Thanks to my faithful betas, AZGirl and Riter's Fury. This story would not be what it is without them. I'm sorry I haven't been responding to all the reviews, but I do appreciate you, and I love to know what you're thinking of this story.

Chapter Eight "Cut"

"I may seem crazy or painfully shy
And these scars wouldn't be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye
I feel alone here and cold here, though I don't want to die
But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside

I do not wanna be afraid
I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists; I found it when I was cut."~Plumb

Joe White pushed back the feeling of revulsion as he turned away from the latest victim on the M.E.'s table. It wasn't that the sight itself was so shocking to him, but the similarities to the injuries suffered by a man who was like his son were too close. Joe knew if Steve had been alive, he wouldn't have felt this way. It still would have been bad, but not this bad.

Part of what scared him was not knowing why. The bruise patterns and burns were too identical to the hospital reports from Steve's little adventure for it to be a coincidence. This killer had either worked for Wo Fat or been tortured by him, or knew someone who was.

Joe was fairly certain it was revenge. No one would torture so many people so precisely except to send a message. Whoever this was wanted Wo Fat. Joe almost laughed.

"Something wrong?" Officer Lang asked.

"Nope," Joe replied, flashing his ever so convincing fake smile. "Let's take a look at the crime scene and head back."

Officer Lang was young and didn't ask any more questions, which Joe was thankful for, but the kid had the makings of a terrible detective. Joe wasn't going to correct him though. Let his training officers do that.

They looked over the crime scene, but everything was pretty much as Danny and Chin had seen on Kauai, and Joe relayed the information back to Kono.

Riding the boat back to Oahu, Joe was lost in thought. He was recalling the late night getting a call from the governor of Hawaii. He recalled the terse voice telling him the son he never had was dead. He remembered hanging up the phone and resting his head in his hands as he sat on the side of the bed, tears falling for possibly the first time in his adult life.

Joe pulled himself back from those thoughts. Steve had been dead several months now. He needed to move on. Not that working for Five-0 was helping at all, and this case was just hammering him over and over again with the memories and the frustration that he didn't see it coming.

No one had known Steve as well as Joe did. He'd watched him grow up and been there for him through everything. Now he was dead, like his parents, like his sister. Joe didn't like to think that Wo Fat had won. He hadn't. As long as Joe White still breathed, there would be justice done.

That was why he joined Five-0.

H-5-O

Steve's arm was bleeding. He slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the Sheetrock. He let out the breath he'd been holding. Blood smeared on the faded green paint as he pulled his arm away from the wall. The knife still sat on the table.

It was involuntary anymore. He did his job, he came home, he nearly killed himself. Every day was like this. Except the ones he spent with Ryan.

Steve thought about the boy with no parents as he washed his arm and felt the cold water sting in the fresh cut. It was hardly deep enough to bleed for more than a couple of hours.

Ryan had scars too. But they weren't self-inflicted. They covered his back and chest and stomach. And Steve knew Ryan noticed his scars too. Neither of them asked about it, but Steve had a suspicion as to why Ryan's mom left and why the only comment he made about his father was, "He's dead."

Much as he wanted to know, Steve didn't ask. They respected one another's privacy; that's why their friendship worked. Were they friends? Steve wasn't sure. Maybe Ryan was as reclusive as Steve had become. Maybe he had something to hide, but knew he could trust "Sam."

Sometimes, Steve wished he were Sam Martin. All the time, he wished he were Steve McGarrett again.

Wrapping tape around his arm, Steve leaned against the counter and let out a long breath. Things couldn't go on like this or he'd be dead before he finished what he set out to do. He didn't harbor any illusions that he'd ever get his life back. But if there was one thing he would accomplish it would be to destroy the man who had destroyed him.

That was why Steve fought every day to stay alive. He had to live. Maybe he could eventually turn that into wanting to live. He didn't risk hoping for that, but it was always in the back of his mind. He wished he could remember what it felt like to love life.

He spent a lot of time thinking about Ryan because it helped. It took his mind off his own problems to think there was someone else who had suffered too and was doing okay.

