It was late evening before Steve made it back to the hospital. He smiled at the scene in front of him. Danny had drifted off to sleep in the recliner next to Riley's bed, and she had somehow managed to snag a laptop. Several components were attached to the laptop, some of which he recognized from her stash of equipment she'd collected at Jerry's.
She peered up at him guiltily through the mass of cords and cables, half of which were tangled up with her IV lines.
"What, exactly, are you doing?" Steve asked, trying for a stern glare but failing miserably. He was just so relieved to see her looking so remarkably healthy, she could have hacked Sec-Nav's personal PC for all he cared.
"Would you believe me if I said I was playing League of Legends?" she asked hopefully.
"No."
"Could you pretend you believed me?"
Steve grinned. "Possibly. What, did you drug Danny and call Jerry?" He poked at Danny's foot with his.
"Gerrofff . . ." Danny mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He yawned, blinked his eyes open, and looked up at Steve. "What?" he asked, grumpily, and then his eyes widened. "How did . . . " he looked at Riley, confused.
"Oh my God, please tell me that you did not actually drug Danny and call Jerry," Steve said in disbelief.
"I did not drug Danny," Riley said solemnly.
"Then why don't I remember Jerry being here?" Danny protested loudly. "And how did you get that laptop? And why don't I remember falling asleep?
"You seemed really tired and stressed out, Danny," Riley said, shrugging. "So I suggested accupressure to help you relax."
Steve groaned. "Let me guess, something the monks showed you?"
"Ummhmm," Riley said absently, her fingers still tapping away at the keyboard. "It worked," she said, glancing at Danny. "See? He looks so much better."
Steve rubbed his eyes. "Yes, he looks very well-rested, Riley. Honey, please don't render people unconscious without their permission and knowledge, okay? It's for your safety as much as theirs."
There was a knock on the door, followed by Malia poking her head inside. "Riley McGarrett," she said, exasperated.
"Oh, hi, Malia," Riley said, looking sheepishly at her over the laptop. "I thought you weren't on duty tonight."
"I'm not. Chin and I were going out to dinner, and I wanted to stop by and check on you. Imagine my surprise when I was told that your discharge order had been placed about ten minutes ago," Malia said, hands on her hips.
"Great, let's go," Riley said, holding out the arm with the IV to Steve. "Unhook me." She swatted ineffectively at the sundry cables tangled along with the IV line.
"Stand down, Commander," Malia ordered, and Steve practically snapped to attention before he remembered she was a civilian. A tiny little civilian, at that. "Riley, you know I love you dearly and you are ohana to me. But you may not hack into the hospital records and file a discharge order for yourself. That is a violation of hospital security and medically unwise."
"Yes, Malia," Riley said, looking downcast. "I'm sorry. And I only went into my own records, I promise."
"Apology accepted," Malia said. "Now, since you are obviously feeling well enough to get into mischief, I am going to sign off on this order, and as soon as this IV is finished, you will be free to go. Please. Before you get into any more trouble."
Riley beamed at her and started folding up the computer equipment.
"Steve, could I speak with you a moment?" Malia asked, tilting her head toward the door. As Steve followed her out into the hall, he heard Riley growling in frustration, and Danny's soothing voice as he helped her get untangled.
"Sorry, Malia," Steve said, as the door closed behind them. "I had no idea she was feeling well enough to do . . . well, whatever it is she's done. I think she actually knocked Danny out."
Malia waved him off. "It's fine, Steve, she obviously shares your penchant for leaving the hospital well before it's really advisable to do so. That said . . . I've consulted with the neurologist because this isn't my field, and, well . . . " she hesitated.
"What is it, Malia?" Steve asked, alarmed.
"No, no," Malia rushed to assure him, "nothing to be concerned about. It's just - Steve, we really don't understand how she recovered so quickly. We're thankful, of course, but given the severity of her injuries, the results of the tox screen - well, it's remarkable."
"How remarkable?" Steve asked. "I mean, you said it yourself, Malia; she's young, and resilient."
"She is, true," Malia said, "but she was also very recently dehydrated and injured, and then this following so closely on the heels . . . it's just . . . medically improbable."
Steve stared at her. "What are you saying, Malia?"
"I have no idea, Steve," Malia said, shaking her head. "But I feel like you've had quite enough lies and misdirection where Riley is concerned, so there was no way I was keeping this from you. It could mean absolutely nothing - she could just be remarkably healthy with an unusually fast metabolism. You heal much faster than the average person, due to your conditioning and metabolism."
