A/N Thanks again everyone for reviews – and for reading – and for being patient with me getting these final chapters out.
Chapter 10 is your link 'progress so far' chapter, from Chapter 9, that I see you all liked, to Chapter 11, that I know I'm going to like writing. *winks*
Chapter 10
Governor Jameson gives them all the time they need to visit Steve. Which is weird really, thinks, Danny, when you consider that they've just gotten this hottest lead that could bust up the Wo Fat gang for good. But no, the lady insists there's nothing in it, and advises that Hawaii-5-O should shut down until Steve is fully recovered. And Danny puts her mood swings down to hormones. And winces at the memory of Rachel getting pissed off with him if he ever said such things under the Williams' roof.
Danny stands staring through the glass partition to Steve.
He feels hollow empty at the way his Boss-Partner lays there.
Guilt.
Pierson has gone and laid the biggest guilt trip in the whole Universe on Steve that he can't see Steve ever crawling out of. Not even SuperSeal. Not without help.
"Detective Williams?" A doctor is leaving the room. "I thought you knew. We're letting him sleep today?"
"Yeah, I know. Just passing. Had my knee checked out." He indicates down to his leg, that only a half an hour previous, had been given a clean bill of health."How..." and he swallows hard, "how is he?"
The doc sighs and joins him looking through the glass partition. "We're moving him out of IC tomorrow. We should be thinking of getting him up and about in a couple of days. Otherwise it's bedsores and circulatory problems."
"No. No, I don't mean generally."
Mentally.
The doctor seems taken aback. "Yesterday's episode?"
Episode?
"It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He came to us in a very exhausted state. Then there's the heroin. His body hasn't had sufficient time to recover. Even surgery and anaesthesia can have side effects."
Or he could be going crazy inside that head of his. And who could blame him?
"I mean mentally," says Danny, coming right out with it, looking the guy fully in the face.
"Of course, of course, I should take a more holistic approach. Truthfully, not my line of work. Talk to Dr. Mahelona. She's in psychiatric. Assigned to Steve but he's refused to see her."
He has? Go-it-alone-Steve. At least that much hasn't changed about Steve.
The doc goes back to looking through the glass.
"I don't know how you'd react to being beaten, being tortured. Personally, I'm sure I'd crack-up. It can't be something you can get over that easily. But to have survived this far, shows a resilient mind, don't you think? You must know your friend better than I. You want my opinion? But it won't be a medical one and you can't ever quote me - he'll pull through. He'll have his own mechanisms for doing that. I know it's not easy for friends and family to look on. And like I said, this isn't my field of expertise. But I understand you want to help. Go see Dr. Mahelona. She'll give you advice. Perhaps you can persuade him to take sessions with her? I'm sure though... if she were to sum it all up... just be there for him. Give him time. Make sure he gets plenty of rest. Huh? Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure he'll do ok."
-H5O-
Catherine is there at his side – he's sure she's been there before –
"Bad... dream."
"Oh." And she bends down and kisses him on the forehead. "What about now? Bad dreams all gone?"
He loves the smell of her and moves to pull her closer – risks pulling the tubing at his wrist – his hand on her waist. She responds, getting comfortable on the side of the bed, nuzzling her forehead into his hair – he holds her tighter, breathing into the hollow of her neck.
He's not sure, but he thinks she's crying.
"I missed you. I missed you so much," he whispers, wishing that he never has to let her go.
All the time in the forest, he's put the feeling away. He couldn't cope with that. It had to be that simple. That un-complicated. He shakes his head. "I could never take you to that place."
She pulls back, looking at him, questioning, sniffing, quickly wiping away the tears.
"God, look at me!"
"You look just fine."
And he tries to pull her close again. This time they kiss. And he can feel her need too. She breaks away eventually, resting her head on his left shoulder.
"What did you mean, 'I could never take you to that place'?"
"Nothing."
"Steve. Steve, don't cut us out."
"I couldn't think of you there. You didn't belong. I had to leave you behind." And he's angling for another kiss, that she gives. She understands.
And he hugs her close. Never ever wanting to let her go.
And Pierson is in his head, giving him heroin, hugging him close, as Steve gets his high, telling him he'll take care of Steve. Hugging him close like this –
"Steve? Steve, you're hurting me-"
His fingertips are digging deep into her lower arm.
He did that?
He instantly releases his grip. Flustered.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to."
He did that? He hurt her? He'll have to forget Pierson. Somehow.
"I'm so glad Pierson didn't harm you," he murmurs into her hair. And it's the honest truth and saying these things close to Catherine pushes away some of that tension. He needs her more than ever.
