*** Where's Waldo? (Airborne) ***

As they continued on their return journey, Steve maintained his focus on the view outside his front window – as experienced a pilot as he was, he still needed to stay alert to keep the helicopter upright and on course. But a part of him continued to mentally kick himself and ponder "what ifs." How the fuck did we lose Wo Fat again? We should have been able to save Freed and get Wo Fat. What could we have done differently? Maybe if we'd arrested Amy, we could have forced his hand sooner? Maybe… A dozen scenarios played in the back of his mind, even while he kept his eyes on the air space and cockpit controls in front of him.

Meanwhile, Danny had managed to stem the bleeding from Freed's shoulder with a make-shift tourniquet. Once Freed lay back, uncomfortable, but resting, Danny leaned his head against the cold metal hull, sighed deeply, and shut his eyes. With the adrenalin from the gun fight subsiding, he became intensely aware of how emotionally drained he was. He only re-opened his eyes when the congressman shifted and moaned softly before drifting back to sleep.

Danny – who remained bewildered at Kamekona's unfaltering enthusiasm for his latest entrepreneurial venture – to this day had never felt the urge to enjoy the scenery from the inside of a flying bubble – especially one without side walls or doors. His not-nearly-infrequent-enough flying adventures with Steve tended to require complete focus on the outbound leg, while being spoiled by stress and utter exhaustion on the return.

But on this occasion, despite being doubly weary from both the rescue mission and the weight of a day's worry, Danny found himself sitting upright to peer out the unobstructed side of the cabin.

Looking back out and to his left, Danny spied a section of the Kamehameha Highway he associated with some of the worst tasting food he could remember. Soon after he had joined HPD, Meka had givn up on trying to get Danny out on a surfboard. So instead, one Sunday, Meka had hauled him into his Jeep Wrangler and taken them for a scenic drive on the Kam. They'd stopped at his aunt's restaurant where they were served organic acai bowls and boiled peanuts. Afterwards, Danny had demanded that Meka take him to the best pizza in Honolulu – both as penance, and to mask the lingering aftertaste.

Though the pizza had left much to be desired, its bowling alley home gave birth to a biweekly decompression session for the new partners. Danny had welcomed the excuse to get out of his apartment, but had to insist they get two lanes – Meka was such a bad bowler, he used bumpers… and no self-respecting cop from Jersey could be seen bowling with bumpers.

Further south on the Windward Coast, Danny looked down and saw the distinctive curved roofs and red bridges at the Valley of the Temples. Gabby had dragged him there one afternoon and sweet-talked him into ringing the sacred bell. Danny had raised his eyebrows skeptically when she explained that ringing the bell was said to bring happiness and long life, but actually burst out laughing when she added that ringing the bell would "purify the mind of evil spirits and temptation."

Each time he thought about it, he was overtaken by what could fairly be described as a mild case of giggles, each of which was met by a glare from the memorial's staff and other visitors. It took him three tries before he was able to hold a straight face long enough to approach the three-ton bell; he had forced himself to focus on Gabby's instructions as she put one hand around his waist, and the other on his arm to guide him as they pulled back and released the giant wooden log used to sound the bell. He had looked back to see her smiling warmly at him and found himself grinning back like a Cheshire cat.

Looking forward, Danny saw Steve frowning at the landscape in the distance, as if he were trying to defeat it in a stare-down. Behind his partner's silhouette, the windshield was again filled with the blue sky and lush green forests that had been passed unnoticed on their northbound journey less than an hour earlier.

Danny recognized the trail that he'd hiked – rather jogged up – trailing behind Steve who had kept up a pace better suited to a mini (all-uphill) marathon than a leisurely nature stroll. They'd shared memories of favorite father/son adventures, childhood heroes, teenage girlfriends, and worst drinking experiences before they finally made it to the petroglyphs Steve had wanted to show him. Though he'd been horrified when Steve was hit in the face a boulder after rappelling off the trail to check on an unexpected corpse, to this day, Danny still couldn't help feeling amused when recalling the goofy grin Steve had on his face when, with tongue firmly planted in cheek, Danny had pointed to himself, mimed a heart, and then pointed to Steve. Nor had he quite forgiven Steve for subsequently sticking him with the task of digging through a crate full of fish – using the broken arm suffered as a result of said boulder as a convenient excuse to avoid the slimy, smelly undertaking.

