A/N Thx again everyone, for alerts, favs and reviews – especially those who haven't a fanfic account that I haven't been able to thank personally.

Neptune60 has pointed out that, in Chapter Six, Kono would join in the search of the forest for Steve, too. I had originally written that she did, in fact, join up with Mary but had deleted it, as it felt too clumsy. I assumed, you'd take it as read, that Kono would be doing her bit in the name of Ohana. I was wrong and her sentence has been re-inserted.


Chapter Seven

Kamekona stands over the guy.

No. Correction.

He has his size 15's placed firmly placed on the man's chest, squidging out every last bit of air. And the man is coming atom-size close to the point of suffocation.

Danny's once again reminded why McGarrett likes Kamekona.

The man. One Jesus Fergus, 5' 9", haole, around 200 pounds, wanted by various narcotic departments for petty stuff across five mainland states. Tracked down by Kamekona's own grapevine – he was doing his own private search for news of either Steve or the Jeep.

But Danny's suddenly worried he might have to make two arrests here – and one might be for involuntary manslaughter.

"Hey, Kame... man... ease off, huh? Blue just isn't his colour." Danny holds his head to one side, scrutinizing Fergus - ashen coloured face, gasping, trying to force some life back down into his lungs through what must be now one very bruised throat. Fergus has two hands firmly on Kamekona's trainers – and Danny's genuinely amazed that the man that Kamekona has pinned to the ground can even make that much of an attempt to try and heave Kamekona off.

"Ok people, break it up! There is nothing to see here!" says Danny.

Ok. That was clichéd. Like something out of a movie. And Danny's waving his badge at the crowd that's gathered on the sidewalk of Leahi Avenue, a stone's throw from the beach.

"This is the man?" he asks, turning his attention back to Kamekona.

"Yes, this is the man whom I have conveyed my apprehension on."

Danny blinks at him, never too sure if Kamekona is ever kidding with this kind of stuff.

Danny lowers his voice. He'd have a quiet word in the big guy's ear if it'd weren't so far away. "You ok with this?" And he looks around. "I mean here in public?" Would an informant ever want to be this open about helping the police? It might get your throat cut in some dark alley. "I thought you guys had some sort of code of honour?"

"This... this object of my disgust has been selling heroin and such obnoxions to kids, kamali'i, as little as eight." Kamekona's nodding the full significance of this, looking down at his victim like he's the piece of shit, he really is.

Kamekona knows exactly what he's doing.

Fergus, deciding he's now breathed sufficient of God's good air and is looking a much healthier shade of pink, now adds his piece.

"Get this freaking freak offa me!"

"I am aiding and abetting a police officer. A citizen's arrest. Book him, Danno."

Yeah, how about that. Danny smiles wanly. Now everyone thinks they can say it.

And Danny, sighing, tugs at his pants' knees and bends down to the man's sidewalk view of the world.

"Jesus Fergus, I'm arresting you for the supply of Schedule One illegal substances," he reels off. Though this really isn't his job. HPD boys, who, five minutes previously had just leapt out of a blue and white, find themselves suddenly with nothing to do and stand round kicking their feet, arms folded, not at all comfortable at the prospect of being accessories to a police brutality charge.

"Do you understand the charges made against you?"

"Get him off me! He can't do this!" Squeals Fergus in response.

Still Kamekona's foot doesn't move.

Jeez, it must be like having an elephant stand on you.

But Danny has no inclination to tell Kamekona to slack off again.

"Some questions first."

"He's going to kill me!" Danny looks up to the mountain of flesh, blocking out the Honolulu sunshine.

"Him, nah. He's a gentle giant really. An absolute sweetheart."

Kamekona audibly scoffs.

"Now me... see these eyes?" He points to his own eyes. "The worse kind. Steely blue. The eyes of a killer. It's me you have to fear. And see this?" He pulls out his badge. "Hawaii-Five-O. Full means and immunity. I could shoot off a very private part of your anatomy and you couldn't say a thing – actually you probably wouldn't because you'd be screaming. But hey. Just answer my questions, huh, and you'll be fine. You've been spotted supplying the driver of a red Wrangler with heroin outside the Olioli Club?"

"I didn't do nothing." Stock and standard reply. There must be some memo doing the rounds telling these guys what to say when arrested.

