Sorry for the delay. Thanks to my beta, ElizabethWriter. I've tinkered with it since so, as always, any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. :)


Between them, the two paramedics haul McGarrett to his feet and take his weight until he's balanced on his good leg. The commander's face is a little on the pale side now that he's upright and he ducks his head, as though he's been hit by a wave of vertigo.
"Dizzy?"
The dark-haired medic hooks her fingers through the commander's belt loops just in case while Surfer Dude quickly pulls the gurney closer. The last thing they need is for Commander McGarrett to fall and injure himself further, especially as the crowd that's gathering on the sidewalk is watching the proceedings like a hawk watches its prey.

"A little." McGarrett blinks a few times and then gives himself a shake before lifting his head. "It's going away, though."

"Okay, take your time," the woman says. Nodding to her partner, she waits for him to take McGarrett's weight before ducking out from under the commander's arm. Locking the wheels on the stretcher, she continues, "When you're ready, we're going to help you up onto the stretcher. Again, let us do the work."

"I can do it." He ignores the dark-haired girl's offered hand and attempts to walk the three steps separating him from the stretcher in an unnecessary display of stubbornness. Unfortunately for the commander, it doesn't quite go to plan; his right leg refuses to take his weight and the only thing that saves him from getting up close and personal with the tarmac for a second time is the tight hold Surfer Medic has on the back of his cargo pants. He hisses in pain and stumbles slightly as he attempts to steady himself on his good leg. Breathing hard, he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Shit."

It's just loud enough that Gracie hears the muttered curse and I wince when the little girl's red-rimmed eyes widen in shock. She tugs on my shorts until I crouch down beside her, her expression a strange mixture of disapproval and shocked amusement, and, for a moment, I'm worried that McGarrett's latest stunt has tipped the young girl over the edge; the last thing she needs is for the adults in charge of her – i.e., McGarrett – to add to the trauma of the situation. Fortunately for me, that's not the case. Gracie motions for me to come closer and then cups a hand in front of my ear.

"Uncle Steve has to put a quarter in the swear jar," she whispers. "When Step-Stan says a bad word in front of me and Charlie, Mom makes him put in a dollar."

I'm guessing that McGarrett usually has the willpower of a saint when it comes to not swearing in front of young, impressionable children. I have to fight the smile that's threatening to split my face in two as I diplomatically suggest, "Maybe we could let him off just this once? I think his hip is really hurting."

If I'm honest, I'm not sure McGarrett really deserves to be let off of paying his fine. However, it's up to both him and I, as the so-called 'adults' here, to set a good example for Detective Williams' daughter so I hold back from telling the young girl exactly what I think of her beloved uncle's actions. My mother would be so proud.
The young girl glances over her shoulder at the pained expression on her uncle's face before hesitantly conceding; "I guess it would be okay to pretend I didn't hear Uncle Steve say the bad word just this once. Because he got hurt." She still looks a little unsure about the whole thing; I guess turning a blind eye to her uncle's questionable choice of language still counts as lying in her eight-year-old mind.

"I think it would be okay, too," I assure her with a smile and a wink. "I won't tell if you don't."

Gracie twists a finger around one of her braids as we watch the dark-haired woman chivvy McGarrett onto the stretcher. The medic looks rather unimpressed at the commander's actions and it comes across in the pointed look she aims in his direction once she's got him seated sideways on the narrow bed. He at least has the decency to look semi-sheepish, which is more than I got.

"Is Uncle Steve really going to be okay?" Gracie asks. She sounds younger than her tender eight years as she watches Surfer Medic take over and push McGarrett back against the raised head of the stretcher.

"He's going to be just fine." I reach out to take the young girl's hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze before joking, "He'll be back to terrorizing the island in no time, just you wait and see."

Grace giggles. "Danno says Uncle Steve needs professional help." Well, what can I say to that? He's obviously a smart man, that Danno.

