You Owe Me

by njborba

Steve thinks he's finally ready for a future with Catherine, but nothing goes as planned.

21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Hawaii Five-0.

All I can really say is, sorry it has taken me so long to update... and I still feel some parts of this were rushed. :)

Please enjoy!

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You Owe Me

Part 21

By
N. J. Borba

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"Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to welcome you aboard flight 422 with non-stop service from Honolulu to Washington D.C. We have a nearly full flight today so we ask that you please take your seats as quickly as possible so we can get underway on time this morning."

She walked behind Steve; small pack slung over her left shoulder as they slowly made their way through the plane and listened to the repeated overhead message.

Catherine glanced around the plane as they maneuvered the narrow aisle. It was hard not to notice several remnants of Valentine's Day.

There was a woman, mid-twenties, with a bouquet of flowers across her lap. Her ring finger was adorned with a solitary diamond and gold band, right hand clasped with the left hand of the man seated beside her. They looked at each other with wide doe-eyes and warm affection; the kind newlyweds wrapped themselves in for a while. Catherine made up her own little story for them - that they'd come to Oahu to marry on the beach on Valentine's Day; a double dose of romance.

Her made-up story was probably not far from the truth. Hawaii was a rather cliché wedding and honeymoon destination.

Another few rows back sat an elderly couple, no flowers between them, but a look on their worn faces that reflected a lifetime of love and happiness. The woman wore an antique ring, silver filigree, but no stone. Catherine imagined they'd been too poor fifty years ago to afford a fancier ring when they'd married. And instead of saving up for an elaborate anniversary diamond ring they'd opted for a trip to Hawaii and kept their old rings, which had become a symbol of their lifelong affection.

Catherine smiled as she glanced at Steve's backside. He waded through the plane ahead of her, his duffle slung over the right shoulder.

They hadn't been able to spend the weekend together, but he'd brought her a heart shaped box of chocolates and they had a long trip to the Gulf together to look forward to - three flights, including a five hour layover in D.C. and one night in Dubai. Thirty-six hours all totaled. The trip wasn't what many would consider overly romantic, but Catherine planned to cherish every second of time with him as she tried to figure out where they fit into the new versus old category of love.

Not that either of them had dared to yet label it love.

"Hold up," Catherine called out, "This is me," she stopped him.

Steve turned and glanced at the row she was waving a hand at, "What is this, business class?" he asked, "That's nice for you. My seat is at least another twenty rows back from here, I'll be sitting with my knees pushed up to my ears for nearly ten hours," Steve lamented with a bit of an exaggerated pout as he looked over her shoulder, "Looks like you have plenty leg room here… you'll probably be so comfy you'll manage to sleep the whole way there."

She grinned at his not-so-subtle hint, "Why don't you take my seat here and I'll sit in the back," Catherine suggested, "Your legs are much longer than mine."

"Nice of you to notice," he winked and leaned in to her, stealing a quick kiss.

"They are connected to another part of you I like very much," Catherine teased, using her right hand to reach around and give his tushy a quick squeeze.

"Excuse me, dears," a female voice interrupted their brief moment.

Steve and Catherine jumped apart, startled. They turned to spot an older woman sitting by the window next to Catherine's assigned seat. She had a head of fluffy silver hair and wore a sweet grandmotherly smile, "I don't mean to be nosey…" the woman noticed their uniforms and smiled a little brighter, "Well, I suppose I do mean to be since I'm nosing in," she grinned, "Am I right in overhearing that only one of you is sitting here?"

Catherine lifted her left hand a little, "That would be Mr. Long Legs here," she pointed to Steve.

"No, Cath," he replied, "I'm not taking your seat. I'll be fine. This is what I get for making last minute plans."

"Actually," the older woman unclasped her belt and shimmied across the row. She stood and looked up at them, all three huddled close together in order to allow others to pass by them in the aisle, "If you don't mind grabbing my bag up there," her right index finger pointed to the overhead bin as she eyed Steve in particular, "I'll just take your seat in the back and you two can sit together up front here," she offered.

Steve and Catherine both immediately shook their heads, "No, ma'am," Steve spoke first, "We wouldn't dream of it. My ticket is in coach, not as much room."

The older woman grinned again, "Son, call me Gertie, not ma'am," she instructed sweetly, "And would you look at me," an age-worn hand was waved in front of her torso, "I'm all of five foot tall, and that'd be on a good day. I sure don't need the leg room. Truth is, my son-in-law bought this ticket for me, and he could've sprung for first class… but never mind all that," she waved her hand again, this time dismissively. "I just spent four weeks with my five-year-old granddaughter and seven-year-old grandson. I am pooped!"

Catherine smiled, "Then you should have a comfortable seat to relax."

"None of these seats are very comfy, dear," Gertie replied, head shaking. "Normally I read on a flight, but I'm so worn out I'm just going to sleep the entire way to D.C. and I can do that from any of these darn seats. You two clearly need to sit together," she winked at Catherine, "I may be old, but I was in love once. My dear departed Thomas and I… oh… we could've made you youngsters blush," Gertie assured them. She turned a stern eye on Steve, "My bag is the green one there with the gold zippers," she pointed out.

He looked to Catherine who only shrugged, leaving it up to him.

"I really don't know how to thank you for this," Steve easily pulled her bag down.

Gertie smiled broadly, "I was just going to tell you both about how my father served at Pearl Harbor. He was there when the Japanese attacked. I was born just a year after. My father took us all to Japan many years later, lovely people. It was hard for my father, but he'd wanted to put the past behind him. I was overwhelmed by his dedication to the Navy and I always try to thank the service men and women I come across," Gertie relayed with a serious tone, "This is an opportunity to do something more than just saying thanks."

"Your support is appreciated, Gertie," Catherine thanked the woman; her right hand gently patting the older woman's left hand.

Even though they were touched by the woman's generosity, they both still felt a little bad as they sunk into their slightly roomier seats a few minutes later. Catherine had quickly stowed her bag so she could get out of the aisle for others to keep passing. Then she'd waited as Steve walked Gertie to the coach window seat several rows back. He'd carried her bag and got it settled in the overhead bin above her seat. Now he sat in the aisle seat next to Catherine, a sigh of relaxation on his lips.

"I know I'm going for my reserve training, but this still feels sort of like a vacation," he smiled, turning to Catherine as he rested a hand atop hers.

The craft was already backing away from the gate, but Catherine wasn't nearly as relaxed as Steve.

He watched her lean forward, doubled over her buckled waist. She'd stuffed her small carryon duffle under the seat and was searching through it a little bit frantically. "I swear you were in here earlier," she mumbled under her breath, seemingly talking to the bag, "Where could you have gone…" Catherine sat back with a regrettable sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, "I took everything out of my pack this morning because I couldn't find my contact solution and then…" her head shook, mentally running through the morning, "Maybe it fell off the bed or…"

Steve watched her, listening, but not sure what she was rambling about. She turned her head toward the window and he couldn't help ask, "You feeling okay?"

She turned back to him and pulled on a meager smile, "Sure, fine," Catherine nodded.

"Yeah, sure?" Steve narrowed his eyes on her, knowing her better than that.

Catherine sighed, "It's just… I don't like flying much," she confessed.

Those words surprised him, "Haven't you flown a ton in your lifetime? Your dad was in the Navy. You mentioned living on Oahu once for a short time, and Japan…"

"Yes, I've flown a lot," Catherine's tone was a bit edgy as the plane sped up for take-off. The craft was smooth all through the process, easy lift-off, no turbulence. The sky was clear and blue as they glided above the chain of emerald islands. She kept her eyes on the water for a short time before finally looking to Steve again, noticing the slightly concerned look on his face. Mostly he appeared curious, and willing to wait for her to talk more if she wanted. "Flying is great and all I just… I get a little motion sick," Catherine revealed.

"Really?" he asked. There was no mocking tone in his voice, just surprise, "How did I go all this time without ever knowing this about you?" Steve wondered. "You spend months on end aboard an aircraft carrier and you don't get sick, do you?"

Her head shook, "Sea sickness and air sickness are different."

"Both are a form of motion sickness," Steve pointed out.

"It's very different, trust me," Catherine closed her eyes as the plane steadily climbed, "At least for me it is."

"Okay." He easily dropped the matter, seeing she was uncomfortable. Steve attempted to distract her. First; by taking her hand in his and kissing it softly, eliciting a smile from her even though her eyes remained closed. Second; he tried to change the subject, "So you never told me what you got up to this weekend without me."

"I went out with Malia," Catherine opened her eyes and turned to him, her cheek pressed against the seat as their hands remained clasped on the armrest.

"Malia… as in Chin's wife, Malia?" Steve sought clarification.

"Yes," Catherine grinned, "She's the only Malia I know on Oahu… or anywhere."

"Huh, I just didn't think you two were friends or…" Steve finally nodded, "How did that come about?"

"Well, after a good looking guy in a super sexy suit ditched me at a charity event…" she watched him grimace, "I went back to the hotel and slept… alone," she felt a little bad for the dig, seeing the obvious look of regret flash again in his gray-blue eyes, "The next morning I went to Five-O headquarters because you said I could use your office to do some work if I wanted," Catherine reminded him. "Around noon Malia showed up looking for Chin and we ended up talking, which led to having lunch together and doing a bit of shopping. She got these really cute shoes."

"That's nice that you two had a girl's day," he smiled.

"Malia is very sweet, and so easy to talk to. A lot like Chin, actually. She told me all about how she and Chin met and how they had broken up for a while but eventually found their way back to one another," she couldn't help think it sounded a bit like her and Steve, "Kind of crazy how life happens. Some things are just meant to be. You and I were sort of together and then we sort of broke up, but we're here now… together… trying to make this all work," Catherine hoped to tread lightly.

"We are making it all work," Steve corrected.

"We are," she agreed.

Their mostly lighthearted chatting helped a bit, but Catherine still felt a little nauseous. As soon as they were allowed to get up out of their seats she headed toward the lavatory.

She splashed cold water on her face and closed her eyes, jostled a little by a brief moment of turbulence. Catherine rubbed her eyes and finally decided to leave the tiny bathroom knowing that no amount of cool water could calm her rolling stomach at the moment. She flipped the door's lock and barely had it open when someone pushed her back into the cramped lavatory. Catherine heard the lock latch again and watched him turn around. He wore a big goofy grin that was infectious.

"What are you doing?" she looked up at her captor, a soft chuckle escaping her lips and betraying any hint of annoyance she'd tried to convey.

Steve shrugged, his left shoulder pressed against the mirror, right shoulder practically jammed against the door, and his head skimming the ceiling of the ridiculously small space. He moved in closer, which only took a half step. His arms circled her waist and his lips descended upon her neck, "You look a little ill," Steve whispered in her ear. "And I'm afraid maybe it was my surprising you this morning that caused you to forget to pack a few important items, like the Dramamine."

"So…" Catherine closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the feel of his moist lips against her flesh. They'd had no time for intimacy during her short weekend visit.

He slowly glided his mouth along her neck and nipped her earlobe. "So this is me using my seductive techniques to distract away your motion sickness."

"Hmm…" she hated that two hefty uniforms were currently in the way of their bodies being allowed to truly enjoy one another. "That's very thoughtful of you, commander. I think…"

The airplane shifted abruptly and Catherine stumbled backward. She landed with her butt against the, thankfully closed, toilet seat. Steve fell forward, practically landing on her lap. He used both hands to brace himself against the back wall behind the toilet. Looking down at her he could see she had turned rather pale. "Well, this is certainly romantic," Steve quipped, managing to right his self as the plane continued to be struck by turbulence. He took her by the right hand and helped her stand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some slight turbulence," the male voice over the intercom stated the obvious; "We ask that you take your seats for the time being."

"You know," she stood in front of him again, gazing into his ocean colored eyes and thinking about their time in Mumbai, "Under different circumstances, say if I didn't feel like I might puke up my hotel breakfast…" Catherine did her best to pull on a smile for him, "This might have been fun."

Steve nodded.

He flipped the lock and peeked out into the aisle. "Coast is clear," Steve whispered jokingly as they spilled out. He walked her back to their seats, but the plane turbulence had completely stopped by then, "I need to do something," he mumbled before leaving her in favor of searching for someone who might be able to help him. Moments later, Steve cornered an amiable flight attendant and quickly relayed his situation to her. The woman nodded and handed over the microphone to him.

"Excuse me," Steve's voice filtered through the overhead speakers, "If I could have your attention for just a minute or two…"

Catherine glanced toward the front of the craft and spotted him, "What are you doing now?" she whispered to herself, smiling a moment until her stomach rolled again.

She closed her eyes as she listened to him speak.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt your flight, hope I haven't woken anyone," Steve continued, "But Nancy here," he grinned at the flight attendant, "Has agreed to let me ask a question. You see, there is a beautiful Navy Lieutenant named Catherine seated in 31K who is suffering from a bit of altitude sickness, thankfully only queasiness at the moment. She forgot to pack her Dramamine because I sort of distracted her this morning," he pleaded guilty to that charge.

Catherine smiled again, although her eyes remained closed. On top of her queasy stomach she was pretty sure her cheeks had just turned rather pink.