"I know, Steve. I know you are."
There's so much they don't have to say to one another.
But he wants to say that he never wants to leave her ever again, that he never wants to be separated ever again, but it's not their deal. He can't be dependent on her. He can't ever put that burden on her... to drive his demons away.
He's on his own. He's got to be strong without her.
-H5O-
He doses. And Danny is standing beside his bed. But he can't make the effort to fully open his eyes. Falls into sleep again. And wakes with a jerk.
"Sorry," he murmurs, realizing Danny is still there, peering through the blinds at the window.
"For falling asleep on me?" Danny turns.
"Story of your love-life," Steve manages to joke. Normal. He's got to keep things normal.
"Ah, you. You cannot hurt me," Danny says, coming back to the bed.
"No... I meant... earlier. The other day. For freaking out."
"Your little outburst? Nothing happened."
And it's something of a relief that Danny's willing to overlook things.
There's an uncomfortable silence with Steve struggling to keep awake. He feels a need to explain about Pierson, about how it wasn't the guy's fault but thinks he must have said all that already. He can't honestly remember how much he did say. Nothing happened? A whole lot did happen - enough for the doctors to sedate him for a whole twenty-four hours. And for everyone to be walking round him like they're on egg-shells.
Danny decides to make for the door.
"I'll be back when you need less beauty sleep. Got work to do." He pauses at door-way, talking back into the room. "This is the part where I go all formal on you. I have official police questions. I guess you Seal guys call it 'de-briefing'? Need to dot 'i's and cross't's. We need to know why Pierson did what he did? For reports. It was revenge then? The doctors say-"
"The doctors?" he prompts, opening his eyes wide, suddenly feeling tense.
"Doctors, yeah," and Danny looks over to the window, squinting. He clears his throat. Like he's not liking what he's about to come out with. "They say... if we go over the last three weeks, it might help you to talk things over... so... I'll... we'll be here... if you want to talk... but if you don't... you have that choice." And he shrugs. Awkward.
"By doctors, you mean... shrink." He doesn't like it that they've been discussing him behind his back. But he knows the routine. He knows the drill. Someone, somewhere is filing a report on the mental condition of one Steve McGarrett.
"I mean one very nice lady called Dr. Alana Mahelona who really, you should get to know better."
"You think I'm going crazy? Danny... there's nothing... I don't... I won't get PST. I won't let anything get in the way of my job."
"Well, that's the fighting talk we all like to hear but there you go with all the hero stuff!" and Danny is flinging an arm in the air. And Steve can't understand his sudden raised voice. "But Steve, have you seen yourself?"
"What? What?" He's trying to sit up. Everything is so stiff and achy and uncoordinated. And he's worried their talking so loud will bring a nurse running in again.
And Danny returns back to the bed to Steve's side. "I've been told not to... 'upset you unnecessarily', but to say you look awful, would be paying you a compliment, buddy. Pierson beat you, he cattle-prodded you, he stabbed you, he starved you, he thirsted you-"
"Thirsted?"
"Yes, thirsted. He caged you like an animal. He deprived you of sleep. He forced you to take heroin. Steve, you are gonna have hang-ups over this, you're only human."
"I won't let it. We won't talk about it. And that's the end of it."
They're silent again. Danny has his hands in his pockets and rocks on his feet.
"Okay. Ok-ay. I'm not going to argue over this. I would never press you – I repeat we're here if you do want to talk." Danny's voice is low, so sincere it hurts, and he's now thoughtfully examining his shoes. "I'm just glad... and this is hard to say to the guy who keeps stealing the keys to my Camaro... hey... I'm just glad you made it." And Danny gives him a little punch on the shoulder. And realises from the way Steve grimaces, it's his bad shoulder.
"Hawaii would've missed you."
"Only Hawaii?" Steve's got to keep things normal.
"You megalomaniac. I've got to go."
And Danny's making for the door, calling over his shoulder. "Just promise me this one thing. Don't go getting all abducted ever again, you hear. I'll go grey."
-H5O-
The next time Danny sees Steve he's being pushed along the corridor by a male orderly. A blanket is neatly tucked round his waist – a surgical gown just doesn't give a guy privacy.
Two days later (Danny's been on a stake out, getting evidence on that associate of Wo Fat's – and Jameson could be a little happier about that than she is) and Steve's still looking so goddamned pale and tired, his face pinched like he's not entirely out of pain. But, it's all an unbelievable transformation from the Steve they found close to death in the cage. Kono had been in the morning and had said more or less the same thing - he seems brighter.