"Yes, but you've been seen. By witnesses? "

"Witnesses?" asks Fergus, like he really hasn't a clue. Must be lack of oxygen to the brain.

"You don't know what witnesses are? They don't lie, that's what witnesses are!" interrupts Kamekona, warning, "and you'd better not lie to the good officer either!"

That trainer downloads another extra ten pound on the guy's neck.

Danny sighs and gives Kamekona a look. How's he supposed to his work here if Kamekona actually kills Fergus? Kamekona raises an eyebrow apologetically and does a shrug that sends ripples of further shrugs across his thick body tissue. And releases the pressure.

A little.

"You were even seen by surveillance cameras-"

"Pretty dumb," breaks in Kamekona again, nodding.

"You were seen dumping a package in the back. You made a trade? You made a trade in the club?" Though Matt the Abductor hadn't been spotted limping into or out of the Olioli. "This is simple. I need that name." A clearer id.

"What do I get?" croaks out the man.

"You get to breathe," growls Kamekona. Nice. Danny couldn't have put it better himself.

The man on the ground shakes his head.

"No? Look," continues Danny, "this man is nothing to you. He's not a regular trader? You owe him nothing. A haole. You're going down for all your other sales anyhow. I can't let you go. But I could get you off this one."

"Makes no difference. I'm breaking parole anyhow," Fergus struggles out.

Kamekona's foot comes down hard again and the man is soon gasping, trying to kill the ankle tree-trunk, his nails gouging out red marks above the Hawaiian's ankle socks. Kamekona is impervious.

"Ok! Ok!" he wheezes out, relenting, when he sees that Danny and the police aren't going to do anything to stop the big guy.

Kamekona thankfully eases off.

"Ok! Six foot! Dark hair! Slight build!"

"I need a name. I need more," presses Danny, remembering the fuzzy pictures they have so far. He'd be grateful for a new super-improved description.

"No name. It's not how it's done."

"But you saw him? You were up close. Then my friend here will assist you up, and these two other gentleman here," indicating the two cops, "will drive you to police HQ in their nice motor vehicle which is fully air-conditioned and more than you deserve-"

Again, a flick of a thought.

How the hell is Steve coping in this heat?

"-so we can get a something like a Rembrandt drawn up," though feeling, this was all going to be another exercise in utter futility.

Kamekona heaves the man bodily to his feet and then lifts him more some, hauling him off one-handed by the scruff of his neck to the patrol car. The boys in blue, duly cuff him.

"But it's weird," Fergus suddenly calls out as he's about to be guided into the back-seat. "The guy must have been going on forty and he was clean. Either this was his first time or he'd been off the stuff for years."

Because no addict ever gets to blow out forty candles on a birthday cake.

Why did Danny's heart sink at this? So, why had the Jeep's driver been buying the heroin? For someone else...

Danny hurries over, raising a hand to the HPD officers.

"Hold on! Stop there! Stop there!" And all faces turn to him. "How much did you sell him?"

"Not much. Four ounces. Enough for four hits."

Enough.

"But it ain't unusual for an ex-military to fall back."

"You know that? You know he was ex-military?" pushes Danny.

"Camouflage pants? In this weather? Tats. Scar. Near his eyebrow. And he limped. Yeah. Soldier. I know the look. I was in Iran you know. You get dumped by your country. Pensioned off. Have to fend for yourself. I know the look. He'd been living rough too."

Scar...

"And..." Fergus trails off.

"What?" Funny how the guy was remembering more in an upright position.

"He had a carrier bag full of baby food."

Kid? Have we even got the right guy?

"The bag have a brand name?"

"It was green?" says Fergus apologetically the guys in blue, finally duck his head down.

"Try Steinbeck's discount store, off King Street," suggests one of the cops, opening the driver's door. "My sister's got three kids under four. Goes there for bargain stuff. House full of green bags."

"Yeah. That might have been it," says Fergus from inside the car.

Danny and Kamekona watch as the vehicle drives off.

"You still have no idea where he is?" Commiserates Kamekona, deadly serious, following Danny's tired gaze to the distant hills, where Danny and the team still continue their nightly search.

Danny can barely shake his head.

"You still think he's up there?"

