CHAPTER SIX: Shock Value

-H5O-

Bryce dragged McGarrett's deceivingly heavy body the few meters to the trees and then dumped him under the low-slung palm. It wasn't a perfect hiding place but it would do in a pinch and the chances of someone coming through here in the next half hour and spotting him were slim to none. He looked down at the limp body and belatedly remembered that the man had a cell phone that could, theoretically, be used to track him down. They didn't need any more than a good half hour to make their retreat, but Bryce wasn't willing to take any unnecessary chances. They were already leaving him alive and that was as big a risk as he was willing to take.

He bent down and searched the Commander's pockets, grabbing the cell phone and was about to step away when something in the fold of his blood soaked shirt caught his attention. Leaning forward he realized, with a detached sort of amazement, that what he was looking at was a bullet. He gingerly plucked it from the shirt and looked closer, noting the blood coating the crushed projectile, before pocketing the dirty little thing and finally stepping away. It would be a unique memento.

"Ready?" Eric asked sharply and Bryce nodded, turning back to his brother, Ms. Anook and their prize: Danny Williams in the flesh. Bryce moved to him and performed a thorough pat down, ignoring the grumbled protest and the halfhearted attempt at moving out of reach. Eric had a solid enough grip on the guy, but they both knew it was the gun and the possible future violence towards his partner that kept the shorter but powerfully built man mostly complacent. He didn't have any extra weapons on him, so Bryce liberated his wallet and cell phone and stood quickly, giving the clearing one last look, before taking point and leading their little team towards the beach.

Now that they had Williams he wanted to get the hell off the island and start making their money. They stopped again at the edge of the trees, the stretch of soft sand that met the ocean wasn't very wide here and as far as he could tell nobody was about. They pulled off their masks and Williams response was a heated glare and a visible testing of the cuffs that bound his hands.

"Just remember that we don't need you in perfect working order. Try anything and we won't hesitate to put a bullet through your foot," he warned and the smaller man obediently stopped twisting his wrists.

"Let's go," Eric ordered, prodding Williams out onto the stretch of sand closer to the waters edge. Ms. Anook stuck closely to their side, as planned, her practical sandals easily handling the loose ground and Bryce could tell that she was keeping a tight lid on her interest with their product, her features schooled in professional interest only. Bryce paused a moment once they hit the water's edge and threw the mask stuffed with the phones, other masks and the gloves that he and his brother had worn, out as far as he could into the waves. He'd made sure the phones had been turned off, but this extra precaution made him feel more at ease. They started heading down the beach as quickly as they dared, but it was late and the only couple they passed were very much not interested in anything but each other.

"You should not have left the other man alive," Ms. Anook's clipped tone broke into the sound of crashing waves. Beside him Williams stumbled a little and he grabbed roughly under his armpit to keep him on his feet, eyeing him carefully. He was being quiet, his attention focused straight ahead and a look of concentration on his face that made Bryce uneasy. He could be planning something. He tightened his grip in warning.

"We're taking a man who, as you have probably realized by now, carry's a badge and a gun. The minute the HPD realize that one of their officers had been taken they are going to swarm the islands in blue looking for him," he explained quietly, irritated by her tone.

"All the more reason to kill the other man, leave no trace," she pointed out.

"Those masks weren't just to hide our identities incase the video feed to your boss was hacked. We don't need the attention killing a decorated military man would bring." He didn't mention that while he'd wanted to kill him Eric had pointed out that Williams had a reputation for being stubborn and uncooperative when being forced to do something he didn't want to. He'd already proven that he would expose his very, very well hidden talents to save his partner's life, which meant that they could continue to use McGarrett's life against him should he decide to not do as they ordered.

She gave them a considering look before pulling out her phone and typing a text. Williams stumbled again, and it wasn't Bryce's imagination when the man began to lean slightly more into their tight grips despite the gun at his back. He shared a look with Eric, whose eyes just said to keep going. It wasn't far now anyway.

A few minutes later they rounded a copse of jutting palms and the rickety old dock came into view. They were on a small stretch of beach between tourist and local hotspots, chosen specifically because it was as secluded as you could get in this particular area, which was not secluded at all but it was enough to suit their purposes. They moved swiftly to it, stepping onto the washed out wood that was on its last legs and began the short trek to the boat moored at the end.

Williams seemed to come out of whatever fugue he'd been in right as they reached the shiny vehicle and he stopped moving abruptly.

"No," he finally found his voice and turned to glare at Eric. It was kind of pathetic and lacked the vibrancy they had come to expect of him after weeks of surveillance. "This is not a good idea, you don't want to do this."

"Get on the boat," Eric gave him a pointed shove and he stumbled a step forward but caught himself again. Bryce moved forward to drag him the last few steps but the small man still resisted. "We could still go back and finish off your partner," he threatened darkly which earned him a heated glare. Bryce tugged and Eric pushed and a moment later Williams was practically tripping over the edge and onto their not insubstantially sized boat. Eric followed immediately and together they herded him roughly to the tiny cabin under the boat's nose. It was nothing more than a cubbyhole with a mattress, but it had no windows and locked from the outside securely. Williams didn't have time to balk at it as they rushed him down the three steps and tossed him into it. He grunted when he hit the mattress, rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and made no further attempt to move. Bryce locked the door as Eric started the engine and they sped away into the dark.