This man is made of determined stuff and Danny can't help but admire him.
But Kono had also run through the things Steve talked about. The weather. The surf. The nursing staff. The hospital food - he's now eating three meals a day.
'Small talk,' she says shrugging. 'Though he seemed interested in Doug Warren? Like he can't wait to get back to work. That's a good thing?' And she checks out both Chin and Danny to agree. Chin turns away. Says nothing. He's thinking what Danny's thinking. And probably Kono too.
Steve is avoiding anything to do with his time with Pierson.
So... Danny still worries.
"Hey! Look at you! How many revs can you get this thing up to?" A lot considering the big brute of a guy at the controls pushing Steve.
A flicker of a weak smile from Steve. "Danny, meet Gordon, my personal chauffer for the day. Gordon, Danny." And that all seems normal enough.
And Gordon has a monster of a handshake that goes with those biceps. Danny guesses he gets the hospital extra clients wanting broken fingers fixed.
"Wrestler, huh?"
Gordon grins.
Danny shoves his throbbing hands into his pockets once they've been released from the vice, though he'd dearly love to smack Steve for that smirk. But Steve hasn't had a whole load of fun lately. Let him laugh.
"Your constitutional going to take long? I've those "police type" questions to ask, remember?" And he makes an inverted comma sign.
"Now isn't a good time, Danno. I need to-" And Steve stops. Looking concerned. Which can only mean Danny feels concerned too.
"No, we really do need to talk," says Danny, pulling a face.
"No, I really do need to-"
"He needs to pee," finishes Gordon, glancing to the Men's Room door, that they've stopped near. "We're out for a walk and he needs to use the bathroom. Can't hang on until we get back to his room."
And revenge can be sweet and Danny feels his own smirk break out across his face. This is like old times. This is how things should be.
"Didn't like to use the bed pan before we left, did we?" adds Gordon, leaning forward, speaking confidentially into Steve's ear, smiling over Steve's head, like he's a baby in a pram. Bless him.
Danny purses his lips. Stops himself from saying what he's about to say. And suddenly he doesn't want to joke any longer and wants to apologize. He wants to be swallowed up by the nearest big black hole for being such a dumbo.
The pan in the cage. That Chin tossed aside.
It'd figure that Steve would be humiliated by that. And Danny feels his heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Over a bed-pan? But he can't stop now – and he can't exactly tell Gordon to shut the hell up either - it'd make it too obvious that he knows exactly how Steve is thinking – and this is just too public a place for Danny to say he understands.
"Well, don't let me stop the intrepid duo," he says lightly and even mockingly holds the door open. Steve scowls up at him as he's pushed past. Steve so doesn't deserve this. And Danny's expecting Steve to confide in him? How the hell is he going to make this up to Steve?
Inwardly cursing, he walks off down the corridor, wondering if he should have a coffee and disappear for a while.
He does an about turn, narrowly avoiding walking into a couple of medics and wanders back the other way.
He can be a man and just do his straight apology.
And then he notices the two guys standing at the nurses' desk – dressed in Navy beige, smart, capped, with enough studs in their combined collars to shame a Hell's Angel waistcoat. And one has a leather file case, neatly tucked under one arm.
Navy Seal officers.
And they're asking for Steve. And one gives his name as Doctor McFarland. One is a doctor?
The nurse catches sight of him.
"Oh, Detective Williams?"
This could get embarrassing.
"Have you seen Commander McGarrett?"
He can do nothing but numbly say, "bathroom."
"We can wait. We're a little early," says Non-Doctor Navy Seal Officer, without hardly blinking.
So they all wait. Danny on one side of the corridor, looking anywhere to avoid meeting their eye. And these two on the other, staring at his section of wall above his head, almost standing stiff to attention. And it all feels a bit awkward for a whole couple of minutes. And it would be funny at any other time, but not this.
He has to say something.
"You're early? You, um, have an... appointment then?" Trust these guys to bring bureaucracy to a hospital visit.
"Detective Williams?" As he suspected, these guys had done their homework and knew exactly who he was. "You found Commander McGarrett? Yes, we arranged to see the Commander at fifteen hundred – three o'clock." And Non-Doctor Seal checks his watch.
And out of the corner of his eye, Danny can see Steve and Gordon, re-appearing from the Men's Room.
"Oh, only I'd hoped to have a word with Steve," and he coughs, not sure whether he should be so informal with these guys, "Commander McGarrett. Ask him a few questions. About Pierson."
"I'm sure it can wait, Detective."
"Excuse me?" he asks. And yes, he is indignant.