As they approached the crest of the Ko'olau Mountains, Danny could see the sapphire-hued deep waters peeking out from behind the sweeping green vistas. The forestlands and mountains they passed soon gave way to Waikiki's aquamarine lagoons and creamy sand shoreline. The Technicolor landscape assaulted his senses in a way the comforting and ubiquitous grey of Weehawken's narrow asphalt lanes, concrete front yards, and closely-set putty-colored homes never did.

Though Las Vegas promised to mimic the manufactured blandness of Jersey's landscape, the surrounding desert reminded Danny of a beach from hell – endless expanses of sand with no surfing, no margaritas, and no swimsuit calendar photo shoots. Even three time zones wouldn't buy him any chances to see the Yankees or Jets – short of watching them play on the Jumbotron at a sports book. Danny tried to remind himself that even Vegas with Grace was better than anywhere without her.

Danny checked his harness and cynically leaned forward in his seat, cantilevering out the opening and wondering how painful death by freefalling from a helicopter would be. It's a freaking long way down. He looked up at Steve and backed away from the opening, hastily shifting back in his seat. Danny looked towards the cockpit and shook his head in bemusement. I can't believe he friggin' jumps out of airplanes like most people jump into swimming pools.

As they passed the foothills, the drab, angular landscape of urban Honolulu soon took the place of the idyllic wildlands. Danny readily recognized the Aloha Stadium, where Chin and Steve had explained the finer points of shotgun versus spread formations to Grace. Though Grace smiled cheerfully back at Uncle Chin and Uncle Steve, she'd really been far more interested in doing the Wave and trying to get the grown-ups to dance "Gangnam Style" with her.

Also easy to spot were the Honolulu Zoo and Waikiki Shell – where he and Grace had compromised and agreed to go see Jason Mraz ("he's cute...but musically competent") – as was the Pali Highway, where he'd spent a now non-negligible part of his life bickering with Steve as they criss-crossed the island in search of witnesses, suspects and evidence.

Looking out to the west, Danny could just make out the waters of the North Shore where Steve had dumped Joey Lombardo into a shark-watching cage. Danny chuckled softly to himself at the memory but soon stopped at the thought of Chin and Kono, in his place, enjoying a beer while enjoying Steve's unorthodox questioning tactics. Meanwhile, he envisioned himself, laboring beside some lame, conventional, by-the-book, box-ticking – and undoubtedly less effective – detective in Las Vegas.

He looked down at Chris Freed, who appeared to be stable and resting. Once again, his partner's need to be the superhero had produced results. Steve McGarrett was, without doubt, an insane Neanderthal. But Danny had come to think of him as his own insane Neanderthal. And the thought of Steve – and Five-0 – continuing its worthwhile efforts without him left him feeling envious of his colleagues.

Danny scanned the city streets and recognized countless chain link fences, laundry lines, swimming pools, and alleys – over, under, and through which they had chased many a suspect. But he was surprised to find it was just as easy to find familiar haunts that brought a smile to his face.

A quick survey of the shoreline turned up Kamekona's godawfully fugly yellow truck without much difficulty. Ala Moana Beach, where he'd fumbled with "the basics" of land-surfing, was easy to spot as well, its waters dotted with the ever-present crowd of casual surfers.

Danny had felt like an idiot starting from scratch, especially at his age, paddling on dry land. It took him the better part of a lesson to get out onto the water, and then another several before he could get himself upright on a wave more than 10 feet out from shore. But despite his abhorrence for the feeling of salt water up the nose, it all paid off when Grace joined them for her own first surf lesson. As he coasted into shore, she ran up to him, her eyes bigger than saucers. She wore a huge grin across her face as she yelled, "Wow, Danno! You were totally shredding!"

A short distance away, he spotted Mamo's, where Kono had helped him spec out a pink Shred Betty board – after he had insisted there was no way ("no fucking way!") he was buying a Hoochie Mama- or Vixen-branded board – for Grace. And nearby, he knew was Grace's favorite paint-your-own pottery shop – a place where Steve was now persona non grata.

Danny found he was actually having fun and challenged himself to play a game of Where's Waldo hunting for less obvious locales.