The woman Marcel had sent out to be the physical witness to the demonstration took a seat at the back of the boat, promptly ignoring them. Bryce didn't particularly like her, sure as hell didn't trust her, but she'd played the part they'd given her well and he could respect her for that, if not for her obviously valued position in Marcel's ranks. He moved to join his brother at the wheel, bracing himself as they hit some of the larger waves before heading out to deeper waters.

"There's something wrong with him," he declared as quietly as he could over the engine and wind and Eric pursed his lips.

"He looked like he was stoned, couldn't keep his feet easily. Must be a side effect of using his mojo. Let him rest for a bit and then get some water and food into him. It'll be hours before we meet up with them. If he's not better by then we'll tell them he still needs to recharge and figure it out from there."

"I don't trust the woman," Bryce declared, giving her a look over his shoulder and seeing that she was still hard at work on her phone.

"I don't trust any of them, but business is business and we need a starting clientele otherwise nobody will believe in our product. Just stay sharp. We do the job, get the money and then head off to the first safe house and figure out what we're going to spend it on," he gave Bryce a huge grin and Bryce returned it whole heartedly. They'd planned and planned and gone over everything five times and the only way this was going to end was with enough money for ten mansions all over the world and a man who would keep them stupidly rich for the rest of their lives.

-H5O-

He blinked back to consciousness when the engine's roar dimmed to a low purr and struggled weakly when two sets of hands dragged him upright and then out onto their boats deck. Squinting he'd glared at them in the predawn sunlight, goose bumps prickling in cool morning air, but they seemed unaffected as they moved about and shoved him onto a cushioned bench along the side. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs uselessly and didn't make it easy when they decided to remove them briefly to strip his outerwear and ordered him to wash Steve's blood off his hands and forearms. He didn't look at the pink hued water in the bucket when he was done and didn't linger too long on thoughts of Steve (please let him be okay), because before he knew it the boat was moving again and this time he knew their destination.

In the distance a large cargo ship loomed closer and closer, the multi-coloured crates stacked high and beginning to shine in the sunlight. Danny watched, trying to look more alert than he felt and keep the threatening nausea under control as the boat jumped the waves. They pulled up to its side, waaaay too close for comfort, and only moments later a big, muscled man climbed down the built in ladder like a monkey and plopped onto the deck.

"I've got your boat," he announced gruffly and thrust what looked like a harness at Danny's dark haired captor before moving to take the wheel from the balding guy. The monkey man made no effort to hide his interest in Danny as he moved past, giving him a long, thoughtful look before turning his attention to keeping their tiny, miniscule vessel from being pulverized against the massive metal hull of the cargo ship. Danny just glared, keeping his lips tightly pressed together because he could recognize when words would be useless. They were useless when it came to Steve (a deathly pale face and blood tinged smile) and maybe he was still reeling over that, because he was definitely still feeling weak from trying to save his life. Weak, dizzy, lethargic, not a good combination on a good day and pretty much disastrous right now.

He tried to unslump from against his seat when the dark haired guy approached with a harness and held it out to Danny.

"Put this on," he ordered, the harness loops dangling in the air and Danny eyed it, then eyed the ladder that they were floating beside that went allllll the way up to the ships deck. At the top he could see two heads bent over the side, watching them, and a bright blue rope with a carabineer was dangling in the air just waiting to be put to use. He looked around the boat, the big guy at the wheel kept glancing over at them, the woman that he felt so betrayed by was giving him a cool, assessing look even as she spoke into her phone, and the two guys who had apparently orchestrated this entire thing were towering over him, their weapons very visible and their calculated threats to Steve very fresh in his mind. It was the ladder or the ocean and Danny wouldn't want to climb that metal monstrosity unaided even if he was feeling like a million bucks so-

"You expect me to put that on with these?" He held out the cuffs pointedly, his wrists visibly red from twisting in them, and the bald guy stepped forward and undid them for the second time that morning quickly and without argument. Danny put the harness on and watched distractedly as the woman gracefully launched herself off the boat and onto the ladder, shimmying up it with ease.

When it was Danny's turn he wasn't anywhere near as graceful, slipping and bashing a knee against a metal rung, almost clipping his chin. He felt the tug of the harness around his legs the entire way up and was stupidly grateful for it because by the time he reached the top his limbs were shaking from the exertion. He hadn't had a chance to recover enough from the marathon healing he'd given Steve and he felt it. When he reached the top, flakes of rust sprinkled across his palms, hands reached out and hauled him over the side and he nearly lost his footing as his body came to grips with the idea of solid ground. Or as solid a ground could be on the water.

"This is him?" Danny looked to a man with a head of dark curly hair, dressed like he was preparing for a business meeting with Donald Trump, and scowled as he looked Danny up and down, like he was a freaking horse at an auction.