Steve moved across the small kitchen/dining room/living room over to the tiny window that let in the only light in the apartment. The view was best ignored. Steve couldn't let himself miss home. Because it wasn't his home anymore. He'd given it away, just as he had everything else. It was all in an attempt to ensure that Danny would be all right. Mostly.

H-5-O

Danny and Chin arrived back at the Palace a short time after Joe did. All the evidence was being processed and results were coming in to Five-0. The local police were happy to have their help, which was new.

As they ascended the stairs, Danny got a call from the governor. He'd been expecting this, but he was not expecting what the governor had to say.

"Detective Williams, I need you to suspend your investigation into the serial murders," Denning said.

"I'm sorry, what?" Danny replied.

"Five-0 is not to investigate this case. I never meant for it to come across your desk. There was some miscommunication."

"Sir, you may not realize, but this case involves things we've been dealing with for a long time. We should be investigating this."

"Detective, this isn't an argument. I'm telling you to drop it."

"All due respect, Sir, but maybe you don't fully understand—"

"I understand perfectly, Detective, and I do not want Five-0 investigating this case. That's all."

Denning hung up before Danny could argue further. As he shoved his phone back in his pocket, Danny was aware of Chin's eyes on him. He didn't say anything until they'd reached the third floor and found Kono and Joe talking about the case.

"Bad news," Danny said. All eyes were on him at once. "The governor is pulling us off the case."

"What? Why?" Kono said

"I don't know, but he said he never intended for us to be on it at all."

"But Danny, I..." Kono trailed off as if what she had to say was somehow a secret.

"What is it, Kono?" Chin asked, looking concerned.

Kono turned back to the computer. "I made some progress on the security video," she said, bringing it up. "I knew I couldn't be seeing what I thought, but the governor taking us off the case makes me wonder."

She started playing the video, and the others watched in silence. They'd seen it before, but the picture was much clearer now. As the murderer got closer to the camera, Kono paused it. Silence filled the room. As usual, Danny was the first to speak.

"It's some kinda sick game," he said as he analyzed the face.

"Have you run facial recognition?" Joe asked absently.

"I was about to," Kono said, pulling up the database and letting it run. Then she turned back to the others. "I don't know what this is, but... why would the governor take us off the case? I mean, am I crazy?"

Chin pointed at the screen. "It found a match," he said.

"Sam Martin," Kono read out loud. "A former Navy SEAL."

"That is not Sam Martin," Joe said decisively.

"How do you know?" Danny asked.

"Because I trained Sam Martin. I went on Missions with Sam Martin. And I watched Sam Martin die in Afghanistan."

H-5-O

Steve checked his watch. Ryan wouldn't be home for a few hours yet, and he had a sort of side job he needed to do before then. He took the bus because his destination was across the city, and while he was perfectly happy walking, he wanted to get back before Ryan went to bed. Just in case he had something to report.

He had to walk about a mile from the bus stop into a neighborhood that looked even worse than the one he was living in. The address was a shack. It was supposed to be a house, and maybe it was in the 1940s, but it certainly didn't look like one anymore.

Steve was almost glad that his scraggly appearance wouldn't look the least bit out of place here. Dogs barked in a dissonant rhythm to the harmony of shouting and distant sirens. There was only a screen door on the shack/house, but Steve knocked anyway.

It was some time before anyone responded, and Steve almost thought no one would. But a woman appeared in the doorway. She was so thin, Steve could have broken her in half with no effort. Her sunken eyes and emaciated form told him all he needed to know about her lifestyle. He only hoped she was lucid enough to answer one question.

"Are you Sarah Hunter?" he asked.

A look of indignation crossed her face. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name's Sam," he said. "I'm a friend of Ryan's."

That was all he needed to say to break through her wall. "Come in," she said, pushing the door open and withdrawing inside.

Steve followed slowly, taking in the squalor of the shack, the smells of urine and unwashed bodies, the layers of dust revealing that nothing on the bookshelf had been touched since it was put there.