Near downtown he found Liliha's – home of the heavenly coco puff – and a cute barista who always slipped him an extra coconut macadamia nut cookie with his order. A few blocks south he found the jazz club on Kapiolani where Max had wowed them all during an amateur jazz open mic night.

With a little bit of searching, he found the bright yellow fire engine parked in front of Station House 7 near the end of Kapahulu. He counted two blocks north and guestimated the location of the Thai place where Chin and Malia had ordered "off the menu" – as in requesting specialties that were nowhere to be found on the printed menu. Just thinking about the restaurant's signature dish – dubbed "volcano curry" for haoles – made his mouth water and his lips sting. Chin had ultimately insisted on riding him home since Danny was really in no shape to drive after unsuccessfully trying to douse his flaming mouth with four Singhas consumed in rapid succession.

A few doors down, across from the Safeway, he knew, was the karaoke bar that Kono had picked out for Chin's bachelor party. Max's rendition of Devo's "Whip It" had them all falling out of their chairs, and proved to be a hard act to follow. Next up, Danny took the mic reluctantly, feebly intoning Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" as Kamekona led the party in vociferously booing Danny's half-baked effort.

Making sure there would be no chance he would be out-karaoke'ed by his partner, Steve chose "Livin' on a Prayer." As he left his seat to take his turn, Kono whispered conspiratorially in his ear, turning back to her drink with a giggle that left Chin feeling nervous.

Steve, it turned out, was as evidently fearless when it came to personal embarrassment as he was in matters of life and death. He attacked the mission at hand with characteristic McGarrett gusto, and soon had the whole crowd enthusiastically playing air guitar and lip-syncing to the chorus along with him. Danny was shaking his head in amused defeat when he made the mistake of catching Steve's eye (or allowing Steve to catch his eye, as the case may be). Steve honed in and sang the song's final verse to him, emphasizing, "We've got to hold on to what we've got/cause it doesn't make a difference/if we make it or not./We've got each other and that's a lot/for love...We'll give it a shot. Wo-oah! We're halfway there..."

Steve finished by winking and blowing a kiss in Danny's direction while Chin exhaled at having dodged a bullet. As Chin, Kono, Joe, Max, Kamekona, and Lori laughed themselves silly, Danny flushed crimson, covered his eyes with one hand, and shrank under the table. Steve triumphantly returned to his seat, fist-bumping the others and playfully "shooting" Danny with a mimed "gotcha" finger point. Danny finally gave in to the good-natured ribbing and mock-clutched at his chest where the invisible bullet would have hit, laughing along. Steve put his hands on his hips and smiled a cocky smile as he teased, "You know you loved it, babe!" – sending their dining companions into yet another fit of uncontrolled laughter.

As Danny continued searching for familiar places, Steve adjusted their heading to the southeast, to stay out of Honolulu International's air space. As they headed towards the coast, Danny searched for Rachel's street in Kahala. Even though he'd spent more than his share of hours sneaking out in the pre-dawn hours to avoid awkward explanations to Grace, he still fondly remembered falling asleep with Rachel in his arms. On those nights, with Grace asleep two doors down, Danny had finally felt like all was right in the universe again.

Danny craned his neck to find Steve's house on the beach. For over two years, it had been his surrogate home. Danny had spent more time there than in his own squalid series of apartments and seedy motels. Even after Steve had booted him as a houseguest and he'd found an apartment that he'd made livable, he still spent countless nights on Steve's couch. Danny had taken to keeping a spare change of clothes and a toothbrush in Steve's guest room for the more-than-occasional times when a case demanded their attention in the wee hours of the morning– sometimes with the ink barely dry on the prior evening's takeout receipt.

Many nights, too many beers consumed in too little time – a makeshift panacea to help blot out the horrors of a particularly rough day on the job – made the drive home a lethal proposition. Other times, late nights were spent working leads, reviewing potential evidence, and pushing theories until both were bleary-eyed with exhaustion. But many more evenings had been occupied by comfortable conversation about everything and nothing – Cath and Rachel, parents and siblings, life and death, guns and sports, movies and music, MREs and masaladas, love and loss.

Stretched to his full height, Danny could just make out the railing of Steve's lanai. He smiled, remembering the birthday dinner Doris McGarrett had served al fresco on the upper deck. After listening to Danny whine about the local cuisine for the better part of an evening, she exercised her formidable intelligence gathering skills to extract Sue Williams's secret. Her resulting lasagna topped even Danny's sisters' best attempts and he had happily eaten leftovers every night for the rest of the week.