Realizing that the paramedics are lowering the ambulance's ramp, I gently start to nudge Gracie towards the rig. No one has said anything to suggest otherwise so I assume she'll be going to the hospital with McGarrett until someone can get hold of her dad.
One of the uniformed HPD officers has wandered away from the abandoned Cherokee and is standing talking to McGarrett, who's been belted onto the narrow stretcher – no doubt so he'll be deterred from doing something stupid, like try to walk on a suspected broken leg. I recognize Sargent Duke Lukela's slight build and thinning grey hair from the accident scene Heather and I attended the other day once Gracie and I are a bit closer. He doesn't remember me but his expression changes when he spots Detective Williams' daughter. Turning back to the commander with a stricken look on his face, the Sargent asks, "Has anybody contacted Danny?"

"He's in court," McGarrett replies.

So no, then. Maybe it's a good thing; if what the commander has told me is true, I'm guessing that Detective Williams would be perfectly willing to risk being found in contempt of court over this whole thing the second he heard the words 'Grace' and 'car accident' in the same sentence.

"He needs to know what's going on," Lukela chides.

"I know he does," McGarrett agrees. Sighing, he leans back against the head of the stretcher. "We've been waiting over a year for this case to go to trial," he mutters, rubbing a weary hand over his face. He looks conflicted and I feel for the guy, I really do. Heather filled me in so I know all about McGarrett's - as yet unfulfilled – mission to bring his father's murderer to justice. It must be difficult knowing that he has to deliberately keep his partner in the dark until he's done testifying or run the risk of the judge dismissing the charges against their suspect.
After a tense few moments of head-versus-heart deliberation, the commander glances at his watch and decides, "Send an officer to the courthouse but have them wait until the judge breaks for the afternoon before they say anything to Danny. If he bitches about it, tell him it was my decision."

"I'll get it on right away," Lukela assures the commander, giving the younger man's shoulder a consoling pat. "Maybe the judge will see fit to grant a continuance," he adds before turning to head back to his marked patrol car.

"I doubt it," McGarrett grumbles. "Hey, Duke?"

The Sargent looks back as the dark-haired medic steps forwards and starts to unlock the wheels on the stretcher. Keeping his voice low, the commander asks, "Could you check to make sure my service weapon is secure? I put it in the glove box but I'm not sure if I locked it in there."
Well, would you look at that? Turns out Super Seal isn't immune to concussions, after all.

"Sure, Steve." Lukela holds out his hand for the car key, which the commander duly fishes out of his pocket with a barely-concealed wince. "I'll take it to HQ and have the Desk Sargent lock it in the safe," the older man says as he hooks McGarrett's keys onto the D-shaped carabiner clip that's attached to his utility belt. "You can pick it up in the morning."

With that, he heads off to retrieve the commander's weapon, and the medic pushes McGarrett up the ramp and into the back of the rig. Gracie's grip on my hand tightens as we follow the stretcher towards the waiting ambulance.

"Go ahead, sweetie," I say, giving her a gentle nudge when she falters at the bottom of the ramp. "The lady will tell you where to sit. It's important that you listen to any instructions she gives you, okay?"

Gracie nods but her grip on my hand doesn't change. She glances up at where her uncle is being treated before turning back to me with these big pleading Bambi eyes that threaten to reduce me to a puddle of goo in a matter of seconds. It's pretty obvious from the young girl's expression that she's still scared shitless and part of me is wondering if I should offer to keep her company until her father can pick her up; I had planned on spending the afternoon on the couch watching car-crash TV - ironic, huh? - but I know that there's a good chance Gracie will be palmed off on a nurse or an orderly while McGarrett is being seen to. Having a familiar face – however new - there would probably be a small comfort to the frightened young girl. On the other hand, it might piss a certain ex-Navy SEAL off even more than using said child to blackmail him into going to the hospital…

Okay, I have approximately five seconds to make a decision. I can keep Gracie company and risk incurring the wrath of a man who could very easily make my working life a living hell or send a frightened child off to the hospital alone so as not to annoy her gun-toting former Navy SEAL uncle, the latter of which will probably result in the Dark Lord reserving a special place in hell just for me. Hmm, decisions…

Ah, screw it. Crouching down I take both of the young girl's noticeably clammy palms in mine and look into those big brown puppy-dog eyes.
"How about I come with you?" I suggest. "I can keep you company until we find out what's going on with your uncle's hip or someone gets hold of your dad. How does that sound?"
Gracie looks relieved and she offers me a small grateful smile.
"Okay, then." I push myself upright. "Let's go see where the lady wants us to sit."