"But you're saying she's . . . "
"She's healed much faster than even you would have," Malia finished.
"She's younger," Steve said again. "And she's had exposure to all sorts of Eastern medicine . . . "
Malia nodded. "Any number of factors could account for it, Steve. We're not proposing any sort of testing or concern . . . I'm just not going to keep anything to myself, you understand?"
"Absolutely," Steve said, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Thank you, Malia. Really. And again, I'm sorry that my kid sister hacked into your hospital system."
Malia laughed. "Should I alert security?"
"Nah," Steve said. "Jerry said she's better and faster than he is. I don't think the hospital system is really at risk, I think she's just . . . "
"Remarkable," Malia inserted. "Good luck, Steve."
"Thanks," he replied dryly. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it."
#*#*#*#*#
"I'm really, really sorry," Riley said quietly, fidgeting in the passenger seat of the Silverado.
"Riley," Steve sighed, "it's okay. No one is angry with you."
"Not even Danny?" she asked.
"Not even Danny," he assured her. "Though I doubt that he's going to let you touch him for a while. Riley, I know you're used to having to fend for yourself. And I'm starting to realize that I have no idea what you're capable of . . . so please, just . . . keep me in the loop, okay? If you need something, let me know. If you want to know something, let me know. Okay? I promise you, I'm going to look out for you, and help you if I can. And I promise you, I'm never going to lie to you. Deal?"
Riley nodded. "Deal."
They pulled up in front of Steve's house, and Riley got out of the truck and moved slowly up the walk.
"You okay?" Steve asked, resting his hand gently between her shoulder blades as they stepped through the front door.
She flinched, her breath hitching.
"Yeah," she said, "it's good to be . . . out of the hospital."
"Hey," Steve said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I'm sorry I startled you. I get it, Riley, I've been there. And it's good to have you home. Out of the hospital, and home. Come on, you need to eat," he said, leading the way to the kitchen.
Riley slid onto the kitchen stool while Steve puttered around, efficiently cooking eggs and toast. He put a plate down in front of her, and slid onto the stool next to her.
"I need to talk to you about something," he said. He stood up and grabbed a Longboard from the fridge.
"Must be serious," Riley said, raising her eyebrows at his beer.
"Kinda, yeah," he said, taking a long gulp. "It's about Joe."
Riley nodded and waited silently, taking a bite.
"Joe is - was - with Special Activities Division. It's a joint operation between the CIA and the Navy; goes back to Vietnam. WoFat is - still is - of 'vital concern' to the CIA and the SAD. But the SAD is done with Joe. When he gets out of the hospital, he'll be released to my custody," Steve said slowly, gauging Riley's reaction.
Her eyes widened and she swallowed, taking a big gulp of water as she choked slightly.
"And Olivia?" she asked. She sounded so young, so terribly, terribly young and lost, and Steve wanted more than anything to somehow create a different universe for her. But he couldn't, and he'd already promised not to lie.
"Oliva . . . our mother . . . is definitely connected to this mess, to WoFat. She was involved with Joe. She was sent to take out WoFat's father; and when she did, his mother got caught up in it somehow," Steve explained.
Riley looked at him, horrified. "She orphaned him," she whispered.
"And then she raised him for a while . . . until the CIA made her give him up," Steve said, stroking the back of Riley's hand. Her knuckles were still bruised, but surprisingly not as swollen, and he could see where the split skin was already healing under the stitches. He looked up at her, waiting to see if she would connect the dots.
"No," Riley whispered. "No, please tell me it's not . . . " She stood up abruptly, the stool rasping harshly across the kitchen floor, and bolted for the back door.
"Damn it," Steve muttered, clenching his fist and wishing that punching something would help. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and his nerve to go tell his youngest sister that their mother was apparently a trained CIA assassin whose actions had led to their capture and torture. He was about to step out the back door when he heard the front door open.
"Steve?" Danny called out quietly.
Steve smiled to himself and shook his head. "Kitchen, Danno," he said wearily, grabbing another Longboard from the fridge. He extended the beer to Danny as soon as he came in the kitchen.
"That good, hunh?" Danny said.
"Fielding's done with Joe. He's my problem now; I can use him as a resource or press charges, have him court-martialed, thrown in the brig. The rest you know . . . and now, so does Riley," Steve said.