And Steve and Gordon are almost at to their area of the corridor.
"We're here to de-brief Commander McGarrett over Chief Petty Officer Matthew Pierson."
"Excuse me?" he asks again, "So what you saying? Your de-briefing takes precedence over my de-briefing?" And he's pointing at his own chest.
"They arranged it yesterday, Danny," says Steve, who's joined them, looking more exhausted than ever. "They've been sent by your Grifferson friend." He's monotone. Flat. He's talking in his Navy Seal voice.
"Are you sure you're up to it?" asks Danny, incredulous. Talking to a friend is one thing. But to these guys?
"Danny, leave it."
Danny ignores him. "Are you sure you're up to it?" He repeats. "Because you don't look it to me!"
"Dr Metcalfe has okayed it."
Danny turns on the two Seals. "He's hardly off his death-bed and you vultures move in, huh?"
"Danny, cool it."
"You don't have to do this."
And Steve gives him that look, that look he gives like his soul is destroyed. The look he gives when his soul is destroyed but he's covering it up with duty and bravery. With being so damned tough. With the stoic composure stuff and all those other Steve qualities. It's a look that only Steve can do. With his eyes.
"I do. I do have to do this."
"No. No. You don't."
"Danny. I know what you're trying..." Steve sighs. "Just leave it. "
"He does have to do this," interrupts the Non-Doctor Seal. "He took an oath once to protect National Security and he's still bound by that oath. And in answer to your earlier question, yes, our de-briefing does take precedence over yours. In fact, it goes further. Your office has already been informed. Under Section S.221 of the Classified Information Act, you are not permitted to ask any questions of Commander McGarrett regarding Operation Ghosthawk and or Chief Petty Officer Matthew Pierson. In addition, if he has already discussed any part, or whole, of what occurred during his abduction, you must inform us immediately of all that was said, and in no way must it take written or technical data form, otherwise you will be prosecuted under said section, S.221. The penalty could be up to ten years in jail. Do I make myself clear, Detective Williams?"
Danny opens his mouth and closes it shut again. Surprised. Shocked. Puts his hands on his hips. Passes a hand over his mouth. He really doesn't know what else to say or do to fight Steve's corner. All he knows is, he does need to fight. These guys are bastards. He could throw a punch and literally do that fighting.
"You're gagging him, you know that?" Steve should be talking and he can't.
"Danny, just go," says Steve, beckoning Gordon, who's looking completely in awe of these guys, to push him to his room.
"We'll follow when you're settled in," and Steve nods as he passes by, giving Danny one last punch-gut glance.
"He can't even talk to Dr. Mahelona?" asks Danny. "I suppose that'd be illegal too?"
"We'll decide the appropriateness of that in due course. We're not inhuman, Detective Williams," says MacFarland.
"No, but you're cockroaches. You hurt him," and he's shoving a finger into that nice smart shirt of Non-Doctor Seal,"you hurt him, and I'll forget I have a badge. I'll forget that I took an oath to uphold the laws of Hawaii. Do I make myself clear?"
-H5O-
Effort. Even though Gordon takes most of his weight to climb back into bed. Exertion. His gown clings damp, close and uncomfortable from the trickles of sweat running over his skin. And he's trembling. Breathing tight and fast. Like he'd just run up a trail in the Koolai Mountains. Was he ever going to get fit again?
"I don't know who you guys are exactly, but he's too tired," complains Gordon, plumping up the pillow that Steve sinks back into, grateful.
MacFarland and Chilcott are already in his room.
And Steve can't be dealing with both Gordon and Danny coming to his defence. There'd never been any way to avoid this meeting. Not after his team had contacted Grifferson.
And he closes his eyes. There's the ache again at his stomach.
"It's ok, Gordon."
"If you had said, if someone had said they were coming, I wouldn't have insisted on the walk," continues Gordon, like someone's mother.
It wasn't exactly a walk. And Steve honestly thought he could cope. He felt so much better than the day before.
"You can't push yourself like this," continues Gordon, and he's nudging Steve's elbow to show he has a glass of water for him. Steve opens his eyes. Hesitates before taking it. Even though he's thirsty, the sight of water... the way the cloth hugged his face and he couldn't breathe...
"This won't take many minutes. It's just routine," explains MacFarland. "I'm a qualified doctor. If you find this proves too much, I'm calling a halt." This is as much for Steve's benefit as Gordon's.
Gordon eyes MacFarland suspiciously and he's not convinced. He places Steve's finished glass on the side- table.