"The Jeep was plastered in mud. It's a wonder the camera picked up the plates. It'd been up a trail somewhere," explains Danny numbly.

Two days ago, it'd rained. But the trails hadn't dried up. Not in this humidity. Soon it will rain again. Storms are brewing in this heat. Every day the clouds build up over the peaks. Threatening. They're nearly praying for rain. To break this heat. Again, how is Steve coping? If at all...

"Yeah, he's up there," murmurs Kamekona. "I feel it in my water."

More information than Danny needs to know.

Danny pulls himself together and pats Kamekona's arm before heading over to the Camaro, already on his cell to ask Kono to check out Steinbeck's.

And to re-check those military records. Again. Though it's not so good when they have to rely on the opinion of a street hustler.

Steinbeck's going to be another dead end though. Their abductor would have paid by cash and been in and out before anyone could identify him.

Same old.

Danny's been put on loudspeaker and the voice of a concerned Chin asks, "he bought heroin?" He'd been out of the office when the call came through and obviously hadn't been updated as yet.

"Doesn't say much for his stability," the Korean concludes, "if we were drawing up a profile here."

"I know, I know. I hear you. But I have a hunch... and that hunch is... these things... he's buying baby food. He might have a kid. I doubt it. He has Steve alive. He's keeping Steve alive. I...I just feel that."

Facts. Facts. They should stick to facts. Police procedure. But he can't help his hunches. Based on his feelings. And the heroin? Danny just doesn't want to know-

He swivels round and points to an ear, walking backwards.

"You did good, Kamekona! Keep your ears and eyes open. We've taken Fergus off the streets. Our guy will be looking for another seller if he comes back a second time."

Or heaven help Steve – this was his second time.

-H5O-

"I brought you this."

Steve tries to focus on the dish before him. It looks like some thick soup. Odourless. But his stomach, his brain feels revolted by it.

Pierson gives half a laugh, nervous. "I had this idea you might be able to eat baby food."

He's finding it hard to eat anything Pierson gives him.

The flies won't leave him alone. He swats them away. He constantly feels itchy. That's down to the flies, settling, not leaving him alone... peace. He needs peace.

But he knows the itchiness is also down to the heroin.

The baby food is placed in front of him. It's bland and has no odour but it has him reeling.

The nausea is down to the heroin too.

"It has all the nutrients that you need," says Pierson. He's encouraging Steve with a spoonful. Like Steve's a kid. But Steve can hardly lift his head. It's not long since Pierson hauled him out and water-boarded him over and over. He coughs. His lungs hurt. The water doesn't hurt him like the bruises and burns would - but hurts his lungs. And all his wounds open up with his pathetic struggling. He can't believe he once made plans to try and escape. He couldn't even make it to the edge of the clearing.

'Tell me the name.'

'No.'

'That name.'

'No.'

And his face is forced back under the cloth.

Tomorrow, he'll get beaten...

But he's numb now and doesn't care. He guesses it's a kind of shock. Like exercise when you go through the barrier. The pain has taken him over now and it's become normal. He'd tried detaching himself from it - at the beginning - when he could think straight. Now it totally absorbs him. And that's all he is. Pain. But it still doesn't stop him from praying it will go away...

'Tell me the bastard's name!'

And he's gasping. And he can't think straight and doesn't even understand the question. And when it comes to him... he remembers it's all to do with loyalty and loyalty means something important to him. Steve's just not going to hand someone over like that. Not to save his own skin. Ever.

'Not... telling. Protecting. Him. You. From... yourself.'

'You keep saying that!'

'Then... must... be... true... and... you... maybe... gotta... ac... cept... that...'

Danny... The Team will come for him soon. Buy time... buy time...

But... he's lost count of the days... Detail. Detail leaves him. It's been... It's been over two weeks?

"You really can't eat?"

"No."

He knows he has to eat but he just can't take it.

Something hurts inside too.

He's seen the way his bones already stick through his skin. He's never carried excess body fat. There was never anything left there to burn except his own body tissue. He knows all the science of his own metabolism. He knows he can go a couple of days with nothing as long as he gets fluids. Pierson still neglects him but thunderstorms keep the pan filled – a wonderful refreshing rain that cools the heat of Steve's body – so he's been drinking from that and setting aside one corner of the cage to urinate. But he still hurts inside.