"It is," Baldy replied, his grip tightening possessively on Danny's arm.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Williams," the suit offered with a well meaning smile. "I am Marcel."

"It's Detective Williams," he snapped back heatedly and the man's face fell a little at the open hostility. He tisked, his eyes glancing at the cuffs that had been reapplied when the harness had been removed.

"As you wish," he bowed his head and looked at the two men flanking Danny, his original captors. "Mr. Bryce, Mr. Eric, shall we get to it then? I fear my brother will not wait forever."

"Certainly," Mr. Eric, agreed from Danny's left. "We would be glad to go to your brother, just as soon as the first half of our agreed payment has been transferred to our accounts." His tone was as polite as Marcel's, his grip loose on Danny's elbow, and it was all so proper that it made Danny's teeth hurt. But there were cuffs on his wrists, hands bruising his upper arms, and armed men surrounding them that clearly belonged to Marcel. Marcel, who was still watching Danny with undeniable fascination, even as he nodded to his assistant and she pulled out her blackberry, quickly typing into it, before nodding.

"There," Marcel declared with a wide, friendly smile, "the first three million has been transferred as per our agreement. You will receive the second half once my brother has been seen to." He looked to Bryce and Eric as they checked the funds on their own phone but Danny had the distinct impression that his real attention was focused on him. Of course now that Danny had finally figured out what the hell was going on, he kind of wished he'd taken his chances in the Pacific because he wasn't an idiot (unlike the two yahoo's who had discovered him and stolen him in the first place) and he knew what was lurking behind the polite veneer on Marcel's face.

"Agreed, please lead the way to your brother," Eric said easily after a long look at his phone, all professional and confident and clearly a moron. Marcel took the lead with the blond, traitorous, leggy assistant and Eric fell into step beside him for polite small talk as they began what felt like a mile long walk to the aft of the ship. Danny felt dwarfed by all the steel, the sun's heat already beginning to reflect off the painted crates and the wind whipping his hair even more out of place. Behind them three men with partially concealed weapons followed at a respectable distance, closing them in, and Danny couldn't keep his silence any longer.

"Tell me you guys aren't serious about this!" He hissed quietly at the man, Bryce, who still had a firm grip on his arm. He gave Danny a warning look but as no one up ahead turned to acknowledge them Danny continued. "Do you really think that abducting me and selling me to this guy is a good idea? Really?"

"We're not selling you to this guy," Bryce replied just as quietly, giving his arm a tug, "We're selling your services."

"You're serious," Danny muttered incredulously, not a question because he could tell that the moron beside him truly believed that that was what was happening here. "Listen to me," Danny gave him his darkest, most sincere look, "you are not selling anything to this guy. Just look at him! I don't have to know who he is to know that he is the real deal here, not you. As soon as we're done meeting with his brother do you really think he's just going to toss you another three mill, shake your hand and send us on our way? No, he isn't. My guess is he'll shoot you and your partner and throw you over the side and then I will be stuck in his graces instead of yours." This was something that actually concerned Danny, because he could recognize that Bryce and Eric were small time criminals who had somehow (How, damn it?) stumbled across his secret and seen dollar signs. Danny could work with small time, because they made mistakes and didn't have the resources or reputation to back up their apparent 'ownership' of him. This Marcel guy wouldn't think twice about taking Danny as his own and then Danny would be in real trouble, because he suspected escaping from this guy was about five million times more difficult than Tweedles' Dee and Dum.

"Keep it to yourself," Bryce snarled, "just do what we tell you and maybe we won't have to make another visit to your partner. And if that's not enough, then maybe your ex-wife and little girl wouldn't mind if we dropped by to say hello." Danny went stiff at the threat, stopping on the spot and turning to face Bryce to let him know exactly what he thought of that idea.

"Problem?" One of their three honour guard asked politely, their progression also halted by Danny's actions. Danny stared at the stubborn set of Bryce's jaw and decided to hell with it; you would severely piss Danny Williams off by threatening the people he cared about, his family, but you did not ever threaten his little girl.

"No problem," Bryce announced calmly and Danny began walking again as he was prodded along, not saying another word. They were met with inquiring looks when they caught up to the rest of the party but everyone was too polite to ask and before Danny knew it he was herded inside the ships four story aft tower and up a metal stairwell until he was finally pushed into a large, ridiculously luxurious room. Sunlight was pouring in through windows on his right, a large, plush couch and wing backed chairs made up a seating area in a corner, a massive flat screen TV that would probably take up an entire wall in Danny's apartment was dark and shiny over the seating area. In the middle of it all was a bed, surrounded by medical machines that Danny recognized but didn't really know the function of.

A man was lying on the bed, almost skeletal thin, his skin papery looking and nearly translucent. He was wearing a warm looking woolen cap and was wrapped in about a thousand blankets. A stern looking man in a white lab coat stood off to the side, eying them all keenly while dutifully checking monitors. Marcel had walked to the side of the bed and was leaning over it, gently holding the man's bony hand.