When we arrive at King's Medical Centre I hop down from the passenger seat and follow Surfer Medic round to the back of the rig where he opens the door and lowers the ramp before helping Gracie jump down onto the curb. I take the young girl's hand as McGarrett is wheeled down the ramp and through the automatic doors into the emergency department. She's forced to break into a run in order to keep up as we follow the two medics, who navigate the warren of identical white corridors with an ease I'm yet to acquire. Our motley crew grinds to a halt in front of a set of swinging doors that open automatically when Surfer Medic keys in the access code and then a motherly looking middle-aged nurse in hot pink scrubs directs us to a treatment bay in the middle of the long row lining the back wall.

"Are you staying?" the nurse asks, turning to Gracie and I as the two medics push the stretcher close to the bed and lock the wheels.

"Yes, they are," the commander answers for us. I'm a little surprised – if I were the commander, the last thing I'd want is an audience, much less one that consisted of a child and a near stranger – but far be it for me to question a direct order. I usher Gracie into the crowded cubicle as the nurse moves to pull the ugly green privacy curtain across the opening behind us and we squash ourselves into the corner out of everyone's way as they prepare to move the commander from the stretcher to the bed.

"I can do it," McGarrett grouches - much to the nurse's amusement - as he swings his legs over the side of the gurney. The fact that he's moving about as nimbly as a ninety-year-old in need of a hip replacement does nothing to persuade us he can.

"I don't doubt that," the nurse soothes as she takes his arm to help him down from the gurney. Before the commander can protest, she has him perched on the bed and is pushing him back against the paper-covered mattress. I'm impressed with how she handled that – I could do with learning how to tame the beast that is an injured former Navy SEAL. I have a feeling it might come in handy.

Once McGarrett's settled, the nurse turns to the paramedics for the handover and two minutes later Surfer Medic and his dark-haired partner disappear through the ugly green curtain, taking their stretcher with them.

"Do you mind if we borrow that?" I point to the stool I've spotted under the counter that runs the length of wall behind me. I figure that Gracie might as well sit down while we wait to find out what's going on with McGarrett's hip. We'll probably be here for a while.

"Sure, honey." The nurse pulls the seat out from under the counter and I set it down in the corner out of the way.

"Come and sit down, sweetie." I steer Gracie towards the seat as the nurse rolls a portable monitor over to the bed.

"My name is Patty and I'll be helping take care of you today. I'm just going to do some obs," she explains as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around her patient's bicep and slips a pulse-ox clip onto his index finger.
"May I?" Patty pulls a thermometer from its case and pops a disposable cover over the probe as McGarrett grudgingly tilts his head in response. When the thermometer beeps, she glances at the screen and gives the commander's arm a pat before removing the pressure cuff from around his bicep. "Okay, you're all set. The doctor will be in shortly."

Shortly turns out to be almost an hour and a half later. As soon as it became obvious that the doctor wasn't going to be appearing anytime soon, Gracie slipped off the stool and deposited herself on the bed next to her uncle, leaving me to plonk myself down on the now vacant stool and start working my way through the 'Cool Facts' app Katie randomly downloaded onto my phone at some point. I'm familiarizing myself with the average number of sesame seeds on top of a McDonald's Big Mac bun when the privacy curtain twitches and the doctor, a tiny Hawaiian woman in blue scrubs, brushes through it into the cubicle.

"Commander McGarrett?" she asks, peering over the top of her glasses at the clipboard she's holding. When her patient nods she mutters, "Good, good," and then deposits the clipboard on the counter. "Now, young lady," she says to Gracie, "Could I ask you to pop yourself down from there, please?"