"Lieutenant Rollins… Catherine…" his voice continued to carry across the airplane, "She flew all the way from the Gulf to spend her leave with me this past weekend and I ended up having to work, for which I am still very sorry. Anyhow, this flight is the only real time we've had to spend together in several months. So if anyone here has an extra Dramamine tablet, I know she'd have a much nicer flight. And I would also really appreciate it. Thank you."

Nancy the flight attendant took over, "Please press your call light if you can help this nice soldier…" she realized she didn't even know his name.

He leaned into the mic again, "Steve, Commander Steve McGarrett."

"If you'd like to help Steve and Catherine," the flight attendant finished.

Steve made his way back to his seat. He slid in beside Catherine who looked over at him with a somewhat unreadable face. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to think of any appropriate words to thank him. Catherine simply leaned in and hugged him.

Less than five minutes later a young man came to stand beside them. He was tall and lanky, blonde hair swooped across his forehead and hanging over his left eye a little, "Are you Steve and Catherine, 31K, right?" the boy asked, looking to Steve, "You're the one I just heard on the overhead?"

"Yep," Steve nodded, "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, sir," the young man replied, "I just wanted to give this to Catherine," his green eyes turned to her as he handed over a small rectangular box with the word Dramamine scrawled across it, "I suffer a bit from air sickness, too." He told her. "Not bad, but upsets my stomach sometimes."

Catherine gratefully took the box from him, "Thank you…" she paused a moment, eying him questioningly, "What's your name?"

"Oh, it's Jeremy, ma'am," the boy responded politely. He wore a huge grin as he continued, "You're both in the Navy," he noticed, "My dad is a pilot based out of Honolulu. I'm sixteen and just told him I'm planning to join the Marine's when I graduate high school. I live with my mom back in Virginia," he rambled off some of his life story to them as he leaned against Steve's seat, "My dad teases me about being air sick and claims I'll never make it on a boat."

"I'm fine on the ocean," Catherine told him, "You might be, too. If not, you'll get your sea legs sooner or later."

"Thanks," Jeremy smiled again, "I sure hope so." He stood up straight again, pushing away from Steve's seat, "Shoot, I won't bother you any longer. I just wanted you to have those. I kept a few for myself so the rest of the box is yours," he insisted.

"Thank you," Catherine reached out to shake his hand, "Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I appreciate the gesture."

Jeremy beamed, "No problem," he shook her hand and then gave a small wave before disappearing into the back of the plane.

She wasted no time in swallowing a pill with a swig of water.

An hour later they were still somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, nearing the west coast of the mainland. Steve grinned to see that his traveling partner was looking much less pale and even rather chipper as she flipped through the Sky Mall catalog. "Don't tell me you forgot your book, too," he commented, "Am I to blame for that as well?"

"No," she turned and smiled at him, "Believe it or not, I don't always have a book with me."

He slapped a hand against his chest in an overly surprised fashion, "I don't believe it," Steve shook his head.

Catherine chuckled, "You're very relaxed today," she mentioned, turning another page, "Oh, look at this beauty. A night glow toilet seat," she folded the page over and held it so he could see. Catherine poked a finger at the ridiculous looking plastic item, "Sounds like something you might be interested in."

Steve flashed a frown her way, "I happen to have excellent aim," he pretended to be offended as he took the magazine from her and flipped to another page. "This catalog is ridiculous. What the heck is…" Steve blinked a few times, "Am I reading this right? A men's padded butt enhancer brief?" his eyes narrowed as he glanced to Catherine again.

"You don't need that," she assured, "I like your butt just the way it is… and all the other things that revolve around your butt, the hip bones and…" Catherine gulped.

"I think I get the idea," Steve glanced across the aisle and noticed a young woman seemed interested in their conversation. He gave her a big grin and the girl blushed and turned her gaze away quickly. He laughed softly as he felt Catherine's fingers pressed against his cheek.

She turned his head and attention back to her and the magazine. "Eye's front, mister," Catherine teasingly ordered, having caught his brief interaction with the younger woman. "What do you think about this face trainer," she was reading the magazine again, "It trains your facial muscles so you don't get wrinkles."

"I don't need that either," he responded.

"I was talking about for me," she shrugged.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Steve replied, "For you…"

Catherine socked him in the shoulder, "Watch it."

He chuckled again, "Don't ask stupid questions, Cath. You don't need it," Steve rubbed his shoulder, "Someday you'll have wrinkles and they'll be part of you. I like all of you."

Her eyes remained steadfast on the page, afraid if she eyed him she might kiss him senseless right there in their seats for everyone to see. "Oh, look at this one," Catherine redirected her focus back onto the silly catalogue, "It's a wine glass holder on a lanyard," she looked it over, "You can wear your wine glass around your neck… I kind of want one of those."

Steve thought she sounded pretty serious, "Well, for $59.99 plus shipping and handling it can be yours," he tried to inject a little reality by pointing out how outlandish the price was, and therefore the item. He closed the magazine and got her to look at him again, "Now that you're feeling better," Steve stuffed the magazine into the seat pocket in front of him without taking his eyes off her, "Any chance you want to revisit the restroom with me," he wiggled his brow suggestively.

"Tempting," she snuggled up beside him, resting the urge she'd felt earlier. Catherine raised the armrest in order to get closer to him, "But after all the favors people have done for us on this flight I think it might be considered conduct unbecoming of a Navy officer," Catherine pointed out, waving a hand to also indicate they were still in uniform.

He nodded, shoulders slightly slumped, clearly disappointed, "You're probably right, and we both know you can't be quiet."

She lightly elbowed him in the side, "How about if we just sleep together for the rest of this flight?" Catherine rested her head against his shoulder. "But maybe we can do naughty things on the next leg of this journey?" she suggested, "I have extra Dramamine now… and I'll prove to you that I can be quiet."

"Guess there's always a first for everything," Steve teased as he kissed the side of her head.

000

Nothing but static greeted her ears so she tried a different channel. And another one after that.

Catherine repeated her message several times. She couldn't hear the helicopter and figured Steve must have landed. She didn't hear anything from the waterfall side, which meant Vichy and his boys hadn't started searching yet or An's door goop was keeping them at bay. It didn't seem likely anyone would be on the training grounds Khalil had mentioned, not so late at night, but that didn't stop her from wondering if Steve had been captured.

The throbbing in her head reached critical mass and her vision began to narrow.

Her life didn't flash before her eyes. There was just one sweet image that stood out; Steve dipping Evan's little toes into the ocean.

Live for something. Catherine's own advice echoed in her head.

"Everest, if you can hear me…" she spoke into the radio, remembering what Steve had once said about her having a climbing body. Catherine was exhausted; emotionally and physically, but she still found the strength to focus all her effort into pulling herself up.

"There's been a change of plan…" she whispered. "We…"

Before she could finish, the CB radio slipped out of her grasp and tumbled soundlessly into the dark chasm that had swallowed An just a few moments ago.

The loss of the radio didn't matter at the moment as she reached out for the ropes on either side of her.

Not sure how or why, Catherine's body finally obeyed her and she held tightly to the ropes. Her knuckles were already turning white from the force with which she gripped the two life lines. Slowly she pulled herself upright, rough ropes cutting into her palms as she balanced precariously on one of the cracked boards. Catherine was thankful of the light around her neck as she tried to determine the best place to step. Her head was still pounding but she managed to ignore it as she fought to stay upright.

There was a large gap between where she stood and where she wanted to be, headed toward the field Khalil had mentioned.

Without overthinking it, Catherine lunged forward to cross the opening An had fallen through.

She kept her hands on the side ropes, dragging them along and no doubt creating massive rope burns. Catherine didn't care as long as she had something constant to hold on to while the rest of her body hovered over the huge opening and the unknown below. The foot in front touched down on a solid wood board. It didn't creek or moan too terribly so she bravely pulled her back foot along. When both of them were safely on the new board she sighed in relief.

Her respite was brief.

The sound of a helicopter's beating blades caused the hairs at the back of her neck to stand on end again. Her dizzy head was immediately gripped with fear, but her heart held out hope it was Steve. She shifted left toward the sound, which caused her head to swim, which made her stomach heave again. And the helicopter generated enough wind to cause the bridge to sway and jump. Catherine gripped the side ropes as tightly as possible, but the bridge motion only increased her wooziness.

"Damn," she grumbled with gritted teeth while doing her best to ride out the wave of nausea.

The helicopter grew closer and she could see the shadow of it swoop down toward the other side of the bridge, the side she was headed toward, the field side, the side she'd hoped to meet Steve on. But, even though she could only make out a shadow, the shadow was much larger than the chopper Steve had taken off in. A fact that caused worry to settle into her heart again as she tried to take a small step forward.

Another dizzy spell struck and she lost her footing, which pitched her whole body forward.

The bridge swayed abruptly, but something stopped her from falling.

"Easy there," his voice called out, his strong hands holding fast to her waist. "You go over and we'll both be going over."

Her stomach flopped again, but not because she felt sick, "Steve?" Catherine managed to pull her eyes off the rope hold and looked up at him. A dozen different emotions flooded through her as she looked into his eyes, but one recent memory caused her to smile, "Thank you."

Steve's brow knitted in confusion, "You don't need to thank me," he said.

"Short memory," she whispered. "You said the next time you saved my life I should just say… thank you."

He finally cracked a small smile despite their predicament, "Yeah, well, I was being a bit of an ass then. This is what we do, Cath… we have each other's backs." Steve managed to get a better grip on her waist with just his right arm. He placed his left hand on the rope hold and helped her take a few steps.

"I dropped the radio. How do you always know how to find me?" Catherine wondered.

"I know you," Steve glanced around as he heard a helicopter's blades beating against the air nearby. "You never did finish the last message, though, your change of plan," he recalled her words clearly, the worry and hope mingled in them, "Hate to admit it, but you freaked me out. That's why I left the chopper to come find you," he explained.

She took a deep breath, in and out with the timing of her steps as they slowly made their way across the bridge.

Some days she hated to admit how much she depended on Steve being in life, but at the moment she'd never been more grateful to have someone to lean on. "I don't know what I'd do without you," the words came as a whisper, but nonetheless sincere.

His left hand pressed against her back reassuringly, "We're not going to find out any time soon," Steve promised, thinking only about her safety. But a moment later he stopped their small bit of progress and glanced behind them, eyes scanning the dark bridge. "Catherine…" he turned back to her, finally remembering someone else's safety she'd been so worried about before, "Where's An? Please tell me she didn't hang back again, we all need to get out of here. I spotted a large helicopter shadow on my way back to you"

"I saw the same sort of shadow just a few minutes ago… I think… evacuation," Catherine's voice was nearly a whisper again. "There was an alarm going off when we were inside," she recalled, "Vichy is going to move all those boys tonight."

Steve sighed as he nodded, "Guess we figured that was a possibility." They could still hear a chopper in the distance. It grew louder as they took each step, "Cath…" he glanced over her shoulder a second time, concern rising since she hadn't answered him the first time. "Where's An?" Steve turned toward her, "When you radioed earlier you said you were crossing the bridge, sounded like both of you were…" he trailed off. Even in the dark he could see regret flash behind her brown eyes.

Catherine's body stiffened as she took several calming breaths. Her eyes turned away from him, their gaze shifted downward, "She fell… she's…"

He listened to the emotional hitch in her voice and didn't need to hear the actual words. "Shit," he whispered, gripping her tighter. Steve wanted to know what had happened, but he didn't get a chance to press her further when a large transport chopper sat down almost directly in front of them, blocking their escape route off the bridge. They scrambled backward, grasping the swaying rope holds as they tried to avoid being seen by anyone on the chopper.

An echoing ping-crack of gunfire sounded in the distance as they moved, but it wasn't coming from where they'd just left the chopper.

It was coming from the building side.

Steve stalled their forward movement, head twisting back and forth to assess the situation, trying to devise a new plan on the fly, "Maybe you should've held off on that 'thank you' since my escape plan isn't going very well," he uttered. They stood there a moment longer, caught somewhere between gunfire and a chopper. Steve finally reached out and quickly flicked off the headlamp she had around her neck, "Let's not give them an exact target," he whispered.

"My gun doesn't have many bullets left," Catherine let him know. "An had Khalil's gun on her, but…"

"Yeah, my weapon has a few shots left at most," he agreed with her that fighting back with gunfire wasn't going to get them far. "Hand to hand on this bridge isn't a very good idea either," Steve voiced aloud, "Guess you're lucky you married such a smart guy," he aimed a finger over his left shoulder. "I found a few parachutes in that old R22, figured they might come in handy. Only problem is, yours is still back on the chopper," he revealed.

She nodded, "That's about how my luck has been going tonight."

"Guess you'll just have to cling to me like a damsel in distress," Steve joked.

"What are you…" her head shook, but she immediately regretted the motion and closed her eyes to stave off the queasiness that returned.

"You okay?" Steve was instantly worried as she visibly paled in the darkness, "Catherine, what happened to you?"

"Emerson made me realize my head isn't as hard as you like to think," she managed to whisper, eyes closed for a second as her left hand pressed against the back of her head.

He reached up and gingerly examined her head. Steve winced when his fingers brushed over a decent sized lump on the back right side. "We need to get away from here right now, you can't fight like this," Steve kept hold of one rope as he bent over and fished something out of a cargo pocket on his pants.