Pierson looks back to his tent. He's hesitant.

"I can give you some more... stuff for the pain." And Steve's been watching Pierson. He's been shooting. He wonders if Pierson's uncertain because he knows his supply of the drug is running out.

"No," he coughs.

But Pierson is forcing Steve's hand through the hole in the cage again, tying his wrist. And Steve struggles because he just doesn't want it.

"It's not so good the second time," the guy apologizes, coming back from the tent, syringe in hand.

"I don't want it. I don't want it," he's shaking his head, banging it against the sides of the cage.

"Sure you do, Steve. Sure you do. You just say those things but you know you do." And the needle sinks in. "You're feeling better already, huh? I used to say that, then... I couldn't get enough. Would do anything to get another fix. When I was finally forgotten about, when you guys didn't care whether I was alive or not, when I had no value, when I couldn't be used as a pawn in their little political games anymore, they gave me some freedom. They gave me chores to do around the camp site. I could earn my fix. Sometimes I'd be their pretty boy, you know? I didn't particularly care. Sorta got a taste for that too? Get my drift? That's what leaving me behind did, McGarrett. Think I shouldn't blame anyone for that, McGarrett?"

"Choices..."

The word leaves Steve's lips as an incoherent murmur with no meaning. He's already in a sleepy stupor when nothing matters anymore. He attempts to track down the word, why it was important enough to say it, but the effort fails him.

No detail.

He's aware of Pierson, coming round to the front of the cage, coming close, running his fingers through his hair. It's nice. And the jungle, forest, jungle-forest is green and the sky is blue. And he looks up and the hawk is flying and that must be nice too. And he could fly if he had wings because he's a part of the big blue sky and there's no pain there and the jungle-forest sort of hugs round him and takes him and flips him to somewhere warm... and that's all he is... warm sensation...

A voice hums.

"Would you do that for me, Stevie? You like these feelings you're getting? You'd do anything so I could give you some more? I could do that, Stevie? I could give you all the stuff you need for the pain. To feel good. Would you tell me what I want to know to drive away the pain, Stevie? Would you? Huh?"

-H5O-

The photo-fit Fergus supplies, doesn't match anything they have on record. No match to anything on the files of Steve's fellow Navy Seals. Nothing from Steve's Navy Intelligence days either. The search has been extended to include any service personnel that might have come into contact with Steve and have a grudge.

Nothing.

Dead ends.

Again.

Fergus' theory and Grifferson's theory that the abductor is military can't be right. But Danny still remembers the way that Matt handled himself on that boat two weeks earlier – and that feels like proof enough. If it were a perp, then it was a perp used to handling a boat – and one used to careful planning. Planning like a military operation.

An ex-cop, maybe? But Steve hadn't been around long enough to make those sort of enemies? Yeah, Steve had sometimes rubbed one or two cops up the wrong way. Danny, to name but one...

They have a direct line, courtesy of Grifferson, to a guy in military records in Washington. And he's now firmly getting pissed off with Danny and refuses to look a third time, to check.

Why do these guys get personally affronted when you call them an asshole for not looking correctly in the first place?

He's thinking of giving Grifferson a piece of his mind about that offer of full co-operation with the police. But Danny still has Catherine's number and he remembers how good Catherine is at getting this kind of information. He could nearly fall in love with Catherine.

"Danny, I might get caught," she says.

It takes her six hours.

Then she's back. Apologetic for the delay.

"I had to crack a few codes. Got nothing."

But she doesn't sound disappointed. She sounds... excited, hyped-up. "By chance, I mis-typed and got directed to MIA? Danny... your guy... I can't download and send you the files. Ask Grifferson. Your photo fit is a match for Matt Pierson. The brother of Luke Pierson, another one of the Seals on GhostHawk. He's not dead. My god, Danny. Why has he gone after Steve and those two others?"

Danny is straight on the phone demanding another satellite meeting with Grifferson.

He's mad now.

"Try to calm down," urges Kono. "We don't want to alienate him."

"Alienate?" he asks, incredulous. "Alienate? You have even begun to see me 'alienate'." He's had it to the back teeth with bureaucrats in offices. He's blunt. He blurts out everything that Catherine has told him. "I want this guy's file. And I want answers. What exactly happened on Operation Ghosthawk?"