You know how kids randomly decide that they like you? Well, that's pretty much what happens next.
Gracie obediently slides down off the bed. Making her way round to where I'm sitting, she surprises me by hopping up onto my knee, where she wriggles until she finds a comfortable spot. I'm not quite sure what to do as the young girl leans back against my shoulder with a contented sigh. I kind of wish she'd thought to ask before turning me into her personal pillow but I suppose it could be worse - she could be screaming or refusing to let her uncle out of her sight instead of being all cute and cuddly.
McGarrett and the doctor have the same 'oh, how adorable' look on their faces when I look up and there's a softness in the commander's blue eyes when he meets my gaze. The smile he offers me makes me question pretty much every negative feeling I've ever had about the man. It's scary how one – admittedly gorgeous - smile can cancel out even the most abrasive of personalities. I'm obviously a lot more shallow than I'd like to admit.
Once Gracie is settled the doctor introduces herself and gets down to business, pulling a penlight from the pocket of her scrubs top.

"Look straight ahead for me," she instructs, shining the light in McGarrett's eyes. "And follow my finger. Any dizziness or blurred vision?"

"No."

"Can you tell me your full name and date of birth?"

"Steve McGarrett, March ten, nineteen seventy-seven."

"Good. Lift your shirt up for me, please."

She tuts when the bloodied t-shirt is lifted to reveal an extensive area of road rash that goes from mid-way up his ribcage to - I'm assuming – about halfway down his thigh. The angry red patches follow the contours of the former SEAL's ribs and skim over the ridge of his hipbone before disappearing beneath the waistband of his cargos but, even bloodied and bruised, McGarrett's body is a sight to behold; he's pure muscle, all hard lines and sharp angles. I can understand why women fawn over him (It's definitely a sight I could get used to).
The doc presses down on the commander's abdomen. Starting in the upper quadrant, she slides her hands from right to left, and then repeats the motions as she works her way down towards the commander's pelvis. McGarrett sucks in a sharp breath when she presses down just inside his right hipbone.

"Sorry. That's obviously a little tender, huh?" She pauses for a moment to let her patient compose himself and then moves her hands towards the center of his pelvis. "Does the pain get any worse when I press here?"

McGarrett winces but then shakes his head. "It's about the same," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. The doctor nods and then excuses herself before turning to flip through the EMT notes that have been attached to the commander's chart.

"It says here that you're unable to put any weight on your right leg. Is that right?" She looks over the top of her glasses at McGarrett, who sighs and then nods. "Okay. Based on my examination and the paramedics' notes, I suspect there may be a fracture." Pulling a pair of blue latex gloves from the box on the counter, she continues, "I need to do a quick exam to check for internal bleeding and then we'll get you over to Imaging for a CT scan."

When she bends down to pull a gown from one of the cupboards, I take it as a cue for Gracie and I to make ourselves scarce. Whatever the 'quick exam' entails, it obviously requires some state of undress and that means a little privacy is in order.

"Come on," I say, chivvying Gracie off my knee. "Let's go see if we can find a vending machine or something." Swinging my bag up onto my shoulder, I take Gracie's hand and lead her out into the corridor. We follow the signs for the exit and eventually end up in the crowded ER waiting room. There's a vending machine in the corner, across from the reception desk slash nurse's station, and I let go of Gracie's hand to fish my purse from the cavernous depths of my tote bag as we make a bee-line towards it.

"Do you want anything?" I ask, feeding a dollar into the slot. "There's water, orange juice or soda, or we could see what they have in the gift shop."

"Do you think they'll have M&Ms?" Gracie asks hopefully as she pulls a handful of coins from her pocket. "Uncle Steve always gets them for when I stay over at his house. We share them but he saves his blue ones for me because blue is my favorite color."

I didn't think it was even possible for a big bad Navy SEAL to be so firmly wrapped around the finger of an eight-year-old girl, but now that I think about it… Is that cute, or what? I end up making an 'oh, how adorable' face of my own just imagining the commander carefully picking all of the blue M&Ms out of the packet – not because the blue ones taste different, but because his partner's little girl just happens to like that color best.

H50*H50*H50*H50

"Knock, knock."

I hesitantly peer through the gap in the privacy curtain just in case my little detour via the hospital gift shop wasn't quite long enough. The cubicle is empty except for Nurse Patty. McGarrett must be off getting his CT scan. Patty looks up from her paperwork as I usher Gracie back into the cubicle and settle myself back onto the stool in the corner. Gracie offers the older woman a shy smile and then settles herself back on my knee. Now that I know what to expect, the warmth of the young girl's weight is strangely comforting the second time around. Instead of freaking out, I pull McGarrett's niece further up onto my lap and settle in to wait for the commander. Nurse Patty has the same look on her face that McGarrett had the first time Gracie decided to put me to work as her personal pillow. I can practically hear the older woman melting as Gracie snuggles in.