As they reached the coast and turned westward, Danny watched the tourists climbing the steep steps to Diamond Head's lookout point.

Even as his original flight from Newark descended into Honolulu airport for the first time, he'd vowed not to be sucked into the island's seemingly endless array of tourist traps. Eventually Steve and the rest of Five-0's extended ohana relentlessly tag-teamed him into submission, acquainting him with the island's hidden treasures from a local's perspective.

But even on that very first day on the Island, the fates had intervened to make sure Danny appreciated that tourist highlights were such for a reason. And so, as it happened, a wrong turn that day had left him lost and out of gas by a pullout near the Diamond Head lookout. Stranded, with no A/C in the car, and nothing to do but wait for the roadside assistance truck to arrive, Danny reluctantly extracted himself from the driver's seat and began pacing along the stone barrier between the pavement and the rocky slope leading down to the shore.

Just the day before, the whole Williams clan had driven through the pouring rain to see him off at the airport. The goodbyes started off unremarkably, with a firm handshake and a hug from his Pop, who said a comforting, "You go do what you gotta do, son." But after a seemingly endless series of heartfelt goodbyes with his sisters – who took pains to brush away their tears when their kids weren't watching – it had taken every ounce of willpower for Danny to turn and walk away from his mother, who, unbeknownst to Danny, had bit her cheek until it bled so that he wouldn't see her cry as well. The last thing he saw before making his way down the jetway had been his little brother Matty, who stood behind the gate agent with a sad smile on his face, waving with one hand, and holding a giant bouquet of Mylar balloons emblazoned with "We'll miss you!" in the other.

A hastily placed phone call from his precinct captain to the head of HPD had ensured him employment upon his arrival, but not much else. Danny already dreaded being the "new guy," especially one surrounded by a bunch of Keystone Cops who probably stressed as much about their tans as the purse snatchers who Danny envisioned likely comprised the vast majority of Hawaii's "criminal element."

The flight from Newark had departed late due to the rain, and as a result, Danny missed his connection at LAX. After four hours spent reading Sports Illustrated cover to cover, three times, his flight finally took off, placing him at Honolulu International close to midnight.

The "three-star ocean-view" hotel room he'd been promised would have been dingy and dim under any circumstances. But his midnight arrival mid-weekend left him with the last available room. The only chance he would have of seeing the ocean from his room would be if someone walked in with a glass of sea water – or a tsunami knocked flat all the luxury high-rises that lined Waikiki's shores to create a line of sight.

The following morning hadn't been much better. After two hours of fruitless apartment hunting, he'd had found himself turned around, unable to navigate with the shoreline as a landmark as he had in Jersey (just keep it on your right and you'll be heading North). And so it was that he found himself stuck on the road to Diamond Head Lookout that afternoon, miserable and lost.

"Goddamned Stan!" he had muttered to himself. He looked out at the sea, sparkling blue and mocking him from seemingly every direction. "Stupid island." Even after unceremoniously tossing his jacket in the back seat, he was still sweltering in the blazing sun; the button up and tie he'd donned to look trustworthy to potential landlords, combined with the 70% humidity to make the temperatures feel even warmer than they already were.

He continued to curse the "stupid sun," as passing tourists watched him with bewildered stares. The apartment he'd moved into after he and Rachel had split wasn't much to shout about, but at that very moment, with a relatively small batch of belongings – the items he couldn't bring with him in his checked luggage – in transit, all he wanted was to be back home in his bland bachelor pad, sitting on his Barcalounger, with Grace at his side, watching the Yankees stick it to the Sox.

"Hey, buddy," one half a couple in their mid-60s finally said, "me and my wife, we've been saving all our lives for this trip. I don't know why you're here and why you seem to hate it so much, but look around. There are people who would give their right arms to be standing where you are right now."

Danny bit back the urge to tell the guy to go mind his own god-damned business and managed to choke out, "I'll take that under advisement."

After their tour bus had finally left the nearby parking lot and the throng temporarily thinned out, Danny walked over to the edge where the largest crowd of tourists had congregated. Okay, he said to himself. So what the fuck is the big deal? It's the ocean. Big fucking deal.