"I've brought someone to see you, Alfonse," he said softly, a gentle loving smile on his lips. The man, Alfonse, turned his head weakly towards the voice but he didn't open his eyes and a moment later Marcel was standing and looking very expectantly towards Danny. Danny didn't move, looking right back and trying to pretend that he didn't know why he was here. His fingers twitched and he balled up his fists and then the damn blackberry that Eric carried was thrust into his vision and he could see an image of Grace playing in the front yard of Stan and Rachel's massive home, the puppy Stan had bought her chasing her around.

Point taken. It didn't mean Danny had to be gracious about it. He held up his bound wrists and smiled insincerely as he waited for the cuffs to be removed and he was led to the bedside before he really felt ready. The man in the bed was almost as close to dying as Steve had been, Danny could tell he only had days left, maybe hours, and he knew that when he was finished here Danny would be even more helpless than he already was.

He stepped beside the bed and, swallowing back the fear that was becoming engrained in his bones, laid his hands on the dying mans chest and pushed.

When he did this he didn't have fancy medical terms to diagnose someone's illness or a planned method of attack; it was all done by feel, by energy and instinct. Alfonse had something wrong with the basic core of his body, with his ability to fight off illnesses; with his cells. Danny ruthlessly sought out not the cells but the bones, to the marrow, needing to fix the source of the issue first and then, if he had enough energy left afterwards, he would give the body a boost to begin fighting on its own. He worked for a few minutes, his knees growing shaky and a thin sweat coating his entire body. It was too soon, too soon after Grace's friend and after Steve and after too many long nights and not enough decent food and when spots began to dance in front of his eyes Danny pulled his hands away and stumbled back. For a long moment there was nothing but silence.

"Well?" Marcel's cool, lightly accented voice, cut through the air and he was looking at Danny expectantly, the tension clear in the set of his shoulders even if it wasn't on his face.

"Did what I could," Danny mumbled and wondered if he should look for a chair or maybe just sit right there on the floor and breath deeply until the world settled a little.

"Will he live? Will he heal?" Now the man was looking between Danny and the doctor, who was fluttering around the bed and looking at the monitors, frowning.

"His pulse is stronger, his breathing slightly less labored, but I will need to run a few blood samples before I say anything conclusive."

"He'll only improve from here on out," Eric, the idiot, declared confidently and drew Marcel's attention. "I understand that this is a moment of great importance to you, but I'm afraid we have a schedule to keep. If you could please send us the rest of our money then we will be on our way." The floor was looking really good right now and Danny decided that it would probably be a good idea to get a little closer to it before his legs gave out completely. He hunched over and began to lower himself when strong arms caught him from behind. He didn't have the strength to even squawk in protest, but a moment later he was being lowered onto the plush couch he'd eyed earlier. At least someone around here had a bit of common decency.

He cracked open eyelids that had closed and found that he had lost a few moments in time as Bryce and Eric were now being led out of the room at gun point, loudly protesting with red and furious faces. The blond woman was standing off to the side, watching them disappear out the door with little interest before focusing her attention on Marcel, her look softening to the first emotion he'd seen from her since her act as a hostage. So that's how it was.

"Why is my brother not responding to me?" Marcel asked Danny, his blue eyes focused on Alfonse. Danny considered not answering, mainly because it took so much effort, but he could recognize that his survival might just depend on his ability to explain what his new jailer should expect.

"It takes energy to heal," he lifted his hand to help make his point, got about three inches of height before letting it collapse and he rolled his head back against the soft cushions. "People are always tired, the more serious it is the more they'll sleep after. He's jus sleepin," his words began to slur. "Needs t'heal."

Four loud bangs muffled through the walls from somewhere outside. Gun shots. Danny had been expecting something along those lines but still twitched at the understanding that Bryce and Eric would never kidnap anyone else.

"And you are always this weak afterwards?" Marcel was right beside Danny now, too close and too functional and Danny wanted to scream at him to get out of his face and let him go home. Instead he grunted, tried to open his eyes to glare and failed. He felt sick, tired, drained. Sucked dry. He was nothing more than a withered old husk of stretched skin and dust and wanted to wail that everything that was happening to him was wrong.

This is what his parents had been trying to protect him from. This is what he'd spent his life hiding from. This is what he had always feared would happen and as the moments passed he cared less and less until finally he just shut the world out and slept.

-H5O-

His first solid clue that something was wrong came hand in hand with how long it took him to wake up. He'd spent half his life training to be aware the moment Morpheus released him from his grasp, but this time he was slow to shake off an unusual lethargy and finally peel his eyes open. The second clue was the massive pounding in his temple that screamed head injury in a familiar way. The third clue, which took a few too many moments to clue in on, was that he wasn't in his bed, or even inside.

When he finally moved, locking away any sounds of discomfort, he rolled out from under a bush and into a small clearing, swaying up to his knees. He could easily see the shimmer of blue water through the scraggly beach forest, could see a couple of early risers setting out towels and umbrellas on the sand. He took a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what the hell had happened through the pounding in his head, and remembered flashes of masked men in the dark, guns waving around, a woman crying. He rubbed his temple, as if that might help sort the disjointed images out, and his fingers found the sorest point right at his hairline. He hissed and pulled his hand down, seeing a few brownish flakes and a barely there rub of tacky red blood.