Sarah sat down on the futon that had stuffing coming out of the middle. Steve remained standing by the front window, which was boarded shut.

"How..." she began then shook her head. "Why are you here?"

"He's looking for you," Steve replied. "He works twelve hour days sometimes, and then he searches for you. He just wants to ask you why you left."

"You don't know then?" Sarah looked Steve in the eye.

"Know what?"

"About his father. But wait. You said he works? As in a full time job?"

"Yes?" Steve wondered where this was going.

"But that can't be right... Oh, shit, what year is it?"

"2012."

Sarah looked relieved. "I thought I lost something there," she said. "But how can he work. I mean, aren't there laws about that?"

"Laws?" Steve frowned, trying to figure out what she was getting at. "Wait. How old is Ryan?"

"He'll be sixteen in September."

H-5-O

Ryan woke to the sound of something pounding on his door. It was probably the police again. He dragged himself out of bed; he'd only been asleep for a hour. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see who was standing there.

"Sam?" he said. "You know I work early. What's going on?"

Steve pushed his way inside, ignoring Ryan's protests. He dropped some files onto the counter and turned around to face Ryan again.

"You're fifteen," he said.

Ryan was silent for a second. "Where's this coming from?" he asked.

Steve shook his head. "You first," he said.

Ryan sighed. "Are you going to call the cops on me?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm fifteen. You said it."

"Well, I'm not."

"Fine... Everything except my age that I've told you so far is true. My mom did leave when I was five. My dad did die three years ago. I've always looked old for my age, so when I was in the first foster home they sent me to, I did some favors for some... unsavory people in exchange for a fake ID."

"You were able to convince people you were 18?" Steve asked incredulously.

"I told you; I've always looked old for my age. I knew my mom had come here, so I came to find her."

"So you mean to tell me that you've been out of school, living on your own, working full time since you were 12?"

"I was almost 13."

Steve shook his head as he picked up the file he'd left on Ryan's counter. "Here," he said, handing it over.

"What's this?" Ryan asked, taking it.

"I found her. She was very clever about not leaving a trail."

"You... How?"

"I can't tell you that. She misses you. She was surprised to find out your dad was dead. Maybe that's why she's been hiding. She seemed to indicate he wasn't the nicest guy."

Ryan shook his head. "Tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine."

He wasn't talking about father's. "You don't want to know," Steve said.

"Then why would you want to know about me?" Ryan looked him in the eye again.

"I'm not asking you to tell me," he said. "But whatever it was really messed up your mom. She left you with him, and she never got over it."

"How would you know?"

"Because I saw her. You can't miss what I saw. You don't have to tell me anything, but I guarantee that if you do, I will understand it."

Ryan's eyes looked younger suddenly. They looked scared and helpless. Not at all like the self-sufficiency they exhibited before. He took a deep breath, as if to calm some unseen turmoil.

"Before Mom left, I didn't know," he said. "He never hurt me. Dad was a Naval officer. He went out and killed people for a living, and then he came home and drank to forget about it."

Ryan paused as if that were all he planned on saying. Steve watched him carefully. He wondered if he had ever met Ryan's father. He couldn't tell him if he did. He wasn't Steve right now.

"I figured out real fast why Mom left," Ryan went on. "I used to lay awake at night and imagine she had taken me with her and we were living happily in some beach house, playing in the sun all day. I'd pretend to be asleep so Dad would leave me alone."

Ryan sat down on his secondhand couch, and Steve sat with him, mouth sealed shut as he listened to Ryan's story.

"One time he came home," Ryan said. "He got drunk, only not as drunk as usual. He came at me with a knife, and I tried to fight him off. He hit my head so hard I blacked out for hours. When I woke up... he was hanging from the ceiling fan. I always thought that he finally realized what he was doing and couldn't live with himself anymore. I guess that's what keeps me from hating him."

Ryan pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. Steve could see one of his long scars coming up his neck and disappearing under his t-shirt. He looked so young now, maybe because Steve knew how old he was, maybe because he was letting himself be.

Ryan looked up as if waking from a vivid dream. "Your turn," he said.