He sat down on the ledge, turning himself around so his feet dangled off the edge of the stone wall. In the distance, he could see the multi-colored sails of Sunfish and windsurfers dotting the cerulean waters, and at water's edge, the red top of the nearby lighthouse.

To the east, he could hear the faint sound of sirens approaching. Danny's eyes followed the windy road that hugged the shoreline and he soon saw an older black sports car weaving in and out of traffic along Diamond Head Road. About a quarter-mile back, he saw a newer blue sports car, with a blinking cherry on top, following behind and gaining at a good pace. Danny smiled to himself for the first time that day. They don't give plainclothes cops unmarked cars to go after purse snatchers. Maybe this place won't be so bad after all.

As the cars rounded the bend, Danny could see the white-capped waves, rolling into the beach at the base of the hills. Though he knew he was far too high up for it to be possible, he would have sworn he could hear the waves crashing into the shore. Though dotted with umbrellas, blankets, and sunbathers, it was nowhere near as crowded as the wall-to-wall mass of humanity who crowded Jersey's shores on summer weekends.

Grace will love playing there, he thought to himself. His smile spread from the corners of his mouth to his whole face as he remembered, And I get to see her tomorrow afternoon…assuming I haven't been arrested for killing my sure-to-be-an-idiot partner.

Grace, Rachel, and Stan had relocated nearly a month prior. It had been by far, the longest, Danny had gone without seeing Grace, which no doubt contributed to his incessant grumpiness. Her attempts to talk him through Skype and FaceTime on his sisters' smart devices had been appreciated, but not very successful.

And I get to see her every week, now that I'm here. That thought brought a smile to his face for the first time since his arrival. Danny continued to stare out into the waters, as the skies began to turn pink and purple – Grace's favorite colors. The temperatures began to decline with the arrival of dusk. By the time the roadside assistance truck arrived, he had come to accept his situation. And over the years, the pullout where he'd been stranded – relatively quiet and uncrowded in early mornings and later in the evening – had become a respite on days when he wondered why he hadn't run back to the mainland at the first chance he got.

Danny had been grateful for every moment he'd been able to spend with Grace, and at those times, where they were had become so secondary as to be insignificant. But the morning he'd been served with the revised custody petition, he could feel his world being upended again. No. Not again. God damn it. Not again. The papers had weighed heavily on his mind, even as Fryer's murder and the HPD explosion consumed Five-0's attention.

When the long day finally ended, Danny had picked up Grace from school, and unexpectedly found himself driving up the steep silver ribbon of road up to Diamond Head. Watching one of the two most beautiful things on the island staring contentedly out at the other, Danny realized that Hawaii had indeed become home to both of them, and he found the resolve he needed to fight for their right to stay there, together.

It was at that moment that he threw down the proverbial gauntlet, leaving Rachel a voicemail message to let her know he would contest the custody change – a message that precipitated six months of increasingly terse and angry voicemails, tense mono-syllabic pick-ups and drop-offs, and accusatory stares, culminating in the morning's court hearing. It all seems like such a long time ago, Danny thought, staring down at the silvery ribbon of road that that twisted its way up the barren hillside of Diamond Head.

As they began their final descent, Danny glanced ahead and saw Honolulu's other tourist hotspots pass by in rapid succession, without emotion: the statue of Justice by the Punchbowl, Waimea Falls, Hilo Hatties godawful kitch emporium, and the International Market Place, among others.

Steve's voice over the intercom interrupted Danny's sightseeing. "Kings Medical, this is HPD N6007H. Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett requesting permission to land."

"All clear, Commander McGarrett," came a voice in their headsets. "We're ready for you."

Danny looked past Steve and out the forward window, and felt a moment of regret. In the distance, he could just spy the only tourist site that he wished he'd made an effort to visit – the USS Arizona.

Well, maybe we can come back someday on vacation? he thought, then corrected himself. Who the hell am I kidding? If I have to move to Vegas, I am never coming back to this place on vacation. But then the thought of leaving behind Steve, Chin and Kono, Kamekona and Max, hell, even, Doris, Catherine, Flippa and Toast, left him cold. They're never coming to the mainland. I'm gonna have to come back if I wanna see them. Shit.

But even as the final syllable silently passed his lips, he found that he actually wouldn't really mind the thought of returning someday for a visit. Double shit. The place had grown on him.