"She knows your mother is Shelburne?" Danny said, wincing sympathetically.
"I'm not going to keep her in the dark, Danny," Steve said, "and she's too smart and too curious for me to try, even if I wanted to. I haven't said it out loud, but yeah, she's put it together."
"And she's taking it hard," Danny guessed.
"Well, yeah, no shit," Steve said. "Hey, the woman you thought was your foster mom, turns out she was your real mom, lied to you your whole life, disappeared without a trace, turns out she's CIA, killed people, got you captured and tortured for information you didn't have. Yeah, she's taking it kinda hard, Danny."
"Hey, hey," Danny said, reaching out and carefully taking Steve by the shoulders. "Of course she's taking it hard, Steve. You're taking it hard. Because it's hard. It's awful. It's wrong." Danny's eyes focused on Steve's with unwavering intensity, and Steve felt himself squirming under the scrutiny.
"Danny, I'm fine," he said impatiently.
"No, Steve, you are far from fine. You can lie to yourself, try to lie to me . . . but you promised not to lie to Riley, am I right?" Danny pressed.
"Yeah," Steve admitted.
"Okay, then go out there and be honest with her, and that includes being honest about how this makes you feel. Because if you're not - she's going to see straight through it, Steve, and she's not going to trust you with her feelings," Danny said earnestly. "Now, come'ere," he added, pulling Steve down into a rough hug.
Steve resisted at first; his emotions were running too close to the surface. But as usual, Danny persisted and refused to let go until Steve relaxed and allowed himself to accept the comfort Danny was offering.
"I think I kind of hate them all," Steve said, his voice muffled as his face pressed into Danny's broad shoulders.
"Perfectly reasonable, my friend," Danny assured him, patting him on the back. "Okay, go check on that sister of yours . . . don't, under any circumstances, accept her offers to help you relax by manipulating a pressure point in your wrist, by the way . . . I'll be out in a few with another round of beers."
"I'm not sure Riley's legal," Steve said absently, looking out the window. The sun was sinking fast, but he could see Riley sitting in one of the old chairs at the edge of the water.
"Partner, I think we can overlook that tonight," Danny said.
Steve turned and looked at him. "You came. To the house, here, tonight. I didn't . . . thanks, Danny. Thank you."
"Babe, you're not going through this alone. I mean, I let you barge into my crappy apartment and shanghai me into your task force. You're stuck with me, and it's pretty much your fault," Danny said, smiling.
Steve smiled back, that bashful, self-conscious smile of someone who's been given a gift that they didn't know they needed, and couldn't believe they deserved. Then he took a deep breath and went out the back door.
He made sure to make some noise walking toward the chairs. "Riley," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"None of this is your fault," she said, looking over at him as he sat down next to her.
"And it's certainly not your fault," he replied, "but unfortunately we're the ones living with the consequences. And I'm sorry. I wish I could have known; could have found a way to protect you."
"It's true, isn't it," she said. "Oli- our mother. She was Shelburne."
Steve nodded slowly. "If Joe is telling the truth, then yes."
"He's really being kicked out of the CIA, the SAD?" Riley asked. "What about the Navy?"
"I don't know how any of this is going to work out," Steve said. "I just know that Fielding said that Joe was mine."
"Wow, that doesn't sound creepy and horrible and familiar at all; just giving a human being away when you're done with them," Riley said bitterly.
"Hey," Steve said, reaching out to squeeze Riley's good hand. "From what Joe said, Doris was under serious threat; she had Joe take you to Frank to keep you safe."
Riley turned and looked at him, her hazel eyes, mirror images of his own, locking onto his and leaving him no room to hide. "And she did that for you, and for your sister . . . and for WoFat? Convenient. Tell me, Steve, tell me you believe she was looking out for the interests of her innocent children. Tell me you believe she was being noble and self-sacrificing and I'll believe you. Tell me she wasn't doing whatever the CIA or the SAD wanted her to do, consequences be damned. Tell me that's what you believe," she demanded.
Steve was silent.
"Tell me that's what you believe," Riley said again, pleading, her voice breaking. "Tell me she didn't turn me over to Joe like a science project . . . "
Steve felt anger and grief crash over him like a wave, crushing him and holding him under. He couldn't breathe with the anguish of it.
"Tell me," Riley whispered. "Tell me and I'll believe you."