Then the slight blur of his vision cleared and he looked beyond his hand to the gray t-shirt he was wearing that was decidedly not gray anymore. His breath skipped, his chest constricting with a moment of remembered agony as he stared in panic at all the blood, still tacky in places from the humidity. Christ. He rubbed at his chest with both hands, fingers digging in a little as he forced himself to take a few steady breaths, before he yanked the nearly stiff clothing off. The dried bits of blood pulled at his chest hair as he tugged it over his head but he didn't notice as he stared down at his chest.

He was covered in blood. His blood. His navel and the crease of his abdominals had thicker smears that were still tacky, where as everywhere else it was just a rosy film. There were no bullet holes. He distinctly remembered the bullets, he remembered the pain and numbness and Danny's face hovering over him with wide and panicked eyes. Danny's hands on his chest, Danny telling him to shut up, Danny saying he was okay now and helping him throw up blood that had come from internal injuries.

Steve swallowed back bile at the remembered taste, the iron still heavy on his tongue and boasting a rotten flavor that he was only just noticing as everything that happened snapped into place. He looked over and eyed the sand where he'd been shot, there was a bit of blood there but not as much as he would have thought. He looked at the shirt in his hands, peeled it open and stared at the two tiny holes caked in brown, and took a few moments to steady himself.

The two men and woman had taken Danny. He couldn't remember much beyond protesting, but he thought his partner was locked in cuffs and he had no idea which way they went. There were too many footsteps from too many people in the sand to track them. The sun was still fairly low, it was maybe o-seven thirty. That meant that Danny had been gone for approximately eight hours. Steve looked down at his chest, looked at the patches of his blood on the ground, and decided on a plan of action.

He ignored the aching tired that lingered in his bones and moved quickly to Danny's car, the keys fortunately still in his pocket. He grabbed his spare t-shirt from the trunk, hiding the bloody one in the back corner. Luckily his cargo's were black, concealing the blood that had seeped into the waistline for him. He took a larger evidence bag back to the scene and carefully filled it with the congealed patches of blood-absorbed sand, leaving a few tiny spots for evidence of his attack. He nearly lost his composure when he saw the small caliber bullet mingled in the pool of bloody sand as he scooped it into the bag, but he forced the emotions back and ignored the rush of dizziness when he stood and moved to Danny's car, hiding the bags along with the shirt in his backpack. When he realized his phone was missing he borrowed one from an early morning jogger who handed it over with an 'oh my god, are you okay?' and placed a call.

In less then five minutes HPD was swarming the place, yellow police tape cordoning off the area Steve showed them, taking his detailed statement, and not giving him an option of saying no when the paramedics arrived, herding him to the back of the ambulance with orders to let them look him over. He could ignore the orders, but he wasn't willing to not document the concussion incase they needed it for evidence later. That didn't mean he let the well meaning medics do anymore than check his head and vitals. Chin and Kono arrived not long after HPD and as soon as Chin finished speaking with the lead detectives he saved Steve from the medics, who were trying to insist he come to the hospital for his head.

Chin drove Danny's car back, Steve sat in the passenger seat and pretended that every turn and every shiny object didn't drive spikes of pain into his brain. Compared to the bullets the headache was a mild tickle. He may have spaced out a bit during the drive, his mind a missive whirl of how and what the hell and they've got Danny- if he has so much as a scratch when Steve finds him he'll kill them. He nearly fell out of the car when Chin slowly opened the passenger door, his large warm hand steadying Steve's shoulder and a seriously worried look on his face.

"You sure you shouldn't be at the hospital, Bruddah?"

"I'm good," Steve grunted and hauled himself out of the car. He grabbed the bag and moved as quickly as he dared through the building, so focused on getting the investigation started that he didn't notice any of the looks the white bandage on his forehead received. He didn't notice Chin shake his head at a few officers that wanted to either ask what had happened or had already heard and wanted to offer their help, warning them off because Steve was in no mood for small talk right now. Together they barged into their office and spotted Kono right away, hovering over the table computer with a worried frown on her face.

"Sit rep," he ordered and her frown deepened as she looked over at them.

"HPD is pulling video surveillance of the area and searching for any possible witnesses-"

"There won't be any," he warned.

"-They're pulling the bulb from the parking lots lamp that was by the car. Looks like it was unscrewed as opposed to broken so they're going to try and see if they can get prints off of it," she continued, undaunted by the interruption. "I've pulled up Danny's phone records to see if there's been any unusual calls he hasn't mentioned but so far nothing stands out. That's as far as I've gotten," she finished and gave him a look over, her gaze lingering on his forehead and then on a spot on his neck.