Moments later, Steve gently set the skids on the ground and killed the engine. Danny unstrapped himself and hopped out as the rotors slowed to a stop and the helo's rhythmic whir dimmed to a low whine. Hospital staff were at the ready and quickly whisked the congressman off on a stretcher.

"I'll stay here and get the security detail set up," Danny volunteered, as Steve readied to return the helicopter to its base.

Shortly thereafter, Steve drove back from the airfield in Danny's car, listening to the empty seat next to him rant. What is the matter with you? I knew you couldn't let Wo Fat go! Freed was hit! What were you thinking? Nothing should have been a higher priority.

He returned twenty minutes later to find Danny in the hospital cafeteria, slumped across a table, with his head resting on his arm.

Danny looked up and replied, "Hey." Danny had been mentally continuing his Hawaii retrospective. As he contemplated how impossible it would be to replicate his life in Vegas – or even to create a reasonable facsimile, he found himself feeling more miserable than ever.

"You look like hell," Steve added.

"Thanks," Danny sat up and glared at him. "This is what I look like after I get shot at by a homicidal sociopath," he replied drily.

"Any news on Freed?" Steve asked.

"He's still in surgery," Danny said, "but the doctors are optimistic."

"That's good," Steve said, adding, "Kono called; daughter's on her way. They found the body of our third heat signature, about 50 yards from the hideaway. It turns out he was a local who was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. The ATV Wo Fat was riding was registered in his name; they found it abandoned along the road about 2 miles from the hideout. Ground's dry though, so not much for tire tracks. HPD crime techs are checking out the cabin, but early reports say Wo Fat cleared it out. I don't think they're gonna get much there."

"Great," Danny replied grimly.

Steve paused for a beat before venturing ahead. "Any news?"

"Didn't I just give you the update?" Danny said, with annoyance.

"That's not what I meant," Steve said. "Any news for you?"

Danny soberly shook his head. Since he didn't volunteer anything else, Steve grabbed a chair and sat down next to him.

"It looks like Amy was clean," Steve reported. "She was telling the truth; Wo Fat said he'd kill her...and he did."

"Wow, there's really a first for everything," Danny deadpanned. "An honest politician."

"The slug in Amy was a positive match for the rifle in the sniper's car," Steve continued. "The shooter's name is Kimo Alohilani. Aside from the phone calls, they haven't found a direct link to Wo Fat yet. But get this, wanna guess who the gun traces back to?"

"Our favorite dead arms dealer?" Danny guessed.

Steve nodded and confirmed. "Victor Hesse."

"Boy, this just keeps getting better and better," Danny said.

"In the meantime, Kono and Chin are building the case on Powers," Steve continued, "but with Amy and the shooter both dead, we don't have much to hard evidence to tie all this to Wo Fat."

"Except Freed," Danny observed.

"Except Freed," Steve agreed. "When he wakes up, we're gonna need a statement."

"Right," Danny replied, slouching back in his seat.

"I got this, Danny," Steve said. "It's been a long day. I can get this."

Danny shook his head. "Nah. I'll stay. At this point it's probably too late for a verdict today, so this will at least give me a few less hours to tear my hair out. Besides, I'll feel better seeing for myself that he's okay."

Steve nodded absent-mindedly in acknowledgement as he stared out the window, still seething over another near-miss with Wo Fat.

Glad you're so interested, Danny thought, pulling out his phone. He launched a browser, and began browsing rental housing options in Las Vegas. Well, the good news is that rental housing is a lot more abundant – not to mention cheaper – in Las Vegas, he concluded. But then searching a bit more, he noticed that detective salaries were even lower than HPD's, which was already a big step down from his pay grade back in Jersey. Damn. I can't buy a break.

He stabbed his finger at the touchscreen and angrily swiped screens until he found Grace's Angry Birds app. He hadn't spent much time playing it since he'd downloaded it for her during one weekend visit, but the few times he did, he could hear her voice in his head, explaining each of the birds' powers. On this particular afternoon, he needed to hear her voice. Given the uncertainty of their situation, he didn't want raise false hopes or worry her more by calling her again, so he settled for hearing virtual-Grace in his head as he killed time in the hospital cafeteria.

