more than others.

Three years ago she'd returned to the mainland after having been dismissed by Governor Denning. He'd asked her who she felt responsible to, the State of Hawaii or Five-0? When she'd answered both, it hadn't been the answer he was looking for and she was out of a job. Though it had been a blow at the time, perhaps it was for the best. If she'd stayed, things could have gotten complicated.

Anyway, perhaps whatever she thought had happened between herself and the commander, (the spark she'd felt when he looked at her from under those ridiculously long eyelashes), may have never been a reality. Most likely it was just wishful thinking on her part. She'd gone back to her old job at Homeland Security and, while it is rewarding, it isn't in Hawaii.

Since then she'd heard that Catherine Rollins had resigned from the Navy and signed on with Five-0. Though this news had dashed whatever hope still harbored for rekindling that ember with the commander, however meager, (or imaginary), she truly hoped he and his love were happy.

Judging by those pictures of Kono's wedding that Danny had emailed a couple of months ago, (she'd sent a gift and regrets about not being able to be there because of an important ongoing case), Five-0's leader is still the hottest thing on two legs. The expression on his face was one of pure bliss as he held Catherine in his arms while they danced.

From what she'd gleaned from her former teammates, the guy hadn't had an easy life. She herself had witnessed situations that were certainly physically traumatic and, for pretty much any human being on the plant, would be emotionally traumatic as well. He hid things well. He certainly deserved whatever happiness he could find.

In any case, there's no way she'd pursue anything with Steve because his woman had already staked her claim. Besides, Rollins could probably kick ass from here to Sunday if given the right reason. Oh well.

Pulled away from thoughts of muscles, intriguing tattoos and hazel-blue eyes when she felt the clunk of the landing gear as it locked into place, the vast blue expanse of ocean below gave way to land. The Airbus began its final descent into Honolulu International. Greenery interspersed with blocky shapes of concrete and glass came into view below. Lit by the sunrise the city looked to be made of gold and she smiled as the tingle of something familiar rolled across her skin.

…...

He pulled up to the front of the McGarrett house and saw that Steve was actually waiting for him on the porch; an impatient air about him as he set down his cup and quickly strode down the steps.

Nearly as soon as the car came to a stop, Steve was at the driver's side door. Without needing to say anything, he stood there expecting Danny to get out of the car and go around to the passenger side while handing him the keys as he passed.

Rather than the usual, this time the detective sat silently evaluating his partner. He was still pissed that Steve had bullied his way out of the hospital last night though he did look more rested this morning. When he'd dropped him off before heading home to collapse into bed himself, Danny hadn't been sure if the guy could even make it up the stairs to his bedroom. His stubborn friend had refused any help and almost physically pushed him out the door.

As Five-0's commander waited impatiently, all but tapping his foot, Danny finally exited the car. "You still look like crap." he announced as he continued to assess his friend for signs of unwellness. "But at least you don't look quite as much like road kill like you did last night." he added

Ignoring the comment Steve asked, "You want to get some cocopuffs on the way in? I'll buy." As he took the keys and slid behind the wheel he was hoping to distract his partner with the promise of his favorite pastry.

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" asked the Jersey detective who installed himself in the passenger seat and buckled up.

"That's kinda sacrilegious don't you think?" replied Steve as he turned the key and the Camaro's 400-plus horses came to life.

"This, coming from a man who can swear in probably twenty different languages?" responded Williams

"What can I say, it's an art." smiled Steve as he backed the Camaro onto the street.

"If it's an art then you're Michelangelo . . . no, no, I take that back, you're Van Gough; he was nuts like you."

"Hey, I still have both my ears." laughingly defended McGarrett as he turned right onto the street that would take them toward Liliha's Bakery.

"So far." huffed Danny, "You just haven't gotten them shot off yet. That being said, how do you feel?"

"Better: now that I've had a chance to get some rest because our suspect is finally in custody."

Danny nodded in approval but girded himself for later battle. He knows that Steve is most likely thinking a doctor's visit is not in his immediate future. He needed to think again.