"You want to fill us in on the rest, Brah?" Chin had moved from beside Steve to lean against the table, watching him steadily and Steve could admit that he'd been a bit distracted looking at the image of Danny that had been slotted up on the screen. It was the photo from his personnel file, transferred over from New Jersey to HPD to Five-O and Steve always thought Danny looked bored in it.

"The rest?" he asked distractedly and then looked back at his remaining teammates to see the flash of anger in Chin's eyes and the look of concern grow on Kono's face.

"The rest," Chin demanded, narrowing his eyes and daring Steve to deny there was more. Steve shook himself out of his distraction, shifting a bit so he only saw Danny's picture in his peripheral vision. "As in the things you didn't tell HPD about what happened last night. About where the blood on you neck came from, because it wasn't the head wound," his gaze drifted pointedly to Steve's neck. "And where the blood on the top of your pants came from." Leave it to Chin to have spotted that. "What happened, Steve? The whole truth."

What happened? Steve let out a rough little laugh, knew it sounded more crazy than funny, and rubbed at the apparent blood on his neck that he hadn't thought to check for before calling in the police.

"Steve?" Great, now Chin sounded worried, he was probably planning the quickest way to get Steve to the hospital and Steve couldn't have that.

"What happened?" Steve moved his hand to rub at his chest. "I wish I knew," he huffed and then checked around the room, making sure no one else was around before he unslung his pack and pulled out thet-shirt. He hesitated only a moment before tossing it on the table, sand falling off it and scattering across the screen. "That happened," he waved at the shirt, swallowing thickly at the blood soaked material. Chin eyed it a moment before carefully picking it up where it wasn't soaked in brown and red.

"That's your shirt from last night," Kono reached over and helped Chin spread it out a little in the air.

"Yeah," Steve managed and wondered if now would be a good time to sit down as he was once again overcome by the memory of what had happened. He must be going crazy, his sister always warned him that this could happen but he'd just assumed she was teasing. He was feeling a little spaced out and he kept seeing Danny's wide eyes trying to tell Steve something. Or maybe just trying to stay calm, Steve didn't know.

"Who's blood is this, Steve? Is it Danny's? McGarrett?" Steve looked up from the floor at Chin's snap, shaking his head to focus. Now was not the time to be overwhelmed.

"No, no it's not Danny's. It's mine." He waited as that fact sank in, putting his fiercest 'I'm serious and I dare you not to believe me' look on just incase he needed the backup, because he was well aware that what he was saying didn't make a whole lot of sense. Or any at all.

"It's not yours, Steve," Kono had clearly decided that his concussion was getting to him so he glared at her and her soft, comforting tone, which had the desired effect as she lost the overly concerned look from her eyes and turned to Chin. Chin seemed to be taking this in stride, but that wasn't surprising as the man always took things in stride.

"Tell us what happened," he ordered and Steve finally leaned heavily on the table, rubbing his chest absently.

"They shot me," he explained wearily. "Before they coldcocked me they put two rounds in my chest and watched me bleed." The fear was still there, still real and heavy but he kept it hidden, like he'd been trained, and met his teammates eyes to try and convince them that he hadn't gone around the bend. Kono had found the holes in the shirt, was poking at them carefully.

"You don't look like you've been shot," she swallowed thickly and stepped away from the clothing, letting it hang from Chin's grasp. "Show us."

It took him a second longer than it should have to realize that they weren't dismissing him outright, before he remembered that he had actually expected them to believe him in the end, which was why he was willing to tell them in the first place. He just hadn't expected them to be so quick on the uptake. He looked around again to make sure nobody was about to barge into their offices, before peeling his shirt up to his neck and exposing his chest.

Kono gave a little gasp, stepping forward and reaching out. Because it was Kono he allowed her to touch, even though he couldn't help the slight flinch as her finger pressed in and tried to smear away some of the blood. Unerringly she went directly to where the bullets had entered before she stepped back and wiped her hands on her pants, clearly not aware she was doing it as her eyes scanned his chest.

"Two scars," she announced and he blinked and looked down to examine his skin more closely. All he'd seen before had been blood, but sure enough there were two new scars, small, round and flat, as though he had healed from them years before. He swallowed thickly and dropped his shirt with shaking hands.

"Sit," Chin suddenly ordered and Steve found himself parked in the chair and a moment later a bottle of water was in his hands. He drank the entire thing under his teammates careful supervision, taking a moment to get his bearings back. He watched as Chin and Kono pulled up their own chairs and sat around him, Chin with Steve's bag in his lap and examining the gory bag of red soaked sand before he looked at Steve questioningly. "Danny?"

"Yeah," Steve sighed, sinking deeper into the chair and feeling exhausted like he'd rarely felt before. "Don't know how, don't understand it, but he did something because one minute I'm trying to say goodbye and the next minute he was there helping me remember how to breathe, the pain was gone and there were no holes in my chest. The men who shot me –they expected it," he grimaced and told the rest of the story. Explained about the video camera, the woman agreeing to some sort of a deal after she had verified that Steve was going to live, the way Danny had stood cuffed and silent the last Steve saw him. The more he thought about it the more the fury built.