"Vichy doesn't want me dead… yet," Catherine spoke again, her nausea easing. "He wants to wait and kill me in front of Lawson."

"That's definitely bad news," he agreed.

Several more gunshots filled the otherwise calm night air. None of it seemed very close, but they did feel the bridge shift a little. Very likely there were troops approaching.

"No, actually that was the good news. The bad news is that I'm pretty sure Vichy doesn't care if you die right now," she revealed. "Did you pack that chute yourself?" Catherine tried to ease away from their talk about death, although she realized talking about parachutes and an ill-advised base jump off the unstable bridge wasn't a much better topic.

"I did not," he revealed, "But I have to trust those boys know their stuff."

She smiled faintly, thinking about Henry and Khalil, as well as all of their other brothers. She was even worried about Emerson despite his treatment of her. Catherine couldn't really blame the young man for having fought her, it was what he'd been taught. To fight, to defend his home and those he felt were his family. "There's got to be more to it," she whispered to herself. "Why would Emerson and those other boys be helping Vichy?" she sighed.

Steve tried his best to keep positive, sensing his wife was on a pretty good downward spiral at the moment, "Had to ditch my backpack but I kept my ID, passport… and duct tape. You know, the essentials," he announced, standing upright again with the roll of silver tape in his hand, "This may not be as sexy as you sitting on my lap aboard the chopper, but you're going to need to hold on to me as tightly as possible," he stepped in close and carefully balanced himself while wrapping duct tape around their legs, tying hers to his.

He worked his way up to her waist, carefully maneuvering around the parachute strapped to his back.

"What about my arms?" her voice held a distinct note of worry, still thinking about An's fall just a few minutes ago.

"Your right arm should wrap around my back and hold on as tight as you can," he instructed. "But your left hand needs to be free for pulling the ripcord," Steve announced, "Because both my arms are going around you and not letting go for any reason," he vowed. Steve could see she looked tense, and he couldn't blame her. "It'll be fun," his voice was softer, hoping to reassure her, "Just like we're flying, except without a plane," he tried to make a joke of it.

"Sounds great," she pointed out the mistake of his words, "We both know how much I love to fly," Catherine swallowed a nervous lump in her throat, and prayed her concussion wouldn't cause her to throw up again. Not that she had much left to throw up.

"Probably not the best analogy," Steve realized as he edged them toward the right side of the bridge.

Another gunshot rattled the air around them and hit a board on the bridge just inches from their feet.

Steve knew there was no other choice and they needed to move quickly. His words became instructional again, "Do not pull the cord until I give you a go-ahead signal. I want to get us down as far as possible so they can't shoot holes in this parachute."

Catherine almost nodded, but decided against any sort of motion that might cause her head to ache again. She looked him the eye, "On the radio earlier, I said…" Catherine took a deep breath, "My change of plan is that we both make it home to the nugget."

He tightened his grip around her waist with his right arm and let go a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, "Hate to rain on your parade, Cath…" Steve used his left hand to lift the side rope over their heads, "But making it home to Evan has been my plan all along," he concluded. "Trust me, we'll get through this."

"I trust you," Catherine lowered her head against his shoulder, feeling safe in his arms for the moment.

"Good. Now hang on tight, okay? You still owe me a honeymoon," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled against his shoulder, not surprised he could elicit that sort of response out of her under such duress. Her eyes closed, "I do."

"We go on my count of…" Steve wasn't able to finish.

This time it was automatic gunfire that popped and ripped across the boards at their feet.

A steady sway and vibration along the bridge signified that someone was quickly approaching.

There was no count. They just jumped.

Then they fell.

000

The officer's mess was mostly quiet since it was a little past the usual lunch rush.

Steve found a few ham sandwiches and stacked them atop a plate. He pushed a tray along, grabbed water, milk and an apple.

He turned and scanned the small room, having already spotted the back of her head upon entering. His lips curled into a lopsided grin as he made his way to her table and plopped himself down across from her and another female lieutenant, without asking if he could join them. "Afternoon, ladies," he greeted them cordially before cutting one of his sandwiches in half. He bit off nearly three quarters of the half-sandwich and chewed with gusto.

Lieutenant Miller made no efforts to hide the way she sniffed the air. "Rollins," the redhead turned to face her roommate, "I know he's hunky and all that, but Commander McGarrett stinks," she commented, her eyes focused on the superior officer for a moment as she stood, "No offense, sir," Miller addressed him, "But I'm out of here."

Catherine chuckled as she watched her friend take off. But her nose scrunched as she focused on Steve, "She's right, you know… have you ever heard of a shower?"

"I was too hungry," he shrugged, gulping down half his glass of milk.

"Okay… I get that you're sometimes ruled by your stomach, but…" she continued to watch him, her nose still offended, "You smell like you've spent a week living in a garbage truck."

He polished off the first sandwich and chewed, politely waiting to respond without a mouthful, "I had my dive re-certification this morning," Steve took a drink of water, "And then I did a 10K around the ship. So I smell like a very sweaty ocean," Steve flashed her a cheeky grin, "You don't like it? I could've sworn it was you who once whispered in my ear how you liked the smell of the salty ocean on my skin… or maybe that was just a lie to seduce me?"

Her laughter caused another couple of officers to turn and stare for a minute. She regained composure, "Ocean salt smell is good, 10k run sweaty smell… not so much. And who the heck made you run after a dive certification? That seems excessive for a Reserves training session. How do you even manage 10k aboard this ship?"

"The run was on my own, for fun," Steve winked, noticing a notebook spread out in front of her. "What're you up to?"

"Just a little writing," Catherine tapped her pen against the pad.

"Ah, I see. So when you're not reading, you write?" he grinned, "You working on a novel or… maybe writing home to your old high school boyfriend?"

She shook her head as a dismissive scoff slid past her lips, wondering if he was jealous or just teasing her, "No, I'm writing a couple of thank you notes. This one is to…" Catherine flipped to a page in her notebook, "Mrs. Gertie Russell, thanking her for giving up her seat to you so we could have that plane ride together. And this one," she showed him another piece of paper, a considerably less wordy note, "This is a thank you to Jeremy Roy for providing me with the Dramamine tablets so we could have a nice, relaxing trip."

He smiled around the large bite of his second sandwich, but waited to swallow before he spoke, "That's really thoughtful of you. I remember you wrote a nice note to Harsha and his wife after our Mumbai getaway. But how the heck did you get Gertie and Jeremy's last names and addresses?"

She rolled her eyes at him, "I work in Navy intelligence, Steve. I do know a little something about information gathering," Catherine pointedly explained as she rested the notebook on the table again and wrote a few more thoughts down in her message to Gertie. When she looked up again he was crunching loudly on his apple, "When I made my last bathroom visit before we landed in DC, I went and talked to both of them and asked for their contact information," she revealed.

His right index finger extended around the apple as he pointed to her, "I thought that was a long bathroom visit, figured there'd been a line," Steve took another big bite.

Catherine smiled. "What are you up to today, sailor?" she wondered, setting her pen down to focus her attention on him, pleased to have his company even if he was a bit stinky.

"Nothing," he shrugged.

"Really? Nothing at all?" Catherine wasn't buying his answer, especially not after he'd mentioned going for an extra-long run just for the fun of it, "No more training today?"

"Sure, there's a fitness drill at 1500 hours," he talked around the apple pressed against his lips, "So I probably won't shower until after that. And then the rest of my day will be spent doing some…" Steve took another bite and watched the anticipation that rolled across her face, "Actually, I have a surprise for you that I'll be working on."

"What kind of surprise?" she immediately asked.

He chuckled low, and leaned back in his chair, smug grin firmly in place. The half-eaten apple rested in his right hand, elbow propped against the table as he finally spoke, "See, here's the thing about surprises… you can't reveal them beforehand."

"Ugh," she groaned, taking up her pen again.

"Come on, Cath," Steve sat forward again. He reached out with his left hand and wrapped his fingers about her right, stopping her from hiding behind writing in her notebook. He watched her glance over her shoulder, knowing that even hand holding in the officer's mess was a big no-no. Steve gave her hand a quick squeeze and then let go, "When am I ever going to break you of this surprise hatred you seem to be harboring?"

"Never," Catherine dropped her pen and downed the last of her water.

"Well, I certainly plan to try tonight." He looked around the room now, making sure no one could overhear, "2100 hours. I'll pick you up outside your stateroom."

"Sounds romantic," her eyes rolled again, but the smile on her face betrayed her attempt to hide the excitement she was feeling inside. She had no idea how he was going to manage finding a private place for them, but she certainly hoped he would succeed.

He could tell she had her doubts, but the cute smile curling her lips caused him to grin reassuringly, "It will be," he winked, taking another large, crunchy bite of his apple. He leaned back into his chair again, folding his arms across his chest, "Trust me?"

Catherine tried to think of some retort, or some other way to pry the surprise out of him, but she decided against both in favor of finishing up her thank you notes.

"I trust you," she replied, looking down at her page and hoping her affection for him wasn't written all over her face.

000

The night air was warm as it swirled around her, whistling softly in her ear.

Catherine knew Steve was taking the brunt of it as they descended; face down for him.

All she could see from her vantage point was the haziness of the bridge's outline before it disappeared, leaving behind a dark, star-sprinkled sky.

She tried not to think about An and how she'd fallen without the safety of a parachute to back her up. Catherine closed her eyes in an attempt not to see the woman's pained face as she fell, see how her body flailed in a last minute attempt to grasp something. She could hear An screaming, pleading with God or whoever else might be listening – someone or some power to help save her. Those thoughts caused Catherine's stomach to churn. She swallowed hard to keep her thoughts and muscles calm.

But another thought crossed her mind as they plummeted. The reality that all of what she imagined had been false.

She recalled the actual event, which had occurred only minutes ago. The almost serene look on An's face as the woman had let go. No flailing, no screaming. Catherine wondered if maybe she'd fallen without much fear. Maybe she'd fallen feeling it had been the right thing to do, to save someone else as she'd claimed. An had seemed so sure in that moment that it was the right thing, the only good choice. Maybe after all she'd been through, An felt like letting go was her only chance at true freedom.

And although Catherine hated to think of An being frightened or even calm as she'd fallen, more than anything at the moment, Catherine was grateful.

She was grateful because she still had a chance to make it home and see her son. Because of An.

"Cath!"

She was startled into alertness by Steve's shout in her left ear. His voice was just barely an octave above the wind's hiss.

Suddenly she realized he was tugging on her arm; his signal for her to pull the cord.

Catherine didn't know how long he'd been trying to signal her, but she reacted with swift ability. She tugged the cord and within seconds they were pulled upward in a tight jolt as the parachute deployed. Another couple seconds after that they began a much slower descent. They drifted freely, but with a bit more control as she grasped the two directional cords on each side of Steve's parachute. Catherine put all other thoughts aside as she gently maneuvered them according to his commands.

The only light they had was the headlamp still secured around her neck, which had been flicked back on just moments before their jump.

Steve had aimed it behind her neck to illuminate their drop.

Slowly, the ground came up to meet them, though her only hint of it was Steve's words as she stared at sky.

He scanned the area carefully as they sailed over the canopy of another dense jungle. "A few degrees right," he spoke, "No, no, no… my right, your left!" Steve promptly corrected.

Shadowy trees became more defined as they descended toward the river bank. Catherine could finally see land over his shoulder, could see that the river was long and narrow, and no doubt fed by the waterfall that had flowed over the top of Lawson's complex. In the dark, the water was only a few shades murkier than the ground, but she could see it was moving at a fairly decent pace. Her thoughts flipped back to An, wondering now if the poor woman had gotten caught in the downstream pull.

"Ease up now, slightly more to your left," Steve called, his voice seeming a little less stressed as the rush of wind in their ears died down with the slowing descent. "Good, nice… keep us steady like this, but lean back with me," he instructed, shifting his body's weight, "I'd rather fall on my behind than land on top of you."

Catherine could almost hear a soft note of playfulness in his tone. She clung to it like a lifeline, its pull even stronger than the rope holds she'd gripped on the bridge or the parachute attached to them now. Tring to focus on the happy, good times they'd had over the years was far better than thinking about all the bad of the past few days. Catherine leaned with him, his arms and hands holding her tight, not once letting go as he'd promised earlier. She felt safe as the reddish muddy bank came rolling up beneath their feet.

The river bank was narrow as well, but Steve used quick footwork to steady them against the slightly uneven and rooted, terrain. He kept hold of Catherine until they were both stable and standing. Their hearts beat swiftly as the rush of the fall slowly died off. He'd made numerous jumps before, similar in nature, falling out of aircraft or off cliffs. There'd always been a note of fun to them, but this one had been purely a rush of self-preservation.

And they'd survived.

"Nothing to it," he whispered in her ear as he felt the slight pull of the parachute billowing in the breeze behind them.

Steve finally let go of her and reached for his knife, easily fishing it from a cargo pocket. He swiftly cut Catherine free of the duct tape. Then he promptly went about gathering the parachute so it couldn't get caught by an errant gust of wind, or become swept away by the river current. It only took him a few minutes to gather the chute, and then shrug the whole pack off his back. He'd done it so many times before he could probably do it in his sleep.