Steve hoped the answer would stave off some of his partner's overly zealous mother-henning. He actually does feel better though he still cringes when he thinks about what happened yesterday. Getting knocked on his ass wasn't all that bad but it had been embarrassing to ralph in front of everyone like a kid who'd just staggered off a rollercoaster ride.

After picking up the promised cocopuffs as well as malasadas and then, at Danny's insistence, swinging by a drive-thru for takeout breakfast sandwiches, they headed toward H.Q. There was no rush to get to work today. After Chin and Kono had interrogated him, their suspect now languished in an HPD holding cell. Most importantly, the missing boy had been found safe and sound with an aunt and uncle on Lanai. They still have to find out how the kid could be gone for two weeks without anyone informing his parents. The boy's mother and father, in particular, are interested in knowing how relatives could leave them frantic with worry about their missing son while he was safe all along. Whatever the reason, it's certainly going to make for an awkward family gathering next Christmas.

"Maybe we should stop at Queen's on the way in to check if the results for your bloodwork have finally comeback." suggested Danny though he knew it was useless.

"Nah. Why bother. If there's something wrong they'd have called me by now." said Steve as he steered toward H.Q; the morning streets already warming toward the predicted higher than usual temps.

Danny had recognized his friend's manipulation of plying him with his favorite food. He wasn't at all distracted from his mission, or make that 'missions'. Getting Five-0's stubborn leader to acquiesce to further medical care as he'd promised the ER doctor last night is going to be a challenge. It would have to be accomplished with finesse or maybe subterfuge or maybe a baseball bat.

The second of the dogged and equally stubborn detective's missions is to get Steve to talk about the situation with his girlfriend or lack thereof. The reticent Navy man had 'battened down his hatches' and would respond in only the most minimal way to questions as to how he feels about being abandoned by the woman he intended to marry. Catherine's latest departure was supposedly to Nepal and Steve offered only the vaguest of explanations as to why the woman had left him . . . again. He'd given the cliff-notes version by saying Cath wanted to feel she was her own person and couldn't do that if she'd stayed.

Whatever her reason, it's fucking lame, thought Danny as he glanced again at the man in the driver's seat.

Then, startled by what he'd suddenly noticed, he loudly exclaimed, "Wait! Are you wearing extra layers of clothing?" With both hands on the wheel, the cuffs of his friend's usual lightweight overshirt had ridden up to reveal that his T-shirt has long sleeves. "I've never seen you cover yourself with more than was absolutely necessary to keep from being arrested for public nudity." said Danny as he plucked at Steve's sleeve.

Batting the hand away in annoyance, Steve barked, "Just drop it okay?

Of course he'd discover the damned shirt - the guy's a detective.

This morning the SEAL had dug through stuff acquired to wear when on deployment in a less than tropical climate. Though the morning was already warm and there's the possibility of the temperature climbing over eight-five degrees today, he'd donned the long-sleeved undershirt and held out hope that maybe no one would notice he kept his overshirt buttoned and his cuffs rolled down. Fat chance.

He supposes he should just be glad his much too observant partner hadn't seen the additional bruises added to the ones that were visible last night in the ER. The insides of his elbows showed purpling stains under his skin from where blood had been drawn. The back of his hand was bruised as well but it could possibly be explained away as damage from when he'd tried to take the needle out himself before announcing he was leaving the hospital, doctor's release or no.

Sure he'd been a bit chilled and it isn't normal for him to bruise that way but if something is seriously wrong, the doctor would have contacted him . . . right?

*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*

*Not all hospitals use a color coded system for socks and codes can vary from hospital to hospital but, in some, Yellow socks means the patient has a risk of falling, Red means allergies, Green means the patient is independent, Purple means do not resuscitate, and Orange really does denote a flight risk.

Next chapter will be up within a week or sooner. Can't promise a particular day but I'll try to make it sooner :-) Would appreciate your comments even if it's only to yell at me.