But he doesn't get the expected fudging. Grifferson seems genuinely surprised and concerned.

"I told you everything. But this Matt Pierson is still alive? How? How could he be? Where did you get this information?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you," he dead pans, deliberately using one of Grifferson's own phrases.

And rather than railing at him, the Commander throws another question.

"MIA?" Like he really can't believe it.

"It appears he's not very missing. And he's certainly in action."

"Why hasn't he contacted his brother?"

"Try asking him."

"Did he turn rogue?" asks Chin. "The operation went wrong because this Matt Pierson was an informant?"

"It's possible his death could have been faked," says Grifferson, considering, and then promptly changes his mind, going all defensive-like on them. "No. No. Two of the team verified he was dead. They hid the body and got out of there."

Stiff. To attention. Danny fully expects him to hoist up the stars and stripes and salute. He'd seen that look in Steve.

"He obviously survived. And was taken prisoner?" suggests Chin.

"Then we'd expect his captors to play this for all its worth. Torture, then publicly paraded on-line before execution to humiliate this country, leaving us to spend the next six months smoothing over an international diplomatic incident. No. Pierson couldn't have talked then..." He's thinking out loud.

Danny inwardly and outwardly winces. That thought. Of torture. That here on Hawaii, dealing with their pervs, even Wo Fat, must seem like a piece of cake to Steve. A vacation nearly.

"Well, whatever, you guys must have made a mistake," says Danny shaking his head. "He's escaped and now is out after revenge for leaving him behind? It's all down to breaking that unbreakable Seal code? You know? 'Never leave a man behind'?"

And god, what is he saying? That Steve made a mistake? He was in charge of these people, wasn't he?

They all exchange glances.

"That looks like the possible scenario," admits Grifferson, sadly. "The poor bastard..." And suddenly this very official person doesn't seem very official looking at all. "Though McGarrett, too," he adds in a hurry.

"It doesn't help..." says Kono, reluctant to finish. She swallows. Looks to the table and then up again with hurt in her eyes. "It doesn't help us to find Steve. All we have now is a name. A possible motive." Chin moves to her side and hugs her. And she's grateful for the comfort.

"No. No. You're right, Kono. It doesn't help," says Danny, softly. They're united for all the wrong reasons. Grief. Sorrow.

"We're not giving up," says Danny. "We have a name, now, guys. That's more than we had this time yesterday. We are not going to wait for a body to turn up. That just isn't going to happen. Ok? We have the arms deal to investigate? We work on that. In the meantime, something else will show. "

They both look at him numbly.

His motivational talk didn't work then. Not even on himself.

Two hours later finds him devoting time to said arms deal investigation. What else can he do? Any of them? Kono is right. Knowing the identity of Steve's abductor isn't going to find Steve.

He's questioning some bar-tender in Kailua. A known informant. Who's gotten wind of a shipment coming in.

Returning to his car, he looks to the mountains.

He can't concentrate on this case – no matter how much the Governor breaths down his neck. His head is going over plans, routes, for tonight's search along Oahu trails. Even, the weekend's search. He'll have to forgo his time with Grace again and he misses the kid. How long can he keep this up for? How long? And he knows that each passing day increases the odds that they're going to find a decaying corpse. And not Steve, alive. Or that some hiker in five years time, is going to come across some skeleton. With a perfect denture match to Steve's...

He won't let that happen. He won't let Steve be filed away as yet another unsolved crime...

Another day and they're in the middle of a gun heist. A shoot out. The works.

The only thing missing is the legendary Hawaiian sunshine.

They have instead a legendary Hawaiian thunderstorm.

The only thing missing is... Steve. Steve, performing one of his heroic rolls across the bonnet of a car with gun a-blazing, oblivious to being drenched and soaked through.

Everywhere Danny looks there's always reminders of Steve. He sees the same sense of loss in the eyes of Kono and Chin when they glance across to Steve's empty office.