But as he stood there on the quiet, dark, river bank, Steve realized there was something he needed to do more than anything else.

He placed the chute and its pack against the base of a nearby tree and rushed to Catherine's side.

She'd stood for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She'd watched Steve for a few seconds as he'd scooped up the chute.

Then she'd sunk down onto her knees upon the muddy, red-orange bank and tried to catch her breath.

He crouched beside her, hearing the ragged breaths she took. "Cath, you're okay. We're okay," Steve rubbed her back. "We're gonna get out of here, I promise."

His words helped a little, but she sat back and looked him in the eye, "I feel so stupid," Catherine lamented, a tear forming in the corner of her left eye.

"Hey, don't do that." He swiped the tear away before it could roll down her cheek. "Stupid is not a word I would ever use to describe you," Steve took a deep breath and sat next to her, enfolding her in his embrace, distancing himself from the pain of his stitched gunshot wound. "I can't think of a single instance in which you could be defined as stupid."

The tiniest smile curled her lips, but she felt guilty for feeling the slightest bit relieved, "I didn't say I was stupid, just that I feel that way," Catherine clarified as the sound of the river filled their ears. The swift water rippling over the top of jagged rocks, "I actually believed that unc… that Nick Lawson was a friend once upon a time," she took in a long breath and let it out just as slowly, "But all he's done is continually put people's lives in danger. People like An who was… she was…"

He could tell she was ready to talk, but still reluctant, "You said she fell?"

Catherine spit out the tale in a rambled succession of words that she hoped made sense. Everything from trying to talk the boys into going against Lawson, to Emerson conking her over the head and then the bridge and An's sacrifice, "She…" again Catherine faltered her words, "Why would she do that? I know why she said, but…"

Steve swallowed an equally emotional lump in his throat, "Billy stepped into the path of that bullet to save my life, and now An let go of your hand to save yours …" his head shook. "It sucks, Cath. I have no other explanation for you. It just… sucks." As he spoke the words, Steve couldn't help be reminded of Freddie's sacrifice on his behalf as well.

"Yeah, it does," she easily agreed.

They sat huddled on the bank for a couple minutes after that. The river sounds blending with the echoing squawk of a bird somewhere in the dark rainforest.

The distinct beat of a helicopter high overhead broke them from their moment. Steve turned to her and took her hands, standing as he helped her to her feet, "We can't change what's happened, Cath. We can't go backward. That's the sucky part about life, you can't change the past." He pushed a sweaty-damp lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek, "But the really good part of life is that you can go forward. That's what we have to do right now, we have to focus on what needs to be done."

"I want to go home," Catherine whispered.

"Sure, absolutely," he gave a quick, certain nod, "We will as soon as we…"

"No," she stopped him, taking a step away. Catherine scanned the landscape, "I mean now," she spoke up again, turning to face Steve again, "I want to hike out of here right now and go home to Evan. I don't care about Lawson's compound or those kids or…" her head shook and she didn't care how much it hurt, "I'm done here, done with this place... I just want to go home. Can we go home, Steve? Please?" she pleaded. "Can we just go home?"

His left hand brushed gently along her neck, "Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave but not ours hearts," Steve responded.

She starred at him for a moment, knowing exactly what the line was from. "Homesick in Heaven," Catherine whispered, recalling her book of poetry that she'd caught him flipping through during their trip to Mumbai. "Really?" she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

He knew his lame attempt hadn't succeeded when he looked her in the eye.

Steve wanted to say yes more than anything, but he realized he had the harder job right now, "I know you don't mean it," he carefully drew her closer, his hand moving outward along her shoulder, "Catherine, you don't want to leave those kids. Vichy is flying them out of here, tonight," he stressed what they'd already figured out, "If we leave now we could lose their trail, and we might not be able to find them again. Vichy will be in charge, and I know you don't want that."

"I don't care," her voice was barely above a whisper now, desperation settled in.

"Yes, you do," Steve insisted. "I fought you, Cath. I manhandled you and tried to toss you into that chopper with me and An's parents, but you insisted on staying. You fought me because you believe those kids need our help. You wouldn't leave them. And I know you won't leave them now."

"Who are we to decide that these kids would've been better off growing up with…" she hesitated, arms limp at her sides, exhaustion and fear threatening to overwhelm her, "Maybe they would've grown up with a mother who was… possibly raped and forced to have a child she didn't want, maybe hooked on drugs or alcohol in order to escape her situation. Maybe they would've been given up anyhow, adopted or thrown in a group home. I don't know," she sighed, "Lawson has taken care of these kids; they have family with each other…"

Steve felt his heart break as he listened, "Cath, Lawson kidnapped these boys, he stole them… all of them. That's not right. You know that's not right."

"But, I…" she felt another tear form, "I just, I don't know what's right anymore."

"Catherine, I will tell you what I know. Lawson is not your uncle," Steve was calm, but forceful. "You recognized that earlier when we discovered what he's been doing here," he reminded her. "I will be the first to admit that he's been dealt some shit in his life, what happened to him in Vietnam and losing his wife and son. But he also made some horrible choices. He hasn't realized his mistakes the way An did. He probably never will at this point. He's too far gone, Cath."

"But…" her voice faltered.

His head shook, "No buts, no excuses. He's lost. And we need to end all this before he takes more lives, more childhoods from these boys, before he snatches your sanity. We have to be stronger than him," Steve insisted, "We are stronger," he flashed a smile, "We've been through so much together and hopefully this is the worst of it."

"Hopefully," she echoed, clinging to his hope.

His arms wrapped around her again and he was thankful that she didn't pull away, "You're having a crisis of faith, Cath." Steve rubbed her back like he'd watched her do with Evan to calm the cranky baby, "I'm surprised it has taken this long for you to crack. You did a little after coming home in November, but…" he didn't want to think about returning to that difficult time in their lives. "I love you. Right now we are home, together. And we'll get home to Evan soon, I promise you we will."

Her head rested against his shoulder, the ache in her scull actually dulling for the first time since Emerson had hit her.

"Right now we just need to hang on here a little bit longer," Steve did his best to sound reassuring, knowing they needed to make the most of the time they had, "I need you to help me figure out our next move. We'll find a way to make things right for these kids, but I can't do it without you, okay? Can you help me?"

"How?" Catherine felt like she needed all the answers up front. Normally she liked to suss things out, work on deciphering a code and weaseling information out of other sources. But she had very little patients left at the moment.

"Best thing we can do right now is try contacting HQ again, and get our team working on this with us," he gave her another quick hug then stepped back, "You still have your laptop on you?" Steve watched her nod, "Okay then, I'm hoping we can finally get a signal now that we're outside. Can you check that for me?"

"Sure," she swung the pack off her tired shoulders.

He smiled reassuringly, though he was a little worried by the hesitation that remained in her, "Good…" he didn't get any further words out before the sky darkened considerably, a cloud cover he hadn't noticed earlier. Steve was quick to react. He grabbed the parachute and tossed it over a large nearby bush. Then he used a few fallen tree branches to prop the parachute on the other side. It was a crude shelter but it kept them mostly out of the rain as the sky opened up.

The immediate downpour had an impact on the river, causing it to rush a bit faster.

Catherine sat down on the ground and leaned against Steve's broad chest. He gently inspected the back of her head as she powered up the laptop.

Steve knew there was still some fight left in her and he did his best to finesse it, and also to distract her. "Maybe we can contact Mary on Skype, get a glimpse of the little guy," he winced as he felt the large patch of raised skin on the right side of her skull, but the only blood he could make out was already dried. "Doesn't look like a deep cut, but I'd like to clean it up a little," Steve reached over and searched the inside of her bag for the first aid kit.

"I gave it to An after we found her dad in that apartment," Catherine said, knowing what he was looking for. "We left it behind and there aren't any more wet wipes." She had the laptop powered up, but waited a moment as Harry's program loaded. "It doesn't hurt much anymore, just leave it."

She listened to the loud spatter of rain falling against the parachute.

She watched as a trickle of water carved its way along the muddy ground beside them, rolling toward her booted foot.

She was mesmerized for a moment as it snaked across the reddish earth.

"Cath?" Steve called to her, noticing that her head was lowered. "Catherine?" he jostled her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she sat up a little straighter.

"Stay with me, okay," he instructed, worried even more about her head injury. Even though she claimed it didn't hurt much anymore, he was still concerned. Steve found it particularly odd that she hadn't jumped at his suggestion of contacting Mary in order to see Evan. "A lump is actually a good sign," he tried to remain upbeat, "Better to swell outward than have any sort of internal injury," Steve tried to straighten out her messy, matted hair a little but there wasn't much that could be done.

"Got a signal," she announced.

He leaned forward as they huddled beneath their makeshift cover. "Can you get HQ on Skype?"

She pulled up the program and it opened right away. Chin's face appeared within seconds.

"Where the heck are you two?" the man asked, looking fatigued and concerned. "The screen's so dark I can barely see you. Are you alright?"

Steve almost smiled to see his friend, "It's the middle of the night here, we're outside sitting under a parachute, and it's raining like crazy at the moment. But, yeah, we're alright. For now," Steve relayed. "We're still somewhere in Mato Grosso," he added, hoping to give Chin a more exact location than just under a parachute, "About 300 kilometers north and slightly east of Juara… did you get any of the messages when we connected earlier?"

"No, it was mostly garbled," Chin replied. "I'm running a trace now on Catherine's satellite program, I should be able to get a ping on your location now that you have a stable connection," he explained as he waved a hand and spoke to someone off screen, "Get over here, I've got them back…"

Kono appeared a moment later and looked worried but relieved, "You okay, boss? Cath?"

"Been better," Steve replied as he flashed a wan smile her direction. "Kono, listen up, as soon as Chin gets our location pinpointed I need you to search for an area about a hundred kilometers south of us. There's a parcel of farmland and a large rambler-style house," he described the area, "I left An's parents there because I didn't have time to go all the way back to Juara. They're with a family, surname Ruiz. Peter Zhou speaks Portuguese fairly well; he mentioned transportation to a medical clinic in Juruena."

He went on to explain why the couple needed to seek medical assistance.

"I'll find them for you," Kono agreed when he was done.

Several silent seconds later, Chin finally pointed out a spot on a map to Kono, "Here," he announced, "These are the coordinates I'm getting from Cath's laptop," he nodded confidently as he faced the screen again, "Steve, we'll get someone to you as soon as…"

"Don't worry about us just yet," Steve cut him off, "There's a more pressing matter. Lawson has a complex out here," he began to explain. "He's housing at least three or four hundred kids, all boys. The guy has been training them like an army for years. Vichy's trying to evacuate them as we speak. There are helicopters flying overhead right now. I need you to see if Doris can get in touch with any CIA contacts that are loyal, someone who'd…"

"Someone who wouldn't be in Vichy's pocket?" a new voice joined their Skype session. Doris stepped into view, brow furrowed as she eyed her son, "I've already got a couple contacts on standby in Rio de Janeiro. I can have them wherever you need them in short order."

"Doris, you're meant to be watching Evan," Steve pointed out.

"But you just asked for me and… Evan is with Mary, they're both fine. She brought him by here a little while ago because she said they were going stir crazy at the house," Doris let them know, "Evan was zonked out after his bottle so Mary took him home for a nap. There's an armed HPD officer with them, drove them. Another officer has been at the house round the clock."

Steve looked to Catherine, worried even more as she failed to ask about the baby. Especially since she'd just begged to go home.

He draped an arm across her shoulders, "Good to hear, best news we've gotten in days," Steve smiled, but his look became serious again, "Listen to me, mom, I need your contacts to be quiet. If Vichy gets spooked he'll likely turn tail and run. Well, he's already running, but… he might leave a bunch of these kids behind and just disappear with the ones he can get out. We need a large team, but a discrete team."

Doris nodded, "I can manage that, but I think we should contact Joe White, get a SEAL team in there as well, if we can."

"Do it," Steve agreed, watching as his mother wasted no time heading toward his office to make the arrangements.

"Well, well, well…" Danny's voice entered the conversation before his face did. He and Grover showed up on screen within a couple seconds, "Nice to see you haven't forgotten us."

"Good timing actually," Grover was less mocking, "We just got back from HPD and we don't have the best news."

"We're getting used to the bad news, just tell us," Steve insisted.

Danny's face turned serious, "Lawson is being released tomorrow," he revealed.

"What? That can't be right. They said Monday the 12th," Steve remembered, "Tomorrow is only the ninth… we've still got the weekend."

The detective sighed, "Yeah, well, his lawyer has been making a huge fuss the last few days, pressing for an earlier release date. He's claiming we have no legal right to keep Lawson jailed if we're not prosecuting him. And it's already been established that we don't have enough evidence to prosecute. Which means, technically, his lawyer is right. And this morning a judge finally agreed to hear them out. He sided with Lawson. They're releasing him first thing tomorrow morning."

"Damn," Steve's anger boiled in an instant, "Guys, I don't think I need to stress to you all that we cannot let that happen," he was vehement as he spoke, "They're already moving these kids, we're going to lose them and Lawson's getting free on top of that?" his head shook, "We need to find…"

"His house," Catherine mumbled, eyes almost closed as she listened to the conversation, "Lawson's backyard."