"I can't," Steve said, his voice breaking. "I promised not to lie to you, Riley, and I can't tell you that."
She looked at him, long and hard, and for a minute he thought he'd made the wrong call. Maybe he should have lied to her, maybe that really was what she wanted. He could have lied, maybe put her in witness protection . . .
"Thank you, then," she said, "for being the one person who's told me the truth. At least I have that." She stood, squared her shoulders, and started to walk toward the house. "I guess I should turn in; I assume we're going to start trying to track WoFat tomorrow."
Steve caught up to her in two easy steps - she was tall, just like him, and with long strides, but he was taller and faster.
"Riley," he said quietly. "Don't do this. Don't compartmentalize this away."
"I'm fine, Steve. I've been trained for this, just like you," she said. He could see her shutting down, shutting him out, and he was tempted . . . damn it, he was so tempted, to go along with it. They could do it. They'd been trained by the best; lock it down, lock it away, get on with the mission.
"No," he blurted out. "Because I'm not fine. I'm not okay, I'm not fine, I'm not good with any of this, but especially not with what Doris and Joe and WoFat did to you, okay? I want to yell and curse and hit things, and I think maybe I want to throw up. And I'm pretty sure you do, too."
"It won't do any good," Riley argued, trying to push past him. "Come on, let's just move on. We have work to do."
"Riley," he said again, quietly, "you're more important than the mission."
"Nothing is ever more important than the mission," she replied instantly.
"And who told you that? Joe? Doris?" Steve asked, gently.
"Yeah," she nodded.
"And do they have a history of telling you the truth?" he asked. "Or do they have a history of lying to you?"
She faltered, fell silent.
"Have I lied to you, Riley?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Then when I tell you that you're more important to me than the mission; that you and Mary are more important to me than any mission, past, present, or future, I want you to believe me," he said, reaching out carefully and putting his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, just like he had in the kitchen with Danny. But just like Danny - just like he'd learned from Danny, he realized - just like Danny had deliberately and purposefully taught him, he also realized - he didn't give up, just gently and slowly pulled Riley to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing her head into the crook of his neck.
"I'm so angry," he whispered to her, "I'm so angry, and I feel so betrayed - by my parents, by Joe, hell, by the US Navy, a little, if I'm honest. And I don't even have a word for how I feel about what's been done to you. So, you might be fine, Riley, but I am definitely not fine."
He felt her fighting to maintain control, and thought of that first night, when they'd come back from North Korea. She'd tried so hard to stay in control that she'd barely breathed, and then hyperventilated. Danny had practically ordered her to breathe, and it had worked.
"Oh, Riley, honey, just give it up," he muttered. "Breathe, Riley, just like Danny made you. It's okay, I've got you."
"You first," she gritted out, and he realized that he was holding onto control with every fiber of his being, feeling lightheaded with the strain of it. He gasped out a half-laugh, half-sob at the thought, and tightened his hold on her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"We suck at this," he said.
She nodded in agreement, and he heard her chuckle, but then he felt the hot tears hit on his collarbone, and her shoulders were shaking in silent sobs.
"It's okay, Riley, I've got you," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles over her shoulders. He held her, muttering soft phrases of comfort in Japanese and pidgin, for a few minutes, until she pulled herself together. "It's okay," he repeated.
"You said it wasn't okay, you dick, make up your mind," she groused.
"Language," Steve chided. "And did you just wipe your face on my shirt? That's disgusting."
"Oh, great, you've just given him an excuse to whip his shirt off, Riley," Danny grumbled, walking toward them, his Longboard in hand, and two in the other hand, which he held out to Riley and Steve.
Riley grabbed one and downed half of it in several long swallows.
"What?" she said, at Steve and Danny's raised eyebrows. "Please. I spent my formative teenage years with Frank. I could drink the both of you under the table. Okay, boys, enough of this touchy-feely shit. We have work to do. Get me to a decent computer and a secure connection."
"Yeah, that is going to wait until tomorrow," Steve said firmly. "You just forged your discharge papers a few hours ago; you're going to get some decent rest."
"Malia signed the papers," she started to protest, but Steve stopped her with a raised hand. "Fine," she sighed.
"Come on," Danny said, "maybe we can find a game on, relax a bit."
"Soccer?" Riley asked, as they walked toward the house.
Danny slung an arm around her shoulders. "No, not soccer," he said, shuddering dramatically. "Football, my dear; I see I have much to teach you . . . "