"What I want to know," Steve finally finished, taking in Kono's pale face and the almost scary calm on Chin's, "is how these guys that grabbed Danny knew he had some…some impossible healing power?" He didn't tag on the fact that he wanted to know why they had known and Steve hadn't. The part of himself he kept detached from people and situations so he could do his job without becoming emotionally compromised told him Danny was protecting himself by keeping the secret. Obviously. He understood that even though they had known each other and worked together for well over a year now Danny had probably intended to take this secret to the grave. It made sense, Steve would do the same thing because lets face it: the idea of someone actually having such an incredible healing ability? It was science fiction! It was unreal and impossible, but apparently Steve was wrong about that and he was well aware of what the US government would do to a man like Danny if they discovered his secret. Hell, what any government would do.

Danny was a walking miracle. Steve tried to wrap his head around that idea. He found it wasn't difficult, it was just ridiculous, but he was a man who accepted facts as they came and it was difficult to disregard it when a friend literally knitted you up from the inside out and pulled you back from death with only the touch of their hands.

It didn't mean Steve liked being left out of the loop. Especially when it came to Danny.

"Whoever grabbed him took enough time to figure out how close you two are," Chin's forehead furrowed as he glanced back at the shirt. "They targeted you as the victim because they knew Danny would break his cover to help you."

"They could have targeted any one of us," Steve agreed and was thankful it was he and not one of them. He wouldn't wish the experience on any friend, and the thought of them targeting Grace? He would eviscerate them.

"They must have been watching him for a while, figuring out who to hit and when. This was too planned to be spur of the moment," Kono had moved to the computer and started tapping away. "They might be on the camera's from around HQ," she didn't sound confident, but it was at least a place to start and Steve nodded in approval.

"Let's get a list started on associates that may have been in a position to know about Danny's…" he hesitated a moment, not sure what to call it or if it should even be named, "…thing. I want to be updated on HPD's part of the investigation regularly, want to see if there's anyone who has a connection to him and Jersey that could be involved in this, I want the last five months of his life pulled apart until we know exactly who thought it would be a good idea to take him," and then Steve would rip them apart and send the message that nobody messes with his haole except him.

"The sketch artist will be here in about half an hour to try and get a picture of the woman you described," Kono announced. "Are we going to tell his ex-wife? What about his adopted family in New Jersey?" She looked over and Steve floundered a moment, because he hadn't even thought of that yet and yes, they would have to tell her and his family what happened. Then he'd have to tell Grace that Steve had lost her daddy but he would do his best to get him back. He wanted to punch something.

What a mess.

"Get a protection detail on Grace and Rachel-and Stan, just in case," he should have ordered that before he'd gotten back to headquarters. "Hidden protection detail, no need to alarm them," he added.

"We'll tell them later, once we know more about what's going on," Chin decided for Steve, giving him a steady look and Steve tried not to appear too grateful as he nodded in agreement. Kono looked like she wanted to protest but thought better of it and suddenly Chin was beside Steve and had a hand on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "You need to shower," Chin ordered and just like that all the dried, tacky blood under his shirt began to itch at his skin and Steve didn't argue. Chin walked beside him all the way to the currently empty locker room and even went so far as to turn the water on in the furthest cubicle for him. Steve shrugged out of his clothes without a care to his nudity, years of being in the military chasing any modesty away, and stepped under the heat gratefully. He hadn't realized how cold he was, and he shuddered under the streaming water. His body unclenched bit by bit as the heat pounded onto his back, his chest, his face and he used it to clean his still rank mouth and scrub at his hair until Chin announced that it was time to get out if they wanted to meet the sketch artist.

Steve blinked back to awareness at the man's warning, realizing that he had leaned against the back wall to let the water pound over his shoulders and had practically fallen asleep on his feet. He stepped out and grabbed the towel Chin had ready, not questioning that his friend had stood guard, that his soiled clothing had been packed away and the spare set he kept in the locker was ready and waiting on the bench for him. He felt better, not calmer, not right, but he was more collected, less in shock. It would be enough until he got Danny back.

"Better?" Chin looked up from his phone and eyed Steve critically. Steve squared his shoulders.

"Better. HPD reported in yet?" He kept his tone cool and clipped.

"So far nobody's seen anything, or if they have they're not talking. They haven't had enough time to do more than scratch the surface but they're widening the search radius."

"Good."

Steve didn't protest when Kono shoved a protein packed smoothie into his hand the moment he stepped back into the office, and he dutifully drank it under her watchful eye in between giving details to the artist until he was satisfied with the image she held up for him to inspect. Chin snatched the paper up and had it distributed to HPD before the artist had even left the office and Steve pulled himself to his feet, glad when the dizziness that had been bothering him earlier didn't reappear. Good enough. It was time to get some work done.

"Feeling better?" Chin materialized by his side as Steve went to his desk and pulled his weapon from the locked drawer, checking it and holstering it with practiced fluidity.

"I'm going to go talk to Rachel," he ignored the question and moved to the door. It was all about forward momentum, because he was going to find Danny but he feared that if he stopped moving now he might not be able to get going again right away.