Both Danny and Steve were well distracted when a nurse finally approached an hour later. "Excuse me, Detective Williams?" Danny stood up to listen. "Congressman Freed's awake. He's still weak, but should be able to answer a few questions."

"Thank you," Danny replied. He looked over at Steve. "Ready?" Steve nodded and stood to join him.

They walked silently to the congressman's recovery room. Freed's uniformed guards nodded in salute as Steve and Danny walked by.

Freed was resting, his head turned towards the window. An IV dripped into his right arm and a clean sling had been secured over the left shoulder of his hospital gown. The nurse on duty stood to give them privacy. On her way out, she let them know, "You have ten minutes."

"Sorry to bother you, Congressman, sir," Steve said. He waited for Freed to turn over to face them. He pointed to himself and said, "Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, Five-0," then motioned towards Danny, adding, "This is Detective Danny Williams."

Freed turned his head to look at Steve and Danny. "Chris Freed. But I guess you knew that." He gave them a faint smile. "Thanks for saving my ass."

"You looked like you were holding your own pretty well," Danny replied, smiling amicably.

Freed chuckled softly before realizing that laughter hurt his chest. He sat up partially and hacked several times before getting the cough under control and lying back down.

"We know this isn't a great time, sir, but we need to get your statement," Steve said. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"I was working in my office last night," Freed began, "when I got a call from Powers asking me to meet him."

"Brad Powers?" Danny clarified.

"Yes," Freed confirmed. "Said he needed to hammer out debate ground rules and that he wouldn't be able to make our scheduled meeting later. He gave me this address near Mount Tantalus and sent his car service over to get me."

"What time was that?" Steve asked.

"I'm not sure. Seven, eight p.m., maybe? Amy and Josh had gone for a bite and the rest of the staff had left for the day," Freed replied. "So the car arrived – dark sedan, nothing distinct, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the middle of nowhere with some guy holding a gun to my head."

"The man we saw shooting at you?" Steve asked. Freed nodded in reply.

"He's a wanted criminal named Wo Fat," Steve explained, nodding for Freed to continue.

"He handcuffed me to a heavy metal chair in this outbuilding. The room had concrete walls, no distinguishing marks, small windows. Looked almost like a bunker to me. He said he wanted me to sign a letter he'd written. Something about apologizing and being ashamed," Freed explained.

"Did you sign it?" Danny asked.

"Hell no," Freed replied. "I told that arrogant piece of shit to go fuck himself." Danny and Steve both stifled pleased grins. "But I had to think twice when he threatened my daughter," Freed continued, as Danny nodded with understanding.

"Katie's fine, sir," Steve reassured him. "And she's on her way."

"Oh, thank god," Freed breathed a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes for a moment just to let that thought sink in before continuing. "When this 'Wo Fat' went into the next room, he left me with a pen to sign his goddamned confession. So I picked the lock and I ran," Freed said.

"Nice!" Danny smiled appreciatively. Anyone who tells Wo Fat to go fuck himself, and then picks a lock with a ballpoint pen gets my vote!

"Wo Fat's getting sloppy," Steve observed.

"I had a pretty good head start, but he must have had the ATV ready, 'cause he caught up pretty quick. He got me in the shoulder with a rifle, and I think that's about where you came in. And it's a good thing you arrived when you did," Freed concluded. "What I don't understand, though, is what was the letter about? What the hell am I supposed to be so ashamed of? I haven't done anything wrong."

Steve and Danny exchanged glances.

"Well, sir," Steve explained, "We believe that Wo Fat was plotting to discredit you, so that Brad Powers would be elected."

"Brad Powers?" Freed asked, surprised. "That can't be. Powers has aligned with some questionable interests on some of the issues, but I can't believe he'd resort to kidnapping."

"We can't prove it yet," Danny said, "but there is a lot of evidence that points in that direction. And we don't think Powers is running the show."

"Wo Fat?" asked Freed.

"Yes, sir," Steve acknowledged. "We believe that Wo Fat has been trying to shift the election in Powers's favor. Based on the polls, that strategy has yet to achieve its desired effect. So we believe he got nervous and devised a plan to frame you and take you out of the election."

"Frame me for what?"

"Murder," Steve answered.

"Murder?" Freed pushed himself up to look Steve and Danny in the eye.