"Your emergency button is right there, Commander. You need it, you use it. Ok?" It's a full-on parting threat to the two Seals. And he leaves.
Steve closes his eyes as Lt. Commander Chilcott, Intelligence, sets up a recording device on the bedside table. For sound only Steve had noticed.
But they're watching him. That's why Dr. MacFarland, the Seal psychiatrist is really here.
And Steve feels... vulnerable and exposed again.
'You feeling vulnerable yet, McGarrett?' taunts Pierson, before he hits him again.
Here, in his hospital bed, safe from Pierson, he can nearly feel himself flinch. Can feel the tremor that twitches at his right arm. At his right cheek.
And he remembers Pierson taking the vid with his phone. The way, Steve couldn't... escape from that... hide.
He's dreading this. His hands shake and he hides them. He'd steeled himself. He'd put everything away. All the bad memories that still leak through to his nightmares. Where he still can't hide.
And he won't be able to hide now.
He opens his eyes again. Chilcott seems clumsy and noisy in the confined space at his side.
"I'm sorry about Danny. Out there," says Steve. Anything. Anything so as not to think.
"I'm sure he was just being a friend," says MacFarland, already seated on a chair to his right, a notepad on his lap, a pen ready in his hand. "You haven't said anything to him, or your team? Catherine? Your sister?"
"No."
"Why do you think that is?" And that sounds like such a clichéd shrink question that Steve could nearly smile.
He doesn't answer.
Self-reliance.
There's only one person on this earth that can deal with this, and it's Steve McGarrett. It's only Steve McGarrett that, in the end going to make him better. With time.
Weak.
He doesn't want to show, that he might be... is... weak?
"Sometimes, it's easier to talk to someone who's not close," offers MacFarland. "Someone impersonal."
It might be true. But this isn't going to be easy either. He'd rather not talk at all.
He'd rather try and forget.
"In your own good time, Commander," prompts Chilcott, satisfied now that his device is working, and taking a seat to Steve's left, pulling a wad of papers from his leather file.
Trapped between the two. And he looks to the door. Perspiration still. His lips... mouth are dry. Though Gordon gave him that water only a couple of minutes ago. His chest is tight. His mind is exploding with all those unwelcome images that he's tried so hard to put away.
"Where..." Steve shakes his head, "I dunno where you want me to begin." Already he's feeling... thoughts not straight...
"We can ask questions, if you prefer?" offers MacFarland.
And he nods.
"About Pierson. He'd been missing for four years?" asks Chilcott, straight in there. "Are you able to say what happened to him in those four years? We're assuming he was captured by Na Thunglor's men? And this was the reason for his revenge? He blamed all those on Ghosthawk for leaving him behind?"
"He said he was picked up, yes."
"They tortured him?"
"He said so, yes."
"You believed him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He said..."
"Commander?"
"He said..." and he swallows hard. It's getting bad – it's getting bad after only a minute in – he can feel the hurt, the physical hurt all over, the way he was beaten, the way the cattle prod seemed to burn, the way the water suffocated him. Hard on himself. He's got to be hard. Determined. Can't show these guys he's weak. "He said that all the stuff he'd meted out to me – and to Easton and Pereira - he'd experienced himself."
"He could have been making that up?"
"Don't think so. It was..." He goes quiet. Unable to find the words.
"Commander?"
"It was too... real. You know what I mean? The things he was telling me. Too real..."
The two men fall silent. Glance at one another. Like they don't get it. He's got to stick to facts. To detail.
"The operation went belly-up," says Chilcott, "and you don't think, that he might have somehow contacted Na Thunglor's men telling them you were on your way? Na Thunglor's men never went public with Pierson? Why didn't they? Perhaps because he was their snitch?"
"No. We were just unlucky. And he kept quiet about our escape route out of there. If he were in with Na Thunglor's men, we wouldn't have ever made it to the rendezvous point."
"But the Ghosthawk files record you as saying that you came under attack twice in the next two days? That could have been down to him? Telling them the direction you were heading?"
"And I also suggested that Na Thunglor's men were thicker on the ground than Intelligence had said. They got their numbers wrong. That's why we'd been made in the first place. That's why we kept running into his men. Once we were out of their area, provided we avoided Chinese border troops, we were fine."
And MacFarland speaks. Studying him... watching him.
"You still believe he was a hero? Even though he's killed two other fellow Seals? And tortured you?"
The question throws him. A question with facts. And he has to answer. With facts. Detail. Not emotion. He looks to the window. To the recording device. Wondering how much of this will condemn him.
"Commander?"
Work through this step by logical step.