"What was that?" Steve turned to her and noticed her droopy eyelids, "Hey, no falling asleep on the job, Lieutenant." He gently propped her head with his left hand pressed beneath her chin, "Stay with me, Cath," Steve whispered, "Tell me what you're talking about, what about Lawson's house?"

"Before she…" Catherine opened her eyes a little wider, trying to fend off the drowsy feeling that had swooped in, "An buried a safety deposit box in Lawson's backyard on Kaweloka street in Pearl City. She told me all the evidence we should need again Lawson is in that box, she told me... she told me that before she died."

"An is dead?" Chin asked from the other end.

Steve took a deep breath, "Yes. But…" he looked to the woman still on the screen beside Chin, "Kono, if you find her parents please don't tell them yet. They've been through way too much already, they need just a little more time to focus on themselves getting well."

"Sure," the woman nodded solemnly.

"She saved my life," Catherine uttered.

"I know," Steve whispered, noticing how her eyelids were droopy again. He rubbed her back a bit more vigorously, "Come on, stay with me, Cath."

"What's going on?" Chin was overly concerned as he listened to Steve's worried tone.

"Catherine and her hard head may have met their match against a teenager," Steve let them know, trying to keep a lighthearted bent to the situation. He knew it was much more serious, but he hoped to keep his wife in good spirits if at all possible.

"Hey, we're gonna get on this Lawson's backyard thing," Danny jumped at the chance to do something productive. "Grover, you're with me," he called out orders, "Chin, contact HPD and have them gather a crew to meet us in Pearl City, tell them we're going to need shovels, a backhoe… whatever digging equipment we can get our hands on."

Steve and Catherine watched Grover and Danny exit the screen view. Kono left as well. "Chin," Steve looked out to see the rain had let up considerably, "We really shouldn't stay in one place too long here. I'm not sure if those choppers are just moving kids or if one might be searching for us." He went on to detail as much as Catherine had told him about Vichy's plan to kill her with Lawson in attendance. "I think we need to keep moving and…"

"No, wait," Catherine interrupted, not wanting to disconnect yet, "Chin, I need you to do more research on Lawson's past."

"We've already found all there is to find," he replied, "You found more than I could with that Vietnam stuff."

"Search again," her voice held renewed conviction, "I'm pretty sure there's something we missed, something buried in his past. Further back than Matthew's death or even what happened to him in Vietnam. Search for his family, his parents…"

"We found out his mother died," Chin remembered.

"But what about his father?" she persisted.

"There was nothing on him," the officer shrugged, "Just the single mom."

She wasn't convinced, "There is something to find, Chin. He had to have had a father and… maybe that's significant," her head was still a little foggy, but she felt her thoughts tumbling around again, growing clearer. "All these boys he has here can't just be a coincidence. We're fairly sure he sells the girls, but he keeps the boys. And many of them call him father. That has to have meaning."

"That's not much to go on," Chin remained skeptical.

Catherine was far from giving up, "This might be a long shot, but what about WITSEC?"

The officer on screen frowned, "Witness protection?"

Her eyes widened with memory, "He told me all this stuff once about hiding, running away and remaking himself," Catherine could hear his words in her head again, "And this complex, as hidden as it is… I don't think he wanted to die that day when I held a gun on him. Steve was right. That was an act," she turned to her husband a moment, "Same as when he tried to lure you out to the same point his son and wife died. He doesn't want to die, he's a survivor. He was confident he'd be released from jail, and now he is - confidence brought on by a lifetime of knowing how to disappear. Maybe his mother did it once, disappeared from Lawson's father for… whatever reason."

Chin actually considered it for a moment, "From what we found, his mother died in 1969," he recalled, "I can tell you right now the WITSEC program came into existence under Title V of the Organized Crime Control Act of 1970, so there's no way they were in witness protection before that. And it doesn't make sense that he'd be in it afterward, his Navy enrollment was with the name Nikolas Lawson, so…"

"Damn," she whispered under her breath, trying desperately to pull up everything else Lawson had ever uttered to her, "Months before Ben was born Nick spoke to me about protecting my sibling, he said my sister would need me to keep her safe. But I had a brother, so why'd he say sister if he wasn't accidently referring to himself? And in the cell when I talked to him, he got upset at me for blaming myself for things I couldn't control. He said to me: You protected your brother the best you could, but you couldn't always be there for her. He said her."

"I remember that," Chin replied, "We thought it might've been a reference to his mother."

"But what if it was about a sister," Catherine wondered.

Chin nodded, "Yeah, okay. I trust your instincts on this."

"It's more than that," she whispered, memories spilling forth again. "The past few days spent walking through this rainforest have jogged some thoughts loose, memories of the past, conversations I had with Lawson when I was little. The conversation I had with him in Halawa. There's a reason why he was kind to me as a little girl…" she trailed off a moment, looking to Steve, "There's a connection… I know you think I should give up finding out the reasons behind his actions, but it feels significant."

"In what way?" Steve asked, willing to listen.

"He said something about how a mother can be replaced," Catherine recalled, "Then he tried to say something about a father, but it never came out. And there was something else about having to choose. Maybe his parents divorced and he had to choose between the two?" she tried to figure it out, recalling a few other things Lawson had said, "I'm always trying to protect the boy. Stop blaming yourself for things you can't control."

The last line was similar to what they'd been telling each other, not to take blame for things they couldn't control.

"Cath, what does all of that…" Steve shrugged, "What does any of it mean?"

"I don't know, but… I believe all of it is significant," she maintained

Steve squeezed her forearm, "Then we should pursue it," he agreed, turning back to Chin, "His mother, a father… maybe a sibling."

"I'll keep digging," Chin promised, making a move to end their connection.

"Wait," Catherine called out to him again, "Chin, tell me… tell me about Evan."

Chin pulled on a smile for her, but it was a bit forced, "Like Doris said, he's fine. Mary's been great with him."

"How is he, Chin," Catherine persisted, "Really?"

"Uh, well…" the man hesitated a moment. Chin had always been frank with her and valued their friendship, "The truth, he's been pretty cranky every time I've see him. Mary said he's been that way since you left," he revealed. "Doris mentioned he might be teething," Chin shrugged, "I kind of think he just misses the two of you, but what do I know about babies?" he tried to laugh it off but it felt false, "I'm sorry, Catherine… I never should've mentioned him being upset. You didn't need to hear that right now and…"

"No," she stopped him. "Thank you for being honest with me, Chin," Catherine smiled just a little at her good friend on the screen, genuinely grateful to him, "You'll probably see him again before I do, so give him a big hug from both of us. Please?"

"You got it," Chin agreed with a reassuring smile in place.

"Thank you, Chin," Steve sat forward and glanced at the laptop's clock, "We'll try to get back in touch in about an hour."

Catherine ended the Skype call on her end and turned to face Steve. "You have a plan?"

He nodded while separating himself from her and standing, "If you think you're up for a little more hiking?"

"Hiking is better than sitting still," she looked forward to taking her mind off the dull ache in her head. "What's the plan?"

"First, I need you to pull up that tracker program and see if you can locate the one you put on An," Steve instructed.

"The one from the plane that she transferred to the bird," Catherine remained hunched over the keyboard as he busied himself. The rain had stopped, apparently just a quick passing cloud burst, though it had left the ground considerably muddier. She watched him gather up the parachute, dismantling the shelter. "I figured you left that in the woods." She pulled up the program despite those thoughts, trusting in his instincts more than her own at the moment.

Steve shook his head, "Did you really think I was just going to let An lead us around that complex without some sort of backup?"

She narrowed her eyes on him, "You hide it on her somewhere?"

"Tossed it in her pack," he confirmed. "When we were in her office and she was focused on rewiring your laptop, and I was focused on arguing with her and not believing a word she had to say." Steve retained a small degree of regret over not trusting the woman, but he'd had good reason at the time, "Did she have the pack on her when she fell?"

Her eyes closed for a moment, not sure of any of the details on the bridge. Catherine tried to remember, allowing herself to return to that awful moment. Suddenly she could feel An's delicate hand clutched in hers and the stress of her muscles as she'd tried to hang on, "Yes," Catherine finally responded, eyes reopened and glancing up at him as he repacked the parachute, "But why are you looking for her now? Do you want the gun she had on her?"

"No," was all he said, still shoving the parachute back into its pack.

Catherine didn't bother questioning him further. She simply closed the laptop, gathered her things, and followed him.

000

She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax the weary muscles.

Catherine walked through the ship thinking about her long shift in the command center, the countless hours she'd spent sitting and toiling over her computer and keyboard. Her eyes were fatigued, as were her shoulders, fingers and back. All she really wanted was to strip down, shower and flop onto her bunk. About twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep might be enough to get her internal clock back in good working order. The brief trip to Honolulu and a long return to the ship had taken its toll.

"Come on, you have something to look forward to," she spoke softly to herself.

Steve's surprise awaited her and, although surprises were still not big on her favorite things list, she hoped his plans might include twelve hours of sleep curled up beside him. Or maybe even an hour or so of not sleeping with him. A little tiredness wasn't going to stop her from enjoying the evening, no matter what he had in mind.

"I just need a shower and a change of clothes and…"

Her words and steps stalled just a few feet away from her stateroom hatch.

"Rollins," her tall, redheaded roommate stood outside the door. She was in uniform, seeming to keep watch with her back straight; alert. "What are you doing here?"

"Interesting you should ask, Lieutenant Miller, but I'm pretty sure I share this stateroom with you," Catherine watched her fellow officer closely, seeing the way Miller looked over her shoulder toward the door. "I think a better question might be, what are you doing standing outside our door looking nervous?"

The woman's head shook, "Not nervous," Miller answered with military perfunctory. "I've just been ordered to keep you out of the room."

"Ordered?" Catherine wondered for a moment if the ship had been seized by one of those old time hidden camera shows she'd liked as a little girl. "Who ordered you? Is there a leak of some sort? Did our bunk room explode?" she was only joking until a stray thought crossed her mind, "Erika Miller, please tell me you did not actually follow through with that ridiculous idea Kieran came up with to make a whiskey still. You know we'd be booted off this…"

"No, no…" Miller assured her, "Nothing like that." The woman sighed, giving in, "Commander McGarrett is inside. He told me not to let you in until exactly 2100 hours."

Catherine frowned, "But that's when he was meant to meet me here, so why is he…" her brow furrowed. She tried to reach for the hatch handle but the taller woman stepped in front of her, "I was going to clean up first, I need some things," Catherine tried to plead her case, reaching out again only to have her hand swatted away, "Miller, this is crazy. Just let me inside," she practically begged. But the officer remained, hands on her hips now. "Miller, cut the crap," she was growing annoyed.

"Sorry, orders."

With a huff, Catherine turned and marched toward the showers. The water helped relax her a little, but not entirely.

She had nothing to change into so she put her uniform back on after showering.

"At least I'm cleaner," Catherine mumbled as she approached the stateroom again, only to find Miller still on duty. "You've got to be kidding me," Catherine's eyes rolled and she leaned against the outside bulkhead. "This is his surprise, right?" she decided to try another tactic, "What is it?"

Miller grinned, "Oh, no… he warned me that you'd try to weasel it out of me. I'm not saying."

"Come on, Erika," she pleaded with her friend. "If you know, you have to tell me. That's a Navy shipmate code."

"There's no such code and you know it," the woman smiled again. "I'm sorry. I haven't known you long, but even I know how much you hate surprises. Remember that birthday party we threw for Wallingford? You ruined the surprise for him. You're worse than my stalwart husband," she pointed out, "Damn, I miss Barry…"

That last slip caused Catherine to perk up, "If you tell me what Steve's up to I'll work double or triple shifts for you so you can take leave and see Barry and the boys," she offered.

"Now that is just plain cruel, Rollins," Miller sighed, "That's not right. You can't dangle my husband and dog babies in front of me like that. I haven't seen Barry and the puppies for almost three months… sheesh, can't believe it's been that long."

Her shoulder's sagged and Catherine felt awful, "Sorry, the offer stands whether you tell me or not."

The woman's smile returned, "Thanks."

"So…" Catherine waited, her left shoulder still pressed against the steel bulkhead, still eyeing her friend. "Come on, what's the big…"

An alarm on Miller's watch went off and the woman silenced it. "2100 hours on the nose," she waved her watch-clad wrist in front of Catherine's face. "You can go in now," the woman stepped aside to allow Catherine access to the door, "Have fun. I'm bunking with Leslie tonight since her new roomie doesn't get in until next Monday."

"This is seriously against regulations," Catherine noted.

Miller shook her head and patted Catherine on the shoulder, "Relax, Rollins… like I said, have some fun. You deserve it," with that said the woman walked off.

Catherine had her hand on the door, but it opened without any effort on her part. She stood there a moment, shocked by the vision of Steve in his dress blues, cover tucked under his left arm. He turned to the right and waved her inside. Her smile bloomed as her eyes roamed the curve of his backside, "What the heck are you up to?" Catherine asked, stepping into the bunk room as he closed the door. "Do you know what…"

Her gaze caught on the interior. Somehow he'd managed to stuff a small table and chairs into the space.

The table was covered with a white fabric cloth. There was a small vase of fake red roses in the middle. The only other thing on the table was a bowl of peanuts.