"Yeah," Danny confirmed. "You see, it was a funny coincidence. We just 'happened' to find a dead prostitute in the bed of the house in Kahala where you've been staying."

"Only a few trusted advisors and personal friends knew I was staying there," Freed said, alarmed. He began listing, "Sam Denning, Katie, Josh Lowry, and..."

Steve and Danny exchanged glances and Danny looked away.

"And Amy Davidson," Steve completed the sentence.

"Amy?" asked Freed. "Amy wouldn't betray me. I'd trust her with my life."

Steve swallowed hard. He still hated this part of the job. "Sir, Amy Davidson lost her life trying to protect you."

Freed collapsed back onto his pillow, staring at the ceiling.

"We have security footage of Amy leaving a bar last night with Wo Fat," Steve explained. "We believe that's when Wo Fat coerced her into helping with his charade. Based on Amy's statements, he forced her to cooperate and threatened to kill her if she didn't. When she panicked and tried to do the right thing, he had her executed."

"No, not Amy," Freed said mournfully. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No, no," Danny replied. "The other people in the building, including the rest of your staff, were all safely evacuated. We believe that Amy was targeted because of her familiarity with you and her knowledge of your campaign. "

"Amy's family," Freed said, "have they been informed?"

"Yes, sir," Steve said. "HPD has also provided grief counselors to your campaign staff. They're all a bit shaken, but Josh has them working on organizing a candlelight vigil in Amy's memory."

Freed nodded and turned his head away. Danny looked at Steve, silently wondering if that was their cue to depart.

Steve nodded towards the door and Danny had turned to leave when Freed stopped them. "Wait."

Danny turned back around and they waited for Freed to collect his thoughts. "Wo Fat," he said. "Didn't his name come up in Pat Jameson's murder?"

"Yes, sir, it did," Steve confirmed.

"Then why isn't that bastard facing the business end of a lethal injection?" Freed demanded.

"Sir," Steve said, "he is the slipperiest son of a bitch I have ever seen. He has people watching his back in every agency we've encountered: HPD, CIA, the governor's office. You name it, he has someone on his payroll there. And he's so well connected, he's got a lot of protectors on the inside making sure they don't lose their informant. So every time we bring him in, someone gets him off, or..." Steve couldn't bring himself to say admit that Wo Fat had eluded him personally on so many occasions.

Freed looked to Steve to complete his thought, and was surprised to hear Danny say, "Or he just plain escapes." Steve glared at Danny. Danny shrugged as if to say, Truth hurts, pal.

"Well," Freed said, "you've got one more in your corner now. You let me know what I can do to help."

"Thank you, sir," Steve replied as a knock sounded at the door.

Steve and Danny turned around to find HPD Sgt. Duke Lukela escorting a teenaged girl who was carrying an oversized rainbow leopard-print backpack. Freed looked through the window and smiled. Katie Freed threw open the door and ran in, dropping the backpack before flinging her arms around him, tearfully sobbing, "Daddy!"

"Hey, Sunshine!" Freed winced as she bumped into his injured shoulder. He bit back the pain and smiled as she stood back. "Hey, hey, hey," he said soothingly. "There's no need for tears. I'm fine."

Steve and Danny nodded their goodbyes, and Freed silently mouthed thank you as they left.

"Daddy, I was so worried about you," Katie said.

"Don't you worry," they overheard Freed saying as the door shut behind them, "I'll always be there for you." Steve watched as Danny stopped to watch the happy reunion through the window.


Chapter End Notes: After writing the prior chapters, I happened to glance up to see the establishing shots (the landscapes shot from the air). Although H50 uses these shots constantly to indicate passage of time/distance, in this particular case, I couldn't help thinking that the Danny in this fic would be seeing a similar view as he was perched in the helicopter returning to Honolulu. So, next thing I knew, 11 seconds of footage became 2,200 words of fanfic and a bunch of plot bunnies (at least the pottery painting memory has a story behind it).

I don't recall any mention of Danny's mom's name (almost done watching Season 2), but if it's ever mentioned, I'll correct it. In the meantime, I also don't know when his birthday is, but given the timing between the Season 2 reveal, and this episode in January, I figure I have at least a 50-50 shot of it having passed in that time.

In the meantime, I like Freed. I hope he's back. Anyone who tells Wo Fat to take a flying leap has my vote, too!