"We wouldn't have gotten out if he hadn't kept quiet. It has to count for something. For one whole year he didn't implicate this country. That has to count for something. He shouldn't have killed Easton and Pereira – I knew Pereira's family well. No, he shouldn't have ... tried to kill me." Steve won't, can't use the word 'torture'. "But I'm convinced he couldn't help it. His mind... he wasn't thinking straight."
"You've... forgiven him?" asks MacFarland, nodding, as if that's good of Steve. As if Steve is giving right answers. And MacFarland would be thinking of closure for Steve. Steve knows the psychology. Two lectures a week in the blue room. One on Post Traumatic Stress. They have to know what to look out for in their fellow Seal. When the cracks appear...
"Forgiven him?"
"Yes, forgiven him."
He forgave Pierson right at the very beginning? That's why he could never draw on that anger? But he has some vague recollection of crawling on the forest floor, begging Pierson to forgive him. And that forgiveness never came.
There was no closure for Steve. The guilt never leaves him.
"Yes." He says simply. "I forgave him."
"Why do you think that is?" asks MacFarland, and Chilcott snorts with impatience. "You can answer that," says MacFarland, ignoring the other Seal.
"I don't know."
"I'm not going to put words in your mouth, but you felt responsible for Pierson's situation, as his commanding officer perhaps? You were left with feelings of guilt for the fact he was left behind?"
It's so true, it hurts.
"I don't know."
"Did he give you any indication how he eventually got away?" interrupts Chilcott.
Back to facts. To detail, and Steve feels relieved. His hands are hot and sticky. He doesn't want more of MacFarland's searching questions. "He had forged papers," continues Chilcott. "A number of aliases. He obviously had some links with crime cartels to get those. This is another reason why we believe he might have been with in with Na Thunglor's men."
"He said they eventually lost interest in him."
"Just like that?"
"A year. He was held captive for a year." He wasn't about to go into any detail about how Pierson claimed he was abused, how he'd slept with members of the gang for food. For heroin. What good would that do now? "And then they took him as one of their own. They got him out of China... Thailand and he got to work for the Florida Yakuza. I'm assuming they gave him all the false documentation that he needed." His voice is flat. He can deal with facts.
Chilcott looks over to MacFarland. "I'm sure we can let Detective Williams know this much. He can notify Florida. And they can possibly trace Pierson's contacts." MacFarland nods back and then turns to Steve.
"You think they finally broke him?" asks MacFarland. "If you say he wasn't thinking straight?"
"I can't say. It... can't have been easy for him."
"He said nothing more than this? Of his year in captivity?"
"No. We didn't talk much."
'You talk and you get this! I only want to hear you say that name. Tell me the goddamned name, McGarrett!'
He can do this but it's feeling like an interrogation. He has no where to look to avoid their eyes. The door. The handbasin. Even the writing on the soap dispenser. He's desperate. He wants to leave. He wants them to leave.
"You went through the same training programme as Matt Pierson?" asks MacFarland, uncrossing his legs and drawing his chair closer. Putting space between himself and Chilcott. Confidentiality. This man wants to be his friend. And Steve... something inside... pulls away from the closer proximity. "In your opinion, do you think you were adequately prepared by that training, to face, well, for the want of a better word, torture? You see, I'm the Seal advisor to their SERE training programme and the point of me being here, is partially to assess our training programme. There is nothing sinister involved in my talking with you. It's not to make a detailed medical psychiatric assessment on your ability to remain as a reservist in the Seals, though this recording is to form part of the basis of such a report. It's all too soon for that. So any insight you're able to offer us, Commander, would be valuable."
"I would say it's... adequate." He's brief. It's all he can say.
But nothing prepares you for that. They prepare you to be strong. Mind- set. And it's strength that gets you through. Nothing else. It's strength that's going to get him through now.
"You want to add to that?" asks MacFarland surprised. "Nothing at all we can improve on?"
"No." Keep things simple. Don't complicate.
"We've read the police report on your abduction," says Chilcott. "We've read the forensic report of... and he's consulting his own notes, checking the name, "technician Charlie Fong, who visited the campsite where you were held. We've read the... rather long list of your injuries compiled by the hospital here."
Steve's stomach knots. He knows what's coming. MacFarland is making him face stuff he'd rather forget.
He knows the psychology. That sometimes it helps to face things. This is what they said when his mother died.
They're watching him now. Especially MacFarland. Watching how he reacts. And he's going to be strong through this. Facts. Short, short facts. No emotion. Then none of the pain.