Strung across the ceiling were two strands of small white lights. And in the background she could hear the soft strains of a Chicago tune emitting from Miller's MP3 player. "You did all this?" Catherine asked, impressed that he'd actually pulled off a real surprise.

Steve nodded, goofy lopsided grin plastered across his face. "Remind you of anything? An historical event," he prodded.

"Hmm…" she looked around again, "Now that you mention it," Catherine nodded slowly, "Apollo 11 moon landing on July 20, 1969. Exact recreation."

"Ha ha," he fake laughed, "You're very cute."

"Thanks," she grinned, unbuttoning her duty uniform and untucking her t-shirt.

"Try harder," Steve implored, "Think about the night you met the man of your dreams?"

"Oh, you mean prom night 1996," Catherine nodded again, "Of course I'd already met him in class earlier that year when I transferred in. Normally he wore ripped jeans, t-shirts and converse; always clutching his skateboard… but Lucas Cavelti looked so good in his tux on prom night and he…"

Steve crossed over and snatched her up, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of her shirt as he tickled her sides, "Stop being such a smartass, Cath, and tell the truth," he gave in on the tickling in favor of reaching for her duty uniform shirt. He slowly pushed it down off her shoulders, "The night we met…"

"At the dance in Coronado," she completed his sentence. "Yes… it's coming back to me now. I remember. The room was a bit bigger than this, though. And there was a nice dance floor. I remember dancing for hours, and talking. I was quite impressed with you that night, Steve McGarrett."

"So I did well tonight?" he asked, "Not such a bad surprise, right? I even remembered the nuts," he said, waving one hand at the table.

"As I recall, I wasn't introduced to your nuts until the night after we met," Catherine teased.

"You are a dirty-minded sailor," he whispered as his lips connected with her neck.

The tension in her shoulders was instantly forgotten as his moist lips breathed warmly against her slightly damp, freshly showered, skin. It was soothing and arousing all at once, but she pushed him away in favor of finding out if there would be more to his recreation of their first days together than just sex. "Did you arrange this table just for the setting, or is there going to be some sort of meal involved?" she wondered as she sat down and untied her boots, kicked them off and stowed them in her locker.

"Diner is on its way," he nodded, more interested in watching her undress. "But we have a few minutes."

"Minutes, huh?" she chuckled, "Eager, aren't you?" Catherine watched Steve nod again. This time his nod made him look like an excited puppy waiting for supper. She could just about imagine his tongue hanging out, slightly askew, and a tail flapping back and forth. "Our DC layover was only three days ago."

"Might as well have been three years ago," he groaned as she pulled her t-shirt off. "Being on this boat with you and not being able to touch you is torture."

"That's why you kicked my poor roommate out," she intentionally teased, standing there before him in her heather-gray sports bra. Catherine took a step toward him and gently pressed her right hand underneath his chin. She closed his mouth and then placed a soft peck against his lips. "If we get caught in here together like this it could mean the end of our careers," she turned away and pulled out a navy blue t-shirt that she slipped over her head.

He watched her kick off her uniform pants and pull on a pair of gray sweatpants. Steve placed his hands at her hips, "If that outfit is meant to deter my mind from thoughts of you naked, it's not working. And I don't have a career in the Navy any more, not so much."

"Ah, so you just want to jeopardize mine," Catherine escaped his hold, walked barefoot across the room and tossed her dirty clothes into a hamper.

His look was apologetic, and his words tried to change the subject to subdue his desires, "So, Lucas Cavelti, huh?"

She chuckled at his not-so-subtle topic shift, "He was very sweet, actually. A California skater boy with a bit of a nerdy side - liked to read sci-fi. Not very tall, but blonde and cute cheeks," she watched Steve's brows arch, "I was referring to his cheek bones, facial cheeks."

"You mean the two of you didn't celebrate prom night?" he pulled out a chair for her at the table.

"Kind of a personal question," she sat down, impressed by his courtly behavior.

Steve settled into the seat across from her, "Prom night is notoriously about hooking up with your date, Catherine." He pushed the bowl of nuts toward her, "Could only scrounge up peanuts. And do not try to play naïve with me," he pointed a finger at her, "I don't buy it any more."

"I like peanuts," she stalled a moment, popping a handful into her mouth and chewing. When she swallowed her eyes met with his again, "Yes, okay, Lucas and I did have carnal knowledge on prom night," Catherine admitted.

"Carnal knowledge?" he grinned, "How very governmental of you."

"I do work for the military," she needlessly reminded him, "And I loved the movie Top Gun as a teenager," she reached for more peanuts, "I was only eight when it came out, but my mom had a video copy and I discovered it when I was twelve. I've probably watched it a hundred times or more since. I know Maverick was the focus of the movie and I do like his story, but I loved Iceman. Val Kilmer in a flight suite and dress whites… and that shirtless beach volleyball scene…"

"So you go for the naval aviator fly-boy type," Steve nodded slowly, "I guess I can see that about you…" he reached across the table and pressed his palm atop her left hand. "You know you're beautiful when you're stuffing your face with peanuts," Steve grinned.

She yanked her hand away from his and tossed a peanut at him.

"Just like old times," he laughed.

A knock on the door caused them both to tense up. Steve went to it and called out, "Is operation rusty nails a go?"

"I brought the hammers," a man's voice said from the other side.

Steve swung the partition open and greeted an ensign, "You found what I wanted, exactly?"

"Yes, sir," the young man replied as he handed over a tray.

"I appreciate it," Steve gave a curt nod. "Jamison will have what you asked for."

"Thank you, sir," the ensign smiled and took off.

Using his free hand, Steve shut the door. He balanced the tray with his other hand and walked it over to the table. "Dinner is served," he presented.

Her laughter spurted forth with a great deal of amusement as she noticed the food selection, "Looks like a Steve McGarrett specialty," Catherine took one of the plates and a fork. She waited as Steve sat his plate down and then placed the tray on top of Miller's bunk. He sat down across from her again. "I'm going to need to teach you how to cook one of these days," she grinned as they each tucked into their plates of beef stew MRE.

"What? I had Ensign Borloff take it out of the pouches," Steve defended, "That's classy."

"Very," she swallowed a bite and had to admit it tasted pretty good.

"And for the record, I do know how to make a few things," he spoke in between bites. "My dad was always in charge of cooking the Thanksgiving turkey and he taught me how to make a perfect savory glaze. Stuffing, on the other hand… haven't mastered that yet."

"I know a good stuffing receipt," Catherine said, "Passed down from my great-grandmother."

He nodded, "We'll have to collaborate next Thanksgiving," Steve winked at her, "Oh, and I also have one other specialty."

She sucked in a breath, "I'm almost afraid to ask. Let me guess, grilled steaks on the beach?"

"Nope. Hash browns," Steve proclaimed, watching as she made an inquisitive face, "I'm serious. I make some pretty famous hash browns," he insisted, "Okay, so maybe they were only famous around the McGarrett house. Mary loves them. Dad did, too."

"You've been holding out on me, commander," Catherine smiled, looking him in the eye, enjoying the time together. "I like when you talk about your family, your dad," she noted, even though the mention had been brief. She watched as he ate quietly for a while, clearly not wanting to chat any more about his father. "So… what was it the ensign wanted in exchange for finding you the beef stew MREs?" she finally asked.

"Some magazines," Steve answered.

"Say no more," she actually held up a hand, shaking her head to add emphasis.

"Cooking magazines," he eyed her, noticing the doubtful grin that came over her. "Honest," Steve continued. "The ensign loves to cook. His father owns a small diner in Oklahoma and he wants to work with him as soon as he gets out of the Navy. Military service was the best way to pay for college, and he hopes culinary school someday. When I told him I wanted the MREs he was a little bit disgusted. But I mentioned that Jamison's mother sends him all her magazines, including the cooking ones that he hates."

"Huh," Catherine shrugged, "You've been aboard three and half days and you know all this?"

He nodded, "One of my favorite pastimes out at sea is getting to know my fellow shipmates," Steve downed the last of his stew and savored it. "I borrowed the string lights from a young woman, ensign Doggart - still not sure how she got permission for those in her bunk. The peanuts were from a care package Lieutenant Farlane's mother sent him. Miller loaned the MP3 player, but the Chicago tunes came from a Lieutenant Kohler in engineering. And I know a guy in the mess hall who helped me arrange the table and chairs."

She sat back and watched him scrape some gravy up with his fork, "You must be the only officer who actually misses combat rations."

"You might be right," Steve stood and cleared the plates, stacking them on the tray. He glanced down at his watch as another knock sounded against the steel door. Steve moved toward it again and used another code phrase, "Old MacDonald…"

"Liked his farm clean," a different male voice replied.

Catherine chuckled at the ridiculous code phrases.

Steve opened up, "How's it going, Terry?"

Two men entered. "Good," Terry, the shorter of the two responded. "We give you enough time? I really need to get these back before anyone notices."

"Perfect timing," Steve agreed as he helped the two men clear the table and chairs from the cramped space of Catherine's room.

She curled up atop her bed as they cleared everything out, including the tray with their dirty dishes. Catherine waited until he had the door closed to call out to him, "Hey, smooth dog…" she tried to sound serious at first, but quickly dissolved into a soft chuckle, "You big stud…"

He turned around and eyed her, noticing her bulky sweatpants and t-shirt were still in place. "That's me," Steve played along.

"Take me to bed or lose me forever," she responded in kind, wondering if he knew the movie quote as well as she did.

His lips curled as he eagerly kicked off his shoes, "Show me the way home," Steve finished the lines before his dress blues followed the shoes. He pulled off his undershirt and padded across the room in his boxer briefs. Steve cut the overhead light so just the white string lights illuminated the small space.

"I'm impressed," Catherine admitted as he lay down beside her. "You know your Top Gun quotes."

"Are you kidding me?" he turned onto his right side as his fingers traced along the line of her hip, causing her to move in closer, "Unfortunately, I have also seen that movie many, many… many times," he fiddled with the cumbersome waistband of her sweatpants.

"Mary?" she guessed.

He nodded, "But can we please not talk about my sister right now," Steve's thoughts were already easily diverted by the touch of her warm palms against his bare chest. "I tried to find some posters of a beach to decorate this place for our dinner, any sort of beach. Closest I found was Lieutenant Brown's poster of old faithful in Yellowstone. I decided against it."

Her left hand caressed his shoulder and rested against his neck, his taught muscles feeling relaxed beneath her touch, "Why the beach? To recreate our second night?"

"No, trying to make up for our lost weekend," he ran his fingers along the still damp stands of hair that hung over her shoulder, "I was planning to take you to Waimanalo again, have a picnic on the beach, stay until the sun set, watch the stars… hence the string lights," he pointed upward toward the stateroom's ceiling, "Then the Governor's benefit came up and the case. I'm really sorry about all that."

"You've already apologized," Catherine was extremely touched by his gesture of the dinner and desire to create a beach scene, "You know there is an entire gulf of sea water surrounding this ship," she noted, "We could pretend we're on an island."

"A tropical island, warm water and white sand," he played along, "Any chance we're the only two people on this island?"

"Yep, we walked the perimeter and didn't spot another living being," she continued the fantasy.

Steve glanced up again at the ceiling, staring at the metal rivets, "This is a nice bamboo shelter we created for ourselves. I doubt Maverick or Iceman could build anything as structurally sound as this. Those fly boys are all flash, not much depth," he joked, pleased with how she laughed along with him. "Have I ever mentioned that as a Navy SEAL I have flight experience on several different types of aircraft? I could've been a fly boy."

"Very interesting," she took his hand and guided it beneath her t-shirt, delighted in the feel of his warm fingers along her belly, "What other sort of experience do you have?"

"I've actually been trained in many forms of combat," Steve whispered, his hand taking over from where she'd started. "On land… in the air… at sea…"

"On land," Catherine repeated in a whispered tone as she gently swirled her right index finger around his abdomen, "In the air…" she leaned in and blew a burst of warm air across his slightly parted lips. She pressed her palm against his thigh, gently stroking the amazingly soft flesh there. "At sea…" her hand dipped below the waistband of his boxer briefs and she watched with satisfaction as he closed his eyes and groaned, "And what is your favorite?" Catherine whispered in his ear.

"Definitely missions at sea," his breath hitched. "Diving…" Steve's deft right hand slid along her thigh and across her hip as he began to mirror her motions, "Deep sea diving missions are probably my very favorite," he moaned against her lips.

"I like deep sea diving," Catherine agreed.

000

The night sky was completely clear again, as if the torrential rain storm a half hour ago had never occurred.

Walking along the muddy riverbank meant they were out in the open, at least more open than they'd be beneath the dense rainforest tree canopy. But a different sort of canopy hung above them now as they put one foot in front of the other, one of inky vastness sprinkled with stars. The stars were so much brighter than in the city. It was easy enough to stare up into the sky and get lost trying to count all the tiny pinpricks of light.

But even counting stars couldn't take away the conflicting feelings in their hearts.

The drastic contrast of wanting to head home to their son, and knowing they had a duty to the boys in Lawson's complex.

"Do you remember our trip to Mumbai?" Steve asked. He'd taken her headlamp and was wearing it to illuminate their path as he also took the lead.

"I do," Catherine hesitantly replied, not at all sure why he was asking.