Commander McGarrett is wheeled back into the cubicle about twenty minutes later. He looks rather tee'd off and I keep my eyes on the tiled floor beneath my feet as the orderly guides the commander's gurney back into place in the middle of the small room, and then uses his heel to lock the wheels. I wonder what's got him so riled up?
Leaning back against his pillows, the commander sighs and runs a hand through his hair as the orderly and Nurse Patty both leave the room. The motion leaves his short dark locks standing in an array of messy spikes and I'm hit by the sudden urge to lean over and smooth it back down. Obviously I don't; Gracie is rather conveniently anchoring me to my seat and I don't think McGarrett would appreciate being mothered. Besides, it would be a little weird if I suddenly got all touchy-feely with the guy given the love-hate (or should that be like-hate?) thing we've sort of got going on. It's sort of like a twisted version of 'Ten Things I Hate About You' except that I'm more of a Bianca than a Kat.

"Hello again." The doctor brushes through the curtain and uses the computer on the counter to pull up the images from the commander's CT scan. She studies them intently, peering at the computer monitor over the tops of her glasses. A faint grey line on one of the scans has her humming and hawing for several minutes but eventually she turns to her patient with a smile on her face.
"Well, it looks like you've been extremely lucky this time, Commander," she says, removing her glasses. "I don't see a fracture or any other cause for concern but I think it's fair to say that you'll be sore for a couple of days."

Well, that's a relief. A day or so off his feet and McGarrett will be back to his usual trigger-happy self. I'm sure Five-0 will manage without him for a few days. Assuming he lasts that long, that is; I suspect the commander is the kind of guy who picks and chooses which bits of the doctors' advice to follow.

Speaking of doctors… She's currently examining the painful-looking road rash on the commander's arm. It runs from about mid-way up his triceps, over his elbow and right down his forearm to the knob of his wrist but it's his upper arm that appears to have taken the brunt. The large oriental tattoo across his bicep is missing several layers of blue-green skin and the surrounding area looks hot and swollen. Red raw is probably the best way to describe it.

"There doesn't appear to be any debris in here but we'll give it a good clean just to be sure," the doctor says. "Are you up to date with your Tetanus?"

Silence follows. I mean, really… You'd think someone who gets injured as often as the commander does would know when his last Tetanus shot was or at least have it written down somewhere handy.

"We'll give you a booster," the doctor decides. "I'll prescribe you an antibiotic cream for the abrasions and some painkillers for your hip. Do you need anything for the pain just now?"

"I'm good, thanks." McGarrett shakes his head and then offers the doctor a tired smile as she gathers her clipboard from the counter.

"Sorry to interrupt." A nurse pops her head around the privacy curtain. "Commander McGarrett? There's someone here to see you." She pulls the curtain back to reveal Detective Williams. He doesn't look happy. In fact, I can see the vein in his forehead throbbing from here. The doctor must notice it too, because she quickly excuses herself and pulls the curtain shut behind her.

"Danno!" Gracie jumps down off my lap to hug her father, who gathers her in his arms and squeezes her tight as though he can't quite believe she's all right.

"Grace!" Williams cups the young girl's face with both hands. "Are you okay, Monkey?" he asks as he searches his daughter's face for any signs of injury. Gracie nods but then her face crumples and she flings herself into the detective's arms, and buries her face in his shirt. She's obviously feeling a little overwhelmed. Bless her.

Commander McGarrett wearily rubs a hand over his face as he watches the detective pick up his sobbing daughter and then prop her on his hip. "Danny," he starts, pushing himself further up the bed. "I – "

"Don't, Steven." Detective Williams spins on his heel to glare at his partner. He looks like he's about two seconds away from exploding until he gets a good look at his partner's face and then, his expression softens once he's taken in the extent of the damage. "You okay?" he asks, gesturing towards bloody scrapes on the commander's arm.