"...Given insufficient food and water... You were tied by your wrists, suspended from a tree, and beaten," Chilcott is still reading from his notes. Facts. Nothing to do with Steve. Facts. Words. And he can almost believe none of it ever happened to him.
"... Cut with a knife... Had some kind of cattle prod applied... Water-boarded. Confined in, chained to a cage. Forcibly given heroin – what's with that with tying your wrist to a tree?" And he looks up questioning, both Steve and MacFarland. "Why couldn't he have just injected the heroin – you were chained already?"
Steve tries not to flinch again. And MacFarland glances his way before speaking. Checking for the reaction that Steve won't give them.
"Perhaps this had happened in some form to Pierson at the hands of Na Thurlong's men?" he suggests quietly, coughing, nervous for Steve. And Steve begins to feel something of an ally in MacFarland.
"So," and Chilcott leans back in his seat, "what, in your opinion, was the worst thing that happened to you? Given that we're here partially to see how to improve on training."
Steve feels some part of him go cold and heavy. He closes his eyes. He so wants to shut them out. So want to tell them that now would be a good time to leave.
"Chilcott, I don't think... We don't need this," says the voice of MacFarland.
"Hey, 'being prepared is winning half the battle' isn't it?" retorts Chilcott. "That's the saying? The Commander wants to help us all he can, doesn't he? To prepare our boys?"
Strong. He has to be strong. Not a repeat of how he was with Danny.
"The heroin," he says, without opening his eyes. His voice is husky and low. He scarcely recognizes it as his own. The heroin. Because he had absolutely no control over that.
"Were you ever blindfolded?"
"Chilcott," warns MacFarland.
He's got to answer these questions. He's got to show he's normal. He takes a breath – didn't even realise he was holding it.
"A hood when... water-boarded." This didn't happen to him. Detached. Someone else. Another Steve McGarrett.
"Were you stripped? You were found naked."
"He forcibly removed the rash vest I was wearing." He keeps his mouth straight. He doesn't react. He won't show emotion.
Six quick cuts. And Steve can see the knife coming out of the green green.
"I removed my shorts for hygiene purposes." He's lying. He doesn't want them to twist things. To see things that weren't there. What purpose does it serve to say that Pierson suggested he remove them?
So he can use the pan.
And the flies swarm round the stink of his own body and he longs to be clean again.
"Did he sexually abuse you in any way?"
Arms that wrap round him. 'I'll take care of you. They took me for their pretty boy. Would you do that for me?'
"No. No. No." He tries not to flinch. Not to blink. Aware always how much he's sweating – he can't hide that. Can hide the fact that his heart thumps at more than twenty beats a minute. That he feels nauseous. That the room swings. That he stills it all by concentrating on, focussing on the door. That he struggles to control his breathing.
"Commander?" MacFarland. "Chilcott, I think we have to stop things here."
"I'm fine, "says Steve. And he sets his jaw hard. Feels the muscles there, twitch.
"The medical report says, Pierson used the prod on every part of your anatomy, including your privates?"
"Yes, sir." His voice hitches. Eyes front. To the door.
"Commander?" The room swings. Buzzing in his ears. Vision blurs at the edges. He can't give in. He can't give into this.
"I'm ok. I need..." and he looks to his side-table. Confused. MacFarland is out of his chair, pouring him water. And he drinks hoping they don't notice that his hands shake.
"Thanks."
"If you like, we can stop?"
"No." He's going to go through with this.
MacFarland sits. And Chilcott continues.
"And this was for revenge? Detective Williams report says that when Pierson was apprehended he said, 'he lied to me.' Can you throw any light on that?"
"He wanted to know who radioed me saying he'd been killed." He can do this.
"That was, if I remember correctly, his brother, Luke Pierson?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you lied to him. You gave him someone else's name?"
"No, sir, I gave him his brother's. He didn't want to believe it."
"Commander... Steve. You don't have to call Commander Chilcott, sir. We're equal rank here," says MacFarland.
He didn't know he had.
"Why wouldn't he believe you?"
"I don't know. They'd been close I thought. But he even denied that. I guess it's impossible to believe your own flesh and blood would do that to you." He can do this. Be normal.
"You think it was deliberate on the part of Luke Pierson?"
"I don't know." He can do this but, back there in the forest... he couldn't be sure about his assumptions over Luke. "I really don't want to be accusing Luke Pierson over an opinion formed while I... wasn't thinking straight" And that's the honest truth.
"But Matt was alive when Luke said he wasn't. Luke Pierson said he'd suffered a head and thigh wound? We'd assumed he'd bled out. There's enough here to re-open an enquiry. "
"That's your decision to make, sir."