"And when we were on the Enterprise together for a week while I did my training," he hoped to focus her mind on happier times.

"Yeah, you kicked Miller out of our room so you could seduce me," she recalled, "And you used the worst sexual metaphor-play ever."

"Metaphor-play?" he watched her out of the corner of his eye as the bank widened a little so she was able to walk beside him.

"Deep sea diving missions are probably my favorite," she teasingly quoted him.

"Oh, don't even go there. You were the dirty-minded sailor on that cruise," he accused, "You and your talk of nuts got out of hand at one point. And you were easily seduced. I like deep sea diving," Steve just as easily taunted her with the silly things they'd said that night aboard the ship, "And what was the other thing… oh, that's right… pretty sure you were also the one whispering: dive, dive, dive, into my ear later that night."

She let go a brief, happy laugh that actually helped her relax a little. Catherine glanced over. The headlamp pooled light around his head like a halo. She glanced at the side of his face - that strong-jaw profile that almost always rendered her weak in the knees. "Mission accomplished, commander."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, but kept his eyes front, doing his best to make sure they didn't stumble over anything in the dark. The headlamp helped considerably, but the terrain was still unknown - slippery with lots of branches and roots under foot.

"Trying to take my mind off all this… crap," she sighed, settling on that overly generalized word. Catherine wasn't at all sure how to summarize what they'd been through in the last few days, or the past year for that matter. "You succeeded for a moment," she let him know, grateful beyond words.

Her 'for a moment' comment did not go unnoticed. "You know I want to help you through this, Cath. We can have a serious talk if you want, but I thought maybe a little laughter would do you good." Steve hoped to keep her spirits up, "Evan already has your smile, the one that lights up the whole room… I never want him to lose that. I never want you to lose that either. I love your smile. I love when you and Evan are smiling at each other. Those memories can get me through anything," he attested.

"Evan's toes in the water," she whispered longingly.

His head cocked to the left, taking his eyes off the path for a moment to fully look her way, "What was that about toes?"

"The image of you holding Evan and dunking his little toes into the ocean…" her heart felt like it was being squeezed at the moment, so full of longing it might burst, "Watching the two of you play together in the water… that image, that's what got me through the bridge... accident."

"Great minds," Steve refocused his attention on the path ahead.

She opened her laptop as they walked and glanced at her screen again to see they were only a few meters away from the blinking tracker. Her momentary good mood shifted again, uncertainty settling in. "Tracker is still holding steady," Catherine reported. The first time she'd pulled it up on screen she'd been expecting it to move, thinking maybe it could've gotten carried away with the river. Failing that she figured it might have been damaged beyond repair by the fall An had taken.

Instead, the tracker had immediately flashed. Obediently. Unmoving. Rock steady. A little less than two miles from where they'd parachuted in.

They walked silently for a long time after her announcement, the warm night blanketing them with some semblance of calm.

"You know it seems strange to me why Vichy would sabotage the jet if he didn't want you dead right away," Steve voiced after a while, "If he wanted to kill you in front of Lawson?"

"Are you asking me to explain Vichy's actions?" Catherine shrugged and sighed simultaneously, "I don't even know the guy, but I know he helped torture An… strung her up while Lawson and Wo Fat…" she shivered despite the warm rainforest air, "Who knows what else he did to her that she wouldn't talk about." It was hard to imagine anyone as strong willed as An being taken advantage of, but Catherine knew it wasn't always about being able to fight back. Sometimes it was just about surviving.

Steve took her hand, sensing heavy thoughts were clouding her already stressed mind, "I suppose it's possible he's done his homework as well," he realized, "Guy is CIA, or former CIA if Doris can be trusted to tell the truth about that." His confidence in the woman who'd given birth to him remained strained despite her current string of sticking around and helping out. "He tricked us into thinking he was on our side, even had a team working with him, a team that was probably made up of some of these kids."

A moment of silence stretched out between them.

"He must have known I can pilot an airplane," Steve spoke again, "Maybe he sabotaged the plane as well as the pilot. Maybe he just wanted us to crash, be incapacitated."

"That way his team comes in and finishes you off," Catherine agreed with his assessment, "Then they take me back to the compound so he can kill me in front of Lawson. Sounds reasonable." A moment later she scoffed at her own words, "Sounds reasonable?" she dropped Steve's hand, "Since when is trying to figure out why someone was plotting to crash your plane and kill you a reasonable thing?" Catherine balled her hands into fists.

Her footsteps against the slippery shore ceased. Steve turned to see she was standing perfectly still.

"I hate this!" she shouted, finally letting her emotions free. "I hate this!" the words were repeated, screamed at the top of her lungs as she stared up at the night sky.

"Cath…" he wrapped his arms around her, not sure what else he could possibly say to calm her.

Her memory of the stateroom after Valentine's Day, the string lights and Steve's comment about them looking like stars, only infuriated her more as she stared at the real stars above them now. All her thoughts seemed to be drifting from past to present, present to past, good memories seemingly to get entangled with the bad. "I hate this," the words were just a whisper now. She'd barely registered his arms around her earlier, her body shaking with anger, but now she sunk into them and leaned heavily against his right side.

"I'm sorry, Cath," he blinked back tears.

"For what?" she wondered.

"All this talk about Vichy wanting to kill you and… I just wish…" he sighed.

"Not your fault," she gentled scolded, "Remember?"

"Yeah, sure, no taking on blame that's not ours," he nodded, his hands rubbing against her back again. "Always easier said than done," Steve realized the same thing every time they had the conversation. "I just wish I could make all this better for you. I wish…"

"I wish, I wish…" Catherine actually smiled.

They pulled apart, but kept their hands clasped. They continued north.

Only a few minutes later the slow, steady beep on her computer grew louder.

"She must be close," Steve said, setting his eyes to the task of searching the darkness more thoroughly. The area was still river bank, though narrower than the spot where they'd set down after their parachute assisted jump. He looked left and right, sometimes having to squint into the darkness near the tree line. "Not seeing anything, you?"

Catherine stood stalk still along the water's edge. "She's over there."

Steve followed her line of sight and his heart sunk as he finally spotted a small crumpled form about a couple yards ahead of them. He waited as Catherine shut down the laptop to conserve battery power, and stowed it in her pack. Then they walked side by side toward the inert form. Catherine's eyes never left An's body. In her mind's eye she could still see the thin, dark haired women as she'd pushed her to safety and then slipped through the bridge's gap.

In the back of her mind she held out hope that An was alive. That somehow she'd fallen on a bush or something soft. That she was just injured, but alive. That she'd recover.

But as they moved forward it became abundantly clear that the still body, just inches away from the river's edge, was not alive.

She'd landed mostly on her right side atop the muddy, rooted bank. Left leg was slightly twisted, probably a dislocated hip. Her right arm was crushed beneath her, only her hand sticking out near the waist. Steve crouched beside her and reached out, feeling the need to check for a pulse. Although, in this case he actually hoped not to find one. Not because he'd butted heads with the woman, but because he couldn't imagine the sort of pain she'd be in if she were alive.

His head shook to let Catherine know he'd found none.

He took the pack off his back and began to pull the chute free again.

Catherine stood by, silently watching as he delicately shifted An onto her back. The right side of her face was raw and bloody. Normally she had a strong stomach, blood and guts never bothering her. Being pregnant hadn't turned her stomach. Only air travel and head injuries seemed to make her queasy. But this occasion caused Catherine to wince, sucking in a sharp breath. "I never should have stayed behind, maybe she'd still be alive."

"Cath," Steve sighed and stopped what he was doing to look up at her, "What did we just talk about? Blaming yourself isn't helping, you couldn't have known this would happen."

"But if I hadn't gone back and tried to talk to those boys then…" she bit her bottom lip, holding back angry, regretful tears, "I wouldn't have ended up hit over the head. An wouldn't have had to make sure to get me out of there. She wouldn't have saved my sorry, dizzy ass on that bridge when I almost slipped and…"

"Stop it," Steve's voice rose above the delicate tone he'd been using with her. He shot to his feet and looked her in the eye, deciding to take a hard stance. He squeezed her shoulders and spoke, "You went back into the belly of that building to help An; to find her, to keep her away from her torturer. You stayed behind to help those boys; to tell them the truth for once in their lives. You did the right thing, Catherine. What happened after that was just…" his head shook.

"Bad luck," she whispered.

"The shittiest," he promptly agreed. "But what if you hadn't stayed behind? What if you'd left with me and An's parents on that chopper? Maybe she would have confronted Vichy on her own and gotten killed," Steve took a quick breath, "Maybe death was after her one way or the other. You don't know. What An did for you on the bridge was no different than you staying with Lawson and Wo Fat on that ship in order to protect Mary," he insisted.

She sucked back further tears.

"I don't mean to be the bad guy here, Cath, but you need to put it out of your mind right now. We can't waste any more time on blame and what if." He went back to his previous task and began to spread the parachute out, tucking one side up against An's supine body.

He pushed the woman onto the parachute fabric, carefully positioning her on her stomach for the moment.

Catherine watched as he tenderly removed the pack from An's back, being careful as he drew it down over her shoulders and arms. She felt a tear trickle down the side of her face to see how considerate he was being. A memory filled her head; the day they'd found Freddie's remains in that North Korean field. Steve's best friend in the world had been tortured and then buried in a shallow grave along a road. He'd cried to realize how they'd mistreated Freddie.

Now he was sure not to mistreat the woman's body before him.

Steve sat the pack aside and rolled An again so that she was on her back and about three feet of the parachute was to her right. He carefully draped the sheet over her and tucked it beneath her left side. Then he painstakingly wrapped the remaining length of parachute around her limp body like a cocoon. "We should head back toward the spot we landed, see if there's a way to get up the side of this cliff and back to the compound," Steve said while deftly scooping up An's body.

"Steve, you shouldn't carry her," only at that moment did Catherine remember his bad leg; the bullet wound she'd stitched. "There's not going to be any way up this cliff face. We'll have miles to go before we reach civilization and you never did get those antibiotics."

"I'm okay. I can handle this," he shifted An into a comfortable threshold carry.

Another tear streamed down her face as she stared at her stubborn husband, "I appreciate that you want to do this, but you don't have to."

"I know I don't have to," Steve sighed, glancing down at the wrapped body in his arms, "Cath, she made some horrible choices just like Lawson. She killed Billy, and…" his head shook, still torn up by that memory, "I'll never forgive her for that," he was honest, "But she just saved your life and she did the right thing coming here for her parents. She deserves to go home. Her parents deserve to bury her. It took me years to get Freddie home, but I can take An to her parents now. I'm going to give them that closure."

Catherine nodded, not realizing she could be any prouder of the man she'd married until that moment, "Okay," she made no further argument.

She unzipped An's pack and quickly rummaged through it. Catherine pulled out a full water bottle and found the gun Khalil had given An. There were some other things inside, a few small bottles of chemicals and some cabling. There was also a slip of paper folded in half. Catherine didn't know what the chemicals could do so she had no use for them, same with the cabling. She stuffed the gun into Steve's waistband at his back.

The paper was flipped open only for a second. She spied her name at the top of it, more words below. It looked like a note.

Catherine refolded it without reading. She folded it a couple more times so it fit into her front pocket. She pulled out An's passport and tucked it into the side pocket of her bag. The rest of An's pack was left propped against a large rock. She stood, but paused, wondering about something, "We shouldn't leave chemicals like that just lying around," she worried, "What if they leech into the stream. What if a tribe finds them?"

He winced a little, "Can't be worse than the exploded jet we left in the rainforest?"

Her eyes narrowed, still thinking it through. She decided to leave the pack, not knowing what they would be up against. A long hike meant not needing extra weight in a pack. She twisted open the water bottle and took a long swig to finally clean her mouth. The water was spit out within seconds.

"Want some?" she offered him the bottle.

Steve's nose scrunched, "Thanks, but I'm not coming near that after you just spit puke water out of your mouth. There are limits to my love," he winked.

A small smile upturned her lips, glad that they could still joke and tease and love each other beyond reasoning despite all they'd been through.

Or maybe it was because of all they'd been through that their love endured.

"We need to clean up that jet crash site," Catherine said as they set off, a little more determination in her step. "Maybe we can hire a crew after we get out of here. And remind me to make a huge donation to any sort of Brazilian rainforest preservation society there might be, for environmental repairs…" she sighed, "We have a lot of damage to clean up."

Her last comment made him realize she was talking about more than just the charred remains of that jet.

They'd walked about a mile back toward the spot where they'd parachuted in when Catherine noticed a large yawn escape Steve's mouth. She'd been yawning the whole hike, not caring that he noticed. But she could tell he thought he'd kept his yawning a secret from her. "We should take a rest," she suggested.

"I'm not tired," he denied.

"You're sweating, and you've been awake the same amount of time I have. I'm exhausted," Catherine tried to love his stubborn side as much as she loved all his other sides.

"You have a concussion," Steve countered.

"You were shot," she reminded him.

He shrugged, "I'm tougher than you."

"You think so, huh?" she actually laughed at the ridiculousness of their conversation, "Okay, then how about you push out our next baby and tell me how tough you are."