"I'm fine. It's just a bit of road rash," McGarrett tells him. And a bruised hip. And let's not forget about the concussion; the doctor hasn't said anything yet but I'm guessing it will only be a matter of time before the words 'observation' and 'overnight' get mentioned.
"How did it go in court?" the commander asks, quickly pushing his partner's concern to one side. "Did they ask you about the takedown?" Hmm... Judging by the look on the blond detective's face, that wasn't a good move. He doesn't look like he's about to punch something but he's not exactly happy, either.

"I'm sure they would have loved to," Williams replies rather scathingly, bumping Gracie further up on his hip. "Except I had to leave before they got a chance to ask more than my name and rank because my Neanderthal partner decided to play chicken with a four-thousand pound hunk of metal."
The commander ignores the 'Neanderthal' jibe and leans back against the head of the stretcher. "Please tell me you didn't walk out of court," he groans, rubbing a hand up over his face. Williams holds a hand up in a 'please' gesture.

"No, moron, I didn't. Some of us actually know how to conduct ourselves in public." Resting against the counter, the detective continues, "No, Duke called the governor, the governor called the judge's personal assistant – they're golfing buddies, apparently. Anyways, the judge decided to reconvene first thing Monday; Chin's going to set up a video-link so I can testify from office."

Well, thank God for Duke Lukela. His quick thinking means that Oahu's favorite law-enforcement duo will live to fight another day. Who knows what would have happened if the Sargent hadn't intervened. A trial separation? Divorce? All joking aside, the Sargent's mediation on Commander McGarrett's behalf means that the person on trial will still be held accountable for their actions. His or her victim will get the justice they deserve.

The commander sags against the bed and lets out a relieved-sounding sigh. "Thanks, Duke. I owe you one," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.

"You owe him more than one, babe," Williams says. Tilting his head to check on his daughter, he smiles when he sees that Gracie is moments from falling sleep. "So what's the deal?" he asks, throwing a curious glance in my direction before he gently draws a stray strand of hair away from his daughter's face. It gets tucked behind her ear and then Williams' full attention is on me. I feel like I'm standing up a high-powered spotlight.

"Uh, hi…" I give him a small wave in lieu of shaking his free hand, which is rubbing soothing circles over Gracie's back. "I'm Chloe."

The theme tune from the Alfred Hitchcock movie 'Psycho' emanating from within the confines of his trouser pocket prevents the detective from continuing. Charming. I wonder what the caller has done to deserve that ring tone?

"It's Rachel," Williams sighs, checking the caller ID. He quickly silences the ringer so it doesn't wake Gracie. "I better take this."

McGarrett makes a 'gimme' motion in Gracie's direction. "Give me her. "

"Uh, yeah. Thanks…" Williams deposits his sleeping daughter onto the bed beside the commander and then points a warning finger at his partner's chest. "Behave yourself, Super Seal," he says before ducking through the privacy curtain, phone pressed to his ear.

Behave yourself… Funny.

A few minutes pass. Gracie mumbles something in her sleep and turns to snuggle into McGarrett's side. The commander lets out a strangled-sounding groan when the young girl flings an arm around his middle and her fist connects with tender flesh.

"Are you okay?" I push up off my seat and make my way over to the commander's side as he takes a deep breath and then runs a shaky hand over his face. "Do you want me to take her?

"No," he says absently as he gently moves Gracie's arm. "I'm good. You should go," he adds, giving me a tired half smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You've already wasted enough of your day off."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" I ask. I feel like he's trying to convince himself, rather than me. "I don't mind."

"Yeah." The commander clears his throat. "Go."

"Okay." On a whim, I lean down and hug him. He stiffens when I wrap my arms around his neck but eventually he relaxes into my embrace and I feel the warmth of his hand on my back. "Take care of yourself, Commander," I mumble when I finally release him.

"Chloe, wait..." McGarrett grabs hold of my wrist as I turn to leave. His blue eyes bore into my own with an intensity that I haven't felt since the night I met Eddie Ray. "Thank you," he says, giving me one of those half smiles that threatens to reduce me to a puddle of goo. "And it's Steve."