The most painful thing is fending off the Governor, now insistent that Danny finds another team member to replace Steve. Jenna is just fine with the investigative paperwork side. Great at accessing files they'd never dream of looking into. And she's gutsy. But... and he hopes he's not being sexist here, but... and he hopes he doesn't mark Steve down as being shallow and macho because damn he has so many other attributes... but... they need a gun-toting male variety. They need Steve...

They need Steve to be with them and not lost somewhere in some monsoon.

Certainly, Steve should be here. This had been his operation right from the start.

They're mopping up.

Literally, when he gets home... he'll need to change his pants and empty his shoes. He's been loaned a HPD jacket but it only keeps out so much. His hair needs major work.

The weather matches their spirits though the operation is notched up as a success. Danny's helping one injured complaining miscreant through the pelting rain and puddles to a waiting medic and ambulance.

"You. You sit there and be thankful. I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm on the point of drowning standing-up. I do not need to listen to an ungrate." When he notices Chin beckoning him and Kono from a door-way.

A call from Duke at HPD.

He runs over, hunching his shoulders against the tempest to punish all iniquities, and all three huddle together, sheltering from the rain.

A veritable waterfall shoots down in sheets from the roof above, noisy as it hits the ground. Thunder bangs loud overhead. Kono wipes back stray wisps of sodden hair and droplets off long lashes. Its clumsy – her waterproof jacket is too long in the sleeve and she tries turning back the cuffs with cold wet fingers. They feel miserable enough already without this kind of news.

Another sighting of Matt Pierson. Seen at a craft and hobby shop. Only half a mile away from where they now stand.

"So, what did our guy purchase, this time?" asks Danny.

"Officers say funnel and tubing from the wine and beer making department," answers Chin.

"Well, that's nice, he's has a hobby," Danny says flippantly. And checks himself when he sees both Chin's and Kono's look. Then, his mind starts conjuring up another form of torture.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, you're kidding me. It has to be a mistake," he insists, trying to put the image away. But he's shown camera footage from the store and it isn't.

The torrential rain that's hitting this side of the city the hardest, popping out manhole covers, and whipping palms to a frenzy, cleared the streets, so the lone parked Wrangler got noticed. But the same downpour loses him in the poor visibility and no street cameras or blue and white, pick him up again.

They get no lucky breaks.

Danny feels he'll have a heart attack soon.

-H5O-

Pierson uses the prod alone now – and that only three or four times in a... 'session'. Anything else... fists... does Steve too much damage. He doesn't even take the trouble to haul Steve out of the cage.

He doesn't even ask the question.

And Steve is back to trying to figure out whether this is revenge or ever about the name? Does Pierson himself even know? Unstable, Steve assesses again. Or things have got complicated by the drugs. He's taking more heroin than Steve.

But then... Steve's confused mind isn't so much better.

The pain, the drugs, the humidity, his breathlessness, weakness, the nausea, the cramping of his empty stomach, lack of oxygen – he knows and lists the detail - means he sees the world dazed, in a stupor. He knows he's in the clearing still. But his world has compressed into a singularity of thought – he must survive, somehow – and all else is blurred and unimportant. Nothing else is real anymore.

He's permitted to sleep more – Pierson's paces the clearing, sometimes hacking down the vegetation that's grown tall again, talking to his imaginary tormentor.

'Don't... don't... I didn't... I didn't... it was a joke... I was just palling around... I didn't know... why... give me the name.'

But Steve waking moments become his nightmares...

...Agony hanging there suspended by his wrists.

His skin... his muscles... stretched... stretched so much... he's going to split open... he's going to peel right open... and the prod burns and burns... the memory of the bliss of the drugs...

He understands completely what Pierson is doing now... if he passes out... Pierson wakes him... Sometimes Pierson doesn't even bother to cut him down... just gives him the heroin right where he is...

'You want this now? You want this?' says Pierson.

And he moans that he doesn't and tells Pierson to fuck off but his body craves to be taken from this. A part of him, he knows, begs for the drug.

'You're only human. You're only human,' says Danno.

Re-assurance in his friend's echoing voice...

Pierson's voice coming out of the sunshine that blinds.

"You're doing fine, Stevie. Just fine. You won't forget, will you? You won't forget that I treat you nice...They used to make me do it for six of them... their Yankee ass, they called me. But I'm not after that, you know? I just want that name, Stevie."

"Not... going... to happen..."

