WARNING: I'm going to pull Steve - and Mary along with him, and even Chin a little bit - through the wringer in the next three-or-so chapters.

It has to do with the results of Steve's brain injury. Also, Mary obviously came to Hawaii for their father's funeral.

If those themes might be uncomfortable to you, please approach the story with caution.

RIDDLE

Through Sister's Eyes

The sight of Steve on his feet, walking, glaring at her without confusion and unease had always been a shock to Mary, and she knew it always would be. A shock that made her heart go aflutter, that made her want to sing the Praise, but a shock nonetheless.

It was odd how the first thirteen years of her life felt like a blink of an eye - she could barely remember their Mother for example - but the next five felt like a hundred years. She might recall them day by day, if she tried a little. Even now, another thirteen years after she'd left home, everything that had happened in that time was her point of reference, including the mental picture of her brother.

When she had gone to Annapolis he could barely shuffle a few steps around the house, clumsily maneuvering a walker and he'd been mumbling curses in Chinese.

She hadn't returned for Christmas that year, or Easter. It ... had been hard. She'd spent summer vacation at additional courses and had only returned for Thanksgiving the next year. Steve had been walking with a single crutch by then and hadn't even needed that when inside. She had been astounded by his progress. Then she hadn't seen him for another year and she'd defaulted to that memory from before, to that shuffling, mumbling, broken man. Then, her amazement was all the greater and the cycle of memory winning over the real thing, and the real thing surprising her with the beauty of it, had continued to this day.

That first time she'd come back home, he hadn't spoken a word to her. Not because he couldn't, but because he hadn't wanted to - both Dad and Chin assured her he had been on a road to fully regain his speech. She hadn't known what she'd rather believe. She had wanted him to be happy for her, proud of how well she'd managed at the Academy and that she had followed the family tradition. Instead he'd apparently been angry and jealous that it hadn't been him.

Mary had tried to understand that. She had tried to express it somehow too, but she wouldn't give up her new career for him. It had been too late - the Navy wouldn't simply let her go after a year of training and the truth was, she hadn't wanted to; she'd found she'd enjoyed being a sailor. Besides, she had made Dad proud and that had meant more to her than she'd ever believed it would.

Their estrangement had eventually resolved itself. When Mary had been graduating the Academy Steve had congratulated her and those had been his first words to her in four years. The next day he'd added a curt apology. Mary had known from Chin that Steve had taken up some job at a car shop a few months prior and that had probably served to lessen his bitterness. With time they had started rebuilding their brother-sister bond, even if -in general- she'd heard more about Steve, from either Dad or Chin, than from him over the years.

The latest news, that one about their Father dying, had come from Chin.

She had expected Steve to be off kilter, there was no denying that. She had spent most of the past twenty plus hours worrying about him - not her own grief, because Steve had always been her and Dad's and Chin's main concern. But she hadn't expected him to be mad at her. He had no right to; she'd lost a father too. His blowing past her with an air of barely restrainer ire, made her weak at the knees.

"Mary." Chin brushed her shoulder, then she felt his arm on her back and, caught unawares, she was locked in his embrace. It released something in her, opened a valve that she'd kept firmly shut and she choked on a sucking void inside her stomach.

Her father had died.

Mary couldn't contain a sob any longer. She couldn't hide behind her Navy Lieutenant persona anymore, or even behind some lame, undesired concern about the only remaining member of her family. She was exposed, because Chin knew her better than anyone. Oh, she didn't need to be afraid - he'd never use that against her; on the contrary - he had always been able to pick up the pieces of her shattered self and put them back together. He would hold her until she could move again without fear of crumbling into shreds.

With her face buried in his Hawaiian shirt Mary inhaled a lungful of his scent and wondered how many times he'd held her like this. She wouldn't even dare count.

She had to let go sooner than she'd like. "We have to go ..." She wiped her face. "Steve ..." Sometimes all she wanted was to be able to not put him first. She was damaged by that accident as well as he was. Not physically, of course, but the way her world revolved around him, despite the emotional and physical distance that he forced on their relationship - it was not healthy.

"Uh, I-" An unfamiliar voice - timid, reluctant - pulled her out of those gloomy thoughts and she turned to meet the blue eyes of a short blond man. "Hi, I'm Detective Danny Williams." The man extended his hand toward her, his face open and sincere. "I'm sorry about what happened. I'm investigating your father's ... death." His voice wavered only slightly but Mary was grateful he chose the inconspicuous 'death' over a myriad of other, more extreme terms he could have used.

"Thank you." Mary couldn't choke out more than that.

"Chin, I'll talk to you later. About that Kamekona, or ... Give me a call if you need anything."

Chin let go of Mary's arm to exchange a few more words with the detective and Mary walked slowly to her duffle bag, discarded on the steps before the entrance to the building. She picked it up just as Chin neared her and, with his hand on her back, together they climbed the five steps leading to the first floor.

Steve pulled the door open as if he was standing there, waiting with his hand on the knob all this time.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked her like nothing happened. "Or coffee?"