"At what point did you give him Luke's name?"
"Towards the end."
"Why? What made you decide to take all this punishment for over two weeks and then say something?"
"I'd held off as I thought he'd kill me if I revealed it too soon. I'd held off as I thought Hawaii-5-O would find me sooner. The longer I held off, the less time he had to go after other Seals, including his brother. I held off as I thought, there was nothing to be gained by Matt going off after his brother. As far as I was concerned Luke Pierson had done his job to the best of his ability."
"But Matt could have killed you even then?"
"I was in bad shape. I thought I was going to die. I thought there was a chance that I could persuade Pierson to get me to a hospital."
'Live, live' says the voice of his father.
"It wasn't because you'd had enough?"
The question is like a stab from the prod. The sides of the room close in on him. The faces of the two men merge with all the white, white of the room. Noise in his ears. His hands, wet with sweat grip tight at the sheets.
"I did not break." He says firmly. Deliberate. They're accusing him. They're saying he's weak. "I did not break."
"Pierson did a lot of things to you. What made you even believe he'd be sympathetic? You said you two didn't talk much?"
"Chilcott," warns MacFarland again. "There's nothing to be gained by this line of questioning."
"He said he was prepared to see us. What sort of questions exactly did he or you expect me to ask?"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he says to Pierson.
"We'd been friends once." Automatic reply.
He's trembling. Trembling.
I'm sorry. Forgive me. But Pierson doesn't hear. Will never hear.
"You said yourself you were in bad shape. Your team found you close to death. Revealing the name was your way out. It's that simple."
"Chilcott! Enough already!" And MacFarland is out of his chair.
"I did not break. This was... personal." He feels... sick. Leans to the side. Buries his head into the pillow. Can't stop shaking. Hot. So hot. But he's going to say this. He's going to say this because it's important. Swallows hard. Rights himself. The room loops. "Wasn't... wasn't national security," he hoarses out. "I would not break if the lives... of other Seals... depended on it. I did not break. I did not break."
"Commander? Commander?"
The room is a swirl of grey shapes. White noise. The voice lost in the white noise.
"I did not break. I did not break. I did not break. I did not break."
-H5O-
He wakes.
The light hurts his eyes.
And MacFarland is standing beside his bed, feeling his pulse.
Detail.
Chilcott has gone. But the room dips and spins. His head hurts. The nausea won't leave him. MacFarland drops his wrist and again pours him water, passing the glass that he accepts with shaking hands. MacFarland sees it but it obviously doesn't bother him.
"You blacked out. Ever had that happen before?"
He finishes the glass, grateful that the water helps to wash away the taste of bile in his mouth. Hands it back and shakes his head. A mistake. It hurts.
"Did he... you think Pierson broke me?" His voice croaks and he's forced to cough. MacFarland lets him recover.
"Williams was right. At least as far as Chilcott is concerned. The man's a bastard. Bad news wherever he goes. You had a hard time with Pierson. No one thinks any less of you. You won't be thrown out of the reserves."
He hasn't exactly answered the question.
MacFarland hands him over a refill and stands with his arms folded, watching Steve drink.
Steve wraps both hands round his glass to stop his trembling. He feels so cold now.
"I was looking over your psychiatric reports. When you were being considered for the Seals? Did you know you failed outstandingly badly on one count? To such a degree there were serious doubts over your candidacy?"
A slight shake of the head.
"Empathy. Too idealistic. I guess that's two counts. They put it down to the death of your mother. My predecessor even wrote flippantly that you were better suited for the International Red Cross." He paces the room, talking to the floor, thinking out loud. "Some empathy is obviously needed. You have to work alongside your fellow soldier and get the work done. You have to know he's on your wavelength. You have to believe that everything you do is for a just cause, to make the world a better place. There are situations where you have to deal with the ordinary guy in the street. Chilcott rather than walking out on you, just now, should've been taking lessons." And he stops pacing and looks directly at Steve. "But it also means, in the long run, that sensitivity of yours is going to get you hurt. We teach you all that crap about feeling anger? It makes you strong? But no way were you ever going to do anything but sympathize with Pierson's situation."
He's takes Steve empty glass, placing it back on the table and turns to retrieve his note-book from his chair.
"I didn't write anything down," continues MacFarland, glancing at an empty page. "No recommendations. But I'm authorizing sessions with Dr. Mahelona. She has a good record. I suggest you take them." And he's making for the door. "I know you'll come out of this, Steve," he says, without looking back. "You scored so damn high on single-minded determination. Top of the class."
-H5O-