"We'll see. We'll see. A guy can always change his mind. I'll take care of you, you'll see," and he gives Steve more of the drug.

"Not this... not this way... not the way to do things...You care... then...you've got to... get me to a hospital, man..."

It's afternoon. The sun is over the trees. He's chained in his cage. Slumped in a corner. Oblivious to the mesh cutting into his skin. Sinking into the effects of the drug... all too aware... the pain is worsening or the drugs aren't having that much of an effect. Or both.

He remembers detail somewhere... that's how the addiction gets you... you want the euphoria of that first hit... but it never comes... downhill from there...

He hates the nausea the drug creates but he's getting used to it... and idly scratches an itch – a sore already red and raw... but he doesn't care... and watches dazed, as it bleeds.

Pierson aims at the hawk... fires... misses and Steve laughs inside his head... the bird escapes minus a few feathers... funny... then he coughs around the tube... but Pierson is back there, soothing him... rubbing, stroking his arm and that's nice...

What's your favourite colour, Pierson?

Steve giggles, and promptly gags at the tube. His whole rib cage convulsing.

Pierson hushes him. Soothes him. Strokes him. Brings him back into his safe world.

He's feels doubly... trebly nauseous now. The pain, the heroin and the tubing...

Pierson is force-feeding him.

Makeshift tubing snakes down through the back of his nose to his stomach. Pierson's has been trained with enough medical experience to do that. He's thinned the baby food with water. He's done this three times now. He says he's increased the dose of the drug. It calms Steve down, relaxes him so he can take the food, keep it down until it's digested. It's risking an OD but Pierson explains, feeding him this way is keeping him alive.

Pierson is a real friend.

In his mind, he hears Danny saying that.

'Steve, you're a real friend.'

Danno can be sarcastic too, when he says that.

And Mary.

Chin says it and he means it. He's an... his mind searches for the word... earnest.

'Seriously? No one uses that word now,' says Danno.

'No. 'Strue. Chin is an earnest sort of guy.'

Kono doesn't say, 'you're a real friend.' Because that would be a pass. And Steve suppresses the urge to laugh at that.

He thinks of the things that Catherine would say. It hurts to remember. And that's with the drug taking the edge off the hardest of emotions.

But Danno sometimes says, 'you're a real friend.' And means it...

He'll miss them...

He's dying. He accepts that with calm. Hopes it not down to the drug.

He's dying.

Too weak. Too thin. He sees it in detail. The length of his arm studded with the scabs of needle holes. Raised veins. Bones that protrude at his wrist , elbows and knuckles... delicate... delicate... intricate... a leaf pokes through his cage... close to his face... detail... detail... raised veins on the leaf... delicate... a thin, thin, thin skeleton...

He's itchy again and has to tuck his hands into his armpits to prevent himself from scratching...

When... suddenly...

The hawk settles on the cage... so still... so perfect... Steve gazes... fascinated... drug induced dream, he can't tell... it seems so real... he daren't breath or blink... he might scare the bird away... he hopes Pierson doesn't try and shoot at it again.

Steve had chosen himself a code name for Ghosthawk. They all did. To give no clue to their true identity.

'lo.

Hawk.

And in the banter of the mess-room that had gone from Lolo, to Lulu.

From the place of his birth. It became a hated pet-name. Never would he let Danny find that out. Not in a million years. After Ghosthawk, it was dropped. He gained respect after Ghosthawk. He earned respect due to the death of other men... wrong... wrong...

'Team Leader Hawk! Team Leader Hawk!'

The noise startles him as it comes over the radio. Commander Jordan has just died in his arms. The call is now for him. And they're supposed to be maintaining radio silence except for emergencies. This is an emergency.

'Team Leader Hawk! Under fire! We've lost Matt. Matt and Jonesy! Repeat! Under fire! My God, my God, I've lost Matt!'

Shock and horror in the voice...

Detail. The book he owned as a boy says that hawks prefer the more rugged open ground of the mountains and not this close rainforest.

Then it was lost?

You and me, both. You and me, both.