"I'll go with you," Chin announced, "right after we go see Max." Steve stepped into the elevator and automatically punched the button to the coroner's floor before his brain caught up with him and he frowned.

"We have a body?" he glared, anger at not being informed sooner rising up but just Chin shook his head and gave him another one of his assessing looks. Steve bitterly wondered if the man had learned that look from his father, and then ruthlessly shoved the thought and the guilt it inspired away. Now was definitely not the time for that hidden hurt.

"In a manner of speaking," Chin waited for Steve to step out of the elevator once the doors slid open before following him out. "I want him to check you over." Steve stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around on Chin.

"Check me over?" He dropped his voice, not caring at the anger that leaked through. "Danny is out there, he's out there locked in cuffs with men who have no problems shooting people and they-" he realized that his voice had risen and he dropped it to a near hiss. "They know things about him and you want me to waste time being checked over?"

"Yes," Chin gave him a hard look, "I do. You had the medics on site check your vitals, confirm your concussion and then refused further treatment." Steve opened his mouth to argue but was cut off effectively as Chin pressed his point. "You were shot Steve, twice. Magically healed or not I am not letting you back in the field without a more thorough examination by a doctor," then his lips twitched in a decidedly unhappy way. "Danny would have certain parts of my anatomy displayed in a jar on his desk if I let that happen," he finished, which effectively derailed the refusal Steve was about to give. "He'd never let us hear the end of it, brah."

Steve crossed his arms and stood taller regardless.

"I'm fine, and even if I wasn't how the hell would we explain the sudden need for an examination to Max? He can't know the truth." Chin gave a look that clearly impressed that he wasn't an idiot.

"I want a retake on the vitals, and an O2 check, then we go to Rachel." Steve still hesitated, looking at the door only a few feet away that led to the head pathologist. "The sooner we go, the sooner we leave." Steve clenched his jaw and marched through the door. He didn't get far, stopping almost immediately as he registered that Dr. Bergman was indeed in his lab, standing right in the middle like a statue and staring right at Steve. He must have been standing there looking at the door even before he entered.

"You know how I feel about phones," the man declared and Steve was confused, which wasn't saying much at the moment, but meant that the little bit of patience he was holding onto was beginning to deteriorate.

"Sorry Doc, it was important," Chin answered, moving beside Steve but not distracting the doctor from his apparent staring contest with Steve's –neck?

"Hmmm, yes, so officer Kalakaua said. It has been a while since I've examined a living body," he announced and Steve had no problem believing that. He straightened his posture in silent defense. "Do not worry, I will be gentle. Sit!" Steve glanced at Chin, who looked pointedly at the chair Max had suddenly pulled out, and Steve sat obediently. "You are still in mild shock," the man announced from across the room, his back turned on them as he rummaged through a drawer.

"I am not," Steve protested, exhaustion beginning to weigh him down now that he was sitting.

"You are pale," Max declared, finding what he needed and moving back towards Steve and Chin.

"I spent the night concussed and shoved up under a tree," he explained with irritation, wincing as a light was quickly flashed in his eyes.

"You're skin is damp," Max leaned in closer than was absolutely necessary to peel away the gauze on his forehead and examine the wound.

"I just had a shower," he countered.

"Yes, a very hot one," Max mumbled, grabbing a plastic tube contraption and holding it in front of Steve. "Take a deep breath and exhale as much air as you can into this," Steve took the thing from him and did as told. It made him dizzy. "You are still in mild shock," Max decided again and then made Steve repeat the exercise two more times.

Chin remained leaning against the counter for the entire examination, arms crossed, gaze steady. Ten minutes later, after the fastest and one of the most thorough examinations Steve had ever been subjected to, he was turned loose with the suggestion of rest and the order to eat.

Chin grimly led the way back out into the midmorning sunlight and Steve didn't argue when the man silently slid behind the wheel to Danny's car. Steve woke up suddenly when the car jerked to a stop at Rachel and Stan's home and ignored the way Chin's eyes bore into his back the entire walk up to the front door.

Rachel opened it before Steve even had a chance to knock. She looked to Steve and then Chin and her eyes went wide and watery, her hand moving to cover her mouth in shock and she began to shake her head.

"No, Rachel. No," Steve reached out without thought and gripped her shoulders, ducking his head a little so that he could meet her eyes. "He's not dead, Rachel, understand? He's still alive, he's alive." She inhaled sharply through her nose, blinking the tears that had begun to gather back into submission and after a moment dropped her hand and took a deeper breath.

"I think you had better come in Commander, Detective," she turned and Steve followed her into the cool house. His eyes were immediately drawn to a photo of Grace sitting on the table by the door, and he hoped to god that he hadn't just lied to the mother of that child. Danny was alive. He was alive.

Tbc.

I hope that answered all the questions about the bullets :D Thank you so much for all the absolutely fabulous reviews! I'm not sure if I should be super pleased that I have such observant readers or really nervous about posting the rest of this thing ;) Seriously, you are all wonderful! Seriously.

Cheers!