Mary was looking at him, unable to say anything and Chin requested tea for the both of them.

"You must be tired." Steve took the bag from her. "How long was your flight?"

"Five hours," she whispered, still baffled.

He was off. He was so far off, Mary was surprised Chin hadn't had him committed yet. All jittery, like a supercharged particle in a physics lab. He was on the verge of exploding, she realized as if she hadn't thought about it a thousand times already. And when he would, it would not be pretty. And it would break her heart.

When Chin had called to let her know Dad had died, and she'd asked how Steve was taking it (because Steve always came first), Chin had told her that he'd been surprisingly well. Almost as if it hadn't happened to him. She'd freaked out that maybe something was wrong, maybe he couldn't comprehend what was going on, but Chin had assured it had simply been denial. A natural phase of mourning. Mary believed him, because she wanted to and, truth be told, she had been going through exactly the same phase. None of it had been real. It hadn't happened to her. She had spoken to her superiors onboard 'USS Boston', explained the need for an off-day, then she had flown here - all the while calm, no grief, no tears, as if she were coming for a visit. She'd allowed herself a strangled sob in Chin's arms a minute ago but that was all. Now she was beyond pain again. So could Steve, couldn't he? Except that he'd had brain damage, so with him ... all bets were off.

She focused back on the present, because he was talking to her, his gray eyes fixed on hers, warm, brotherly.

"You can go wash your hands," he was saying, voice more urgent than was necessary, strained. "Or, if you'd like to take a shower? The bathroom's down the hallway. I'll fix you something to eat."

She nodded. "Thanks. But make it simple. I don't think I'll be able to eat much now anyway."

As she was opening the door, she heard Chin tell Steve that he should get some rest, to which he responded that he was 'fine, Chin'. Of course, what else would he say? Mary left the door ajar and stood at the sink, not turning the water on, not yet. She needed to hear their soft conversation, she needed to know exactly how not fine Steve was.

"Your hand," Chin asked hesitantly - annoying Steve was risky. "Is it tingling?"

"Yes it is, damn it!" Steve lost his temper and Mary thought with a hint of panic, Oh my God, it's gonna happen now. But he contained his anger and she was as shocked by this as when she saw him walking. "Yes it's tingling," he said in a voice so low, she could barely make out the words. "And I'm having déjà vu after déjà vu, and I feel that my emotional responsiveness is getting out of hand. But for now ... I'm staying on top of it, Chin. I am fine."

Mary turned on the water and let her tears flow, at least for this brief moment. He wasn't fine. He was going to be sick and it was only a matter of when. If, as Chin said, he had evaded a fit so far - it had been what? Three days? Maybe he could do it for a little while longer. God, she hoped he would 'stay on top of it' for as long as she'd be here. She would go back to 'Boston' tomorrow afternoon and she would leave it all to Chin. She couldn't handle any more pain

Steve served her an omelet with mushrooms and asked about her recent promotion, her transfer to the Cruiser and whether she had a boyfriend in every port like any good sailor. It was so surreal. Mary answered, asked about Mercury Marquis in return and she even laughed at some silly joke, all the while aware of Chin's dissecting gaze fixed on Steve. When he took her empty plate to the sink she remembered why she was here.

For the funeral of her father.

She asked Chin if it would be a Navy Service like they'd agreed it should be and, immersed in the hushed conversation, they were both startled by Steve's gruff, "You shouldn't have come."

Chin's head snapped up and Mary could see he was about to lash out, to defend her but he couldn't. Not at Steve. Neither of them was really able to be angry at him. They were only worried.

"What are you talking about?" Mary found herself speaking, her throat constricted by unshed tears. "It's our Dad's funeral, how could I not be here?"

Steve lowered his gaze. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded on his chest, biting his lips. A picture of despair, trying to cover up with false bravado.

"When?" he asked, not lifting his eyes up to meet theirs.

"Tomorrow," Chin whispered. "At ten."

The silence followed. It was not a serene kind of silence. No; it was so charged that Mary could feel the fine hairs on her bare forearms stand on end. Steve still stood there, motionless, chewing some words that he didn't want to or couldn't say. Who'd really know with him? Chin looked at him but less openly, almost shy and he glanced back to her, maybe expecting support, or direction, as if she knew better. She didn't. She couldn't give anything, she owed him that and more, but right now he couldn't expect...

Steve's next words pulled the rug from under her feet.

"Mom was murdered."

For a moment there she couldn't breathe. Her head was spinning and she had to pinch her thigh really hard to make it stop. Through the roar of blood in her ears she heard Chin mutter some, "What are you talking about, Steve?" and then she was on her feet, screaming:

"It's Dad, Steve! Dad died!" as if yelling would help. As if shouting at someone whose mental capacity was hindered would somehow make them better understand the world complexity.