...The path through knee-high grass, climbs steeply. His father's footsteps in front show the way. The hawks would lift up, tracking the thermals. His father is talking of 'aumakua - spirits of the Hawaiian families, spirits of the ancestors, that take animal form. He's guessing that, since he's not native Hawaiian, he wouldn't have one, but he imagines the hawk is the McGarretts' all the same, guiding them both to safety, away from treacherous falls – his father is always telling him to be careful.

Fondness in his father's voice.

'You like the hawks, Champ?'

You never call me Champ...

' Hawks. Free to roam, huh? Like us? Just them, you and me. The whole place to ourselves...'

And Steve's father smiles appreciatively. He loves to remember his father smiling at the hills and not grief stricken at the death of his wife.

He feels sick again and chokes.

The bird takes flight, startled but settles in a nearby tree top, sending a cascade of water-droplets from leaves and branches into the clearing. It rained heavy an hour or so ago. A thunderstorm that banged and smashed the sky overhead, depleting to a soft, warm drizzle. Steve squints. The bird's black in the misty treetops.

He's suddenly aware how cold he is. He's soon shivering and coughs follow that are hollow.

He's dying.

' Know how proud I am of you son. And that I love you. Remember that always,' says his father's voice.

But he's dying.

'I'm proud of you. Don't let this beat you... Think of what you could achieve if you live... live Steve... Do what it takes to live. Anything else is plain stubborn.'

The hawk blinks at him. 'Tell Pierson what he wants to know.'

'You want me to give in?'

'If it keeps you alive, yeah.'

'But you... Victor Hesse murdered you for a whole lot less.'

'I left you free. Free of the choice. Set you free from the cage of obligation. This is... dying...'

'I want to be free. But I don't want to give in. I'll tell him, but he'll kill me.'

He's dying. He doesn't know who's saying these words...

'Don't be weak! Don't be weak! Don't give in!' Words scream at him from some empty place, demented. He raises a hand and wipes his forehead. Closes his eyes tight. Finding his own voice.

'I have...'

'What?' Asks Pierson in his head. 'Principles? Principles are going to get you dead.'

Detail. One thing follows another. Procedure. Push feelings aside. You don't feel. You don't think. You follow the rules and they are the right rules. They are black and white rules. There is never any grey. There is never any choice. There is never any indecision. You just do it. Right and wrong. Nothing in between.

But this is going to kill him. And what is right or wrong about any of that?

And Pierson has left the cage door open. Forgotten. And he's crawling to Pierson. Begging Pierson for more of the drug.

No. No. He isn't. He isn't doing that.

He wants the drug. He wants the drug to drive away the noise and the confusion. How could he have gotten this low so quickly?

'You're only human,' says Danno.

'I'm trained,' he thinks. 'I'm trained.'

"Please don't give me anymore. You're going to kill me."

And he collapses.

"Tell me what I want to know!"

He curls to his side. It all hurts. Tries to find Pierson. Sees nothing but the blue blue of a big sky. "I'll... tell... you but you... need to get me... to a hospital."

Fact. Reality. He can't hold out any longer.

He sees the face in the dark. The fear on the man's face.

'I had to leave my own goddamned brother behind!'

But the fear wasn't that kind of fear. It's the kind of fear that doesn't want to be caught out. Steve knows that now. Can't comprehend how he didn't know it before. Older, wiser. No longer caught up in the military situation where he had to think fast, move fast, act fast and get them all out of there safely and not lose anymore men. And at the briefing, Luke Pierson's grief over the death of his brother had seemed so convincing.

Steve had gotten it wrong.

"I'll tell you the name," he stutters out, weakly raising his head above the green, above the wet earth. "It was your brother. He... wanted you dead. You... pissed him off over his girl-friend. He planned the whole thing."

Pierson's rage is instant.

"No! No! You're lying! My brother would never have done that! It was a joke! I never meant anything by it!"

"You've known... it was Luke... all along."

"It's a lie! It's a lie! You're just trying to save your own hide!"

"You... don't want to... know the truth. Won't face-"

"Liar! Liar! You fucking low-life! You think you know everything! Fucking Seals! Fucking, fucking Seals."

Wrong to tell you. Wrong. Wrong. Right to protect you from the truth. Wrong to leave you behind. Wrong to believe your brother.

But he doesn't know if he said it as the blows hammer down.

No.

No.

I made a mistake.

Please.

Please.

Forgive me.

-H5O-