"I know," Steve choked out, seemingly puzzled by her outburst and that made her even more out of her game. It was him who was not making any sense, not her, damn it. "Dad was killed now but Mom ..." He paused, like speaking was too hard, but not the way he would when neurons in his brain misfired. No, this felt more like he had a lump in his throat. He grunted. "The case file," he glanced at Chin. "The number we gave Danny ... Detective Williams ... It was a homicide."

What was he talking about? Mary had no clue what this was about, but at least Chin must have had a vague idea, because he jumped to his feet too. "He found that file? Why didn't you say-?"

"He didn't find it. It was not there. Lost. Taken. He doesn't know, and the entry- He only deduced that it was a homicide because of the number, or where it was recorded, I don't know." Steve rubbed his left temple and Mary found herself next to him, her hand on his arm.

"You need to rest, Steve. You're running yourself ragged."

"I'm fine!" he snapped at her, then, "Sorry," he muttered. Met her eyes, pleadingly, and turned to Chin who was right next to them now. "Hear me out. It makes sense. Why else would Dad be so hung up on that case? His wife was murdered and he wanted to find out why."

"Wait, wait. Back up a little." Chin cut in. "If Danny didn't find the file, then how does he know that it has anything to do with your mother's death?"

"It's the date. It was entered ..." he hesitated. "Sometime between April 18th and 20th, 1992, I think. He'd remember it better, I only ... registered ... that it was near ..."

"It still doesn't-"

"Why else would Dad keep investigating it for eighteen years?" Steve demanded, and then looked at Mary. "Did I ever tell you about the Champ toolbox?" He hadn't but Chin had. She had always talked to Chin more than to her own brother.

"I know about it."

"We took it from the house and there's all kinds of stuff ... Those pictures of a car destroyed by a bomb!" He glared again. "Did you ever see the accident report, Chin?"

"Well-"

"I didn't! He never wanted to show me, he'd always said I didn't need to see it! Did he show it to you?"

"I never asked."

"Well, I did. Many times. And then, my injuries, they didn't really make sense. Why the left side? And the burns? The only explanation I had was that I must have been driving but I was sure Mom would never let me at fifteen. Dad would, but Mom wouldn't. Now it's all clear. So, either I killed her or it was a bomb."

Mary needed to sit down. This was all too much to take in all at once. Losing a father was painful enough, but now finding out that their mother was murdered too? And what did Steve say? Did he wonder, all those years, if it might have been his fault, if he had been driving? She took in his form, his agitated movements, feverish eyes.

"And what about the dream?" he asked and Mary didn't know what he meant again. And again, Chin obviously did because he nodded reluctantly. Steve explained nonetheless. "I walk. Toward the car she sits in. She's about to turn the ignition and then I wake up. What if that's a memory, Chin?" He could never remember the few minutes before the accident. He had severe anterograde amnesia - that was a whole different source of worry for the family and a blessing for him at the same time, because he had no recollection of the first two years after the injury whatsoever - but the retrograde amnesia only spanned a few minutes. He'd remembered the morning, the argument with Mom, even the Mass and that he lagged behind afterward. He couldn't remember the ride in the car but ... maybe there was no ride at all?

"I'm sure he would have said something." Chin shook his head, obviously as taken aback as Mary felt. "We worked together, he would have mentioned-"

"He didn't trust anyone at the precinct, that's how the recording starts." Steve snapped, then closed his eyes and bit his lips. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "Not what I meant, Chin." Mary couldn't see Chin's face but she noticed how he bowed his head and his palms fisted at his sides. "I'm not implying he didn't trust you. Maybe he didn't want you involved, get hurt by all this. You were like family to him, weren't you? Perhaps the only thing keeping him sane after the accident. You and Mary."

"Steve." Chin cut in, his voice changed, like Mary had heard only when she'd gone too far into despair and self-pity. "It's not the right time."

"It's the only time!"

"No." There was no argument when Chin got like this. "You're not in the right mindset to go through this now." He walked toward the cabinet purposefully and pulled out two vials rattling with pills. "Take these and get some sleep. I'm serious, Steve."

Either Chin's mind power worked on Steve as it did on Mary, or Steve knew himself how exhausted he was. It was another source of astonishment and relief at the same time, to see how self-aware her brother had become. He may have been driven to the point of obsession but he could accept that sometimes he needed to stop, because he pursed his lips and didn't argue one word. It wasn't even the evening yet but he said good night, hugged her so tight she wanted to cry and retreated to his bedroom.

Three hours later, having soaked Chin's shirt through with her tears, and having remembered Dad, and worried about Steve, because Steve had to be worried about, there was just no other way - she went to check on her big brother before she crashed herself. He was knocked out cold, but before he fell asleep he remembered to splint his hand - a routine to prevent contractures that used to be one of her duties before she left home to join the Navy. This, as so many things today, made her heart lighter and even a little happy in all the tragedy she had to face. She may always remember him as hurt and damaged beyond repair, but he was improving all the time and the fact was - he was almost a regular person now, his handicaps visible only to those who looked really close.

He was doing well on his own. Could she ask for more?

t.b.c.