That got him to stop. Steve looked around and spotted a small rocky outcrop. He laid An's body down on the shore and guided Catherine over to the rock that was smooth as glass on one side, mossy on the other. They sat and each took a drink of water. Catherine from her water bottle. Steve from his canteen. "Our next baby?" he finally inquired, "Now we're having another baby? Seems like just a day or so ago you weren't sure about a second baby."

"I know this is probably not the right time to make any sort of concrete decision about expanding our family," Catherine acknowledged, "And bringing it up right now seems completely crazy when we're trekking through the rainforest in Brazil, several thousand miles away from our baby boy, and you've been shot and I have a concussion and we're carrying An's dead body…" she finally took a breath, her thoughts a bit jumbled still.

Steve glanced down at An, "You're thinking about it because of An and Wo Fat," he guessed, "And your brother."

She gave a very gentle nod, "Mostly because I keep thinking about Henry and Jomi, and Khalil and even Emerson. All those boys have is each other, their brothers. They protect one another and…" Catherine sighed, "That's what I always wanted with Ben, to be there for him, to protect him. I know my dad being in the Navy contributed to me wanting to join up, but I think it was also so I could have a place to belong, a family of brothers and sisters," she shrugged.

"Navy helped fill that void for you," Steve realized.

"I really want Evan to have a family," she realized, "Family is important. What happens to the nugget when we die?"

He turned to face her, "We're not dying, Cath. We're making it home to him."

Catherine smiled, "I know, I wasn't talking about today or this trip," she wondered how they'd gotten onto the topic of death once more, "I mean someday in the future, in the very distant future," her left hand reached out and gently rested against his forearm, "When we're both old and gray and still having fantastic sex." She watched him sprout a smile that creased his stubble covered face. "I want Evan to have what you and Mary have."

His face turned into a slight grimace, "You know Mary and me fought like cats and dogs as kids. She's told you how mean I could be to her. I try to gloss over it, but it's true. I was kind of a nasty big brother at times," Steve spoke with regret.

"Mary loves you very much, and I know you feel the same. You'd do anything for her. You were just kids when you did all those mean things to her," she gave him a small out, "Sibling rivalry is going to happen no matter what, even if you think you've spaced your kids at an optimal interval."

"Optimal interval?" he frowned, "Something makes me think you've read up on this topic."

"It's debatable," Catherine was glad to focus elsewhere at the moment, "Some claim two years is best while others think more like four years. But my great aunt's, Beatrice and Louise, were born thirteen months apart and they were best friends growing up; thick as thieves, to hear my family explain it. So…"

Steve's eyes narrowed questioningly, "So… that means you're thinking of having another baby sooner rather than later?"

She shrugged, "Neither one of us is getting any younger."

"Nobody ever gets younger," he pointed out.

Her eyes rolled, "I would like to be done changing diapers and breast feeding by the time I turn forty."

"And I'd like to be able to keep up with them," Steve added, "Taking them swimming and surfing, hiking… teaching them to fish," he found he was starting to like the idea of a larger family for them. But something else was clouding his ability to completely get excited by the prospect, "Cath, you're not suggesting we have another baby just because I missed out on all the time you were pregnant with Evan, are you?" he couldn't help wonder. Steve watched her gnaw on her bottom lip, "Cath, no…"

"That's not the only reason," she interrupted, "But, yes, I do want to experience that with you. I want you to pamper me, rub my feet and go to the grocery store in the middle of the night for my weird cravings. I want us to sit around and bicker about what to name the little guy, and…" Catherine sighed, "I love Evan more than I ever thought possible, but I feel sad some days that he didn't get to have you around those first few months."

"It makes me sad, too, but he'll have me for the rest of his life," Steve insisted. "And I don't want you to have another baby just so Evan can have a sibling, or I can experience it with you. I want you to have another child if that's really what you want. And if it is, I will support you and Evan and another baby or two."

"Two more?" she groaned, "Let's not get carried away here. We already have Trooper and the nugget, so I'm thinking one more would be the limit."

His smile was joined by a nod, "You're really serious about this second kid thing?"

"Well, at the moment… yes," Catherine answered in all seriousness, "But I did read that teething starts around five months, and if Doris is right the nugget might already be ahead of the curve. We'll have to see how that goes. I might be good with just the one human baby and one dog baby."

Her laptop chimed; piercing the calm, warm rainforest night.

It also pierced their momentary lightheartedness.

Catherine's gaze drifted to An's covered body and she let out a long, slow breath. Her hands fished out the laptop and as soon as the screen lit, she answered the Skype video call. Danny and Grover's faces filled the screen a moment later. "We're in Pearl City, but this backyard is bigger than I remember," Danny commented, "We searched for any spot of ground that looked like it might've been disturbed lately, but came up with nothing. We don't even know how long ago she buried this thing."

"We've been digging in a few places," Grover added, leaning against a gray-handled shovel, "But no luck so far. Flying blind is a pain so we figured you might have a better idea where to look? Some sort of marker An might've mentioned?" he prodded.

"We'll bulldoze the whole damn yard if we have to," Danny jumped in again, "But the neighbors might like it better if we could avoid that."

"She didn't say where," Catherine sighed, "I don't know."

Steve put a hand against her back, "Maybe you do," he encouraged, "You seem to have known her better than most. Think about it a second."

"I don't…" she bit her lip as she tried to think of something, some memory of her time with An on Lawson's ship. They hadn't talked about much other than their plan to keep Wo Fat oblivious. An had never really opened up to her. "It's not like we were chatty girlfriends," Catherine shook her head, "We didn't shop together or know each other's favorite colors…" she paused a moment as something struck her. "Red…"

"What was that?" Steve had heard just a mumble. "Cath?"

She turned to look him in the eye, "When we were on that roof and I got her to tell me how to diffuse the bomb, An told me to cut the red wire. She said red was her favorite color," the memory seemed significant all of a sudden. Catherine turned her attention back to Danny and Grover's images, "Are there any trees or bushes with red flowers?"

Catherine and Steve could see both men scanning the yard. "No," Danny's head shook, "I don't see anything red, no red leaves, no red flowers, not even a red pot…"

"There," Grover announced as he pointed over Danny's shoulder. The laptop camera followed him half way across the yard, "My wife planted one of these bushes in our yard a few months ago, kind of spiky leaves but it bloomed small red flowers last week," he recalled.

"That's enough for me to start digging," Danny agreed as the camera was sat on the ground but left on.

Steve watched the digging, dirt beginning to pile up around the web camera. "Guys, you might want to move that tablet somewhere…"

Even over the Skype connection Catherine heard the dull thunk of a shovel hitting something solid. They could see Danny and Grover on their knees, hunched over something that Grover pulled up out of the ground. "Safe deposit box," she whispered.

Danny used the shovel to bust the lock and Grover opened the box. "There's a bunch of media cards in here," Grover reported, "SD and micro SD." Danny must've turned the web cam onto the box because they could see what was inside. "Also a few paper documents, but mostly media storage," Grover concluded. "Hang on, got something else in a small black box like a… some sort of jewelry maybe…"

"Billy's mother's ring," Catherine felt a tear roll down her check. "She was telling the truth, about all of it."

"We'll get this stuff to Charlie," Danny said as he stood with the laptop in hand. "Have him go over it."

"If there's any shred of usable evidence again Lawson, you call the Governor and the US attorney," Steve instructed, "Naomi Mahelona, she lives in Hawaii Kai. I don't care what time it is there, I don't care if you have to go to their homes and knock on their doors in the middle of the night. You make sure they get eyes on it."

"Got it," Danny nodded before ending the call.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment after Catherine closed her laptop and stuffed it back into her bag. They stared at An. "She did a good job, didn't she?" Catherine turned to Steve, "She pulled the wool over Lawson's eyes on this one, hid evidence right under his nose."

He nodded, his palm pressed against the small of her back, "Yeah, she did a good job," Steve had to admit. "I just have to wonder why she sat on it so long."

"I think she tried to blackmail him. An wanted me to talk to Lawson because she couldn't get him to reveal her parent's location," Catherine recalled, "Keeping her parents prisoners assured An wouldn't blow the whistle on him," she supposed.

His head gave another small nod, "She was probably afraid. Lawson is unpredictable. He's gone underground before, like you said, reinvented himself. An knew he could've easily done it again, cut himself off from her and allowed her parents to die." Steve had doubted the woman in the past, but he had very little doubt now that they'd find the evidence they needed against Lawson on An's media cards. She'd waited for the situation to fall in her favor in order to get what she wanted, but An had followed through with her part of the deal.

"I don't know what happens when a person dies," Catherine threaded the fingers of her left hand with those of his right, "I've never actually formed a belief system in that regard, but I'd kind of like to believe that Billy and An are somewhere together that doesn't require them to hash things out. Some place where there's no need for apologies or forgiveness, somewhere they can just be happy, be… free," She looked Steve in the eye, "I know that's naïve. She killed him, and I can't forgive that either."

Steve smiled sadly, "Maybe it is naïve, but… I'd like to believe that, too."

She unclasped his hand and stood, shouldering her pack again, "Come on, break time is over," Catherine announced, shifting gears because she was sick and tired of being sad, and feeling helpless, "We need to get out of here and help those boys."

His smile morphed into a proud grin as he nodded, stood and faced her, "That an order, Lieutenant?"

"Yes," she waited as he hefted An into his arms again, "How many kids do you think they can get on a helicopter at a time?" Catherine asked as they walked. "If we can estimate how many, and if we listen to the helicopter's above us…" her thoughts were finally turning in the right direction again, "Maybe we can figure out how many choppers they have and how many trips they'll need to make to evacuate all of them."

"We're not even sure on the exact number of boys in that complex," Steve interjected a note of realism.

"You guessed around four hundred, right?"

"Yeah, I did," he was a little hesitant, but Steve really wanted to help fuel her current renewed state of motivation.

Her right hand rested against her thigh, fingers drumming uneasily, "So how many choppers? I heard a small one when An and I were on the bridge, assumed that was you." Catherine did her best to remember, "Then there was the bigger one blocking off our way back to the smaller helicopter you landed. But I swear I heard another before that."

"Definitely three choppers, but the R22 doesn't really count," Steve replied, "Only a couple kids could fly with a pilot. The bigger choppers each sounded like a UH-1N Twin Huey to me."

"Sounded like?" she questioned his remark.

"Yeah, that coupled with what I saw of their hanger…" he thought it over, "It was big, but only big enough for some sort of medium sized utility helicopter. Huey fits that bill pretty well. Most likely they have one with have a fifteen seat configuration, one pilot and fourteen passengers. Some of the boys are small, older boys might risk carrying them on their laps if they think time is of the essence. Still I doubt any pilot would take off with capacity over twenty."

"That means…" she ran the calculation in her head, talking out loud, "Four hundred divided by twenty is twenty trips, except they have at least two of the large choppers so that's only ten trips. But then we have to know how long a round trip is," Catherine realized.

"Which means we need to figure out where they're taking those boys," Steve concluded.

"Whoa!" Catherine yelped as she got tripped up a moment on a branch underfoot. She reached out and steadied herself against a sturdy tree trunk. "There's still the house in the soybean field that Lawson mentioned. And you said you left An's parents somewhere with farmland. That was only an hour round trip?"

Steve nodded, "About an hour, but I seriously doubt Vichy is just moving them an hour away."

"Why not?" she countered, "He's cocky, thinks he has everything under control, figures he'll get me back and kill you and then the location of this… prison… won't be compromised again. So he moves all the boys back once we're taken care of."

"Hmm," he had to admit it sounded plausible. "But it seems more like these guys are prone to extremes, which means moving them a short distance wouldn't suffice."

"You're probably right," she sighed, "Henry and Khalil said I'd never find them. They must have another location further away. Maybe even another country," her words stalled a moment, "But another country would mean a long flight, and passports for all those kids."

His head shook, "No way do they have passports for all of them," Steve guessed, "Even if they do, getting that many kids on a flight out of here…" he didn't think it likely, "Maybe if it was several flights," he stepped over a large fallen branch, An feeling a little heavier in his arms. His leg was still in pain, and he was pretty sure he had a fever from an infection. But he wasn't about to let on that he was in any sort of pain, "Private planes?"

"I don't know," Catherine mulled it over, "A private plane would still have to file flight logs." The answer suddenly hit her like a train, "A boat," she realized, "A ship, maybe even a cargo ship," the idea took hold and would not let go. "Lawson's big on using the ocean to hide, makes the most sense he would train Vichy to do the same. They've got to be evacuating these boys to a ship somewhere along the coast."

"Long way to any coastline from here," Steve made a point, "But the rivers are used to ship all sorts of goods in the area. Amazon tributaries run all through this valley," he looked out to the river bank they'd been walking along for a while, "They could be transporting them somewhere very close, onto a boat or several boats that will eventually get them to the coast and a much larger ship to take them all… somewhere else."

"Do you know where this river widens?" she wondered, "Did you get any kind of better look at it from the air?"

"Kind of dark," he reminded her, "I never saw the water, and this is more like a stream. Do you think you can walk and zoom in on our location?"

"Running pretty low on battery already," Catherine relayed as she removed her pack from the left shoulder and swung it around. She carefully pulled it free, shouldered her bag again and opened the laptop. "Come on, Harry…" she coaxed the device, "We need just a little more information." Catherine brought up a map of the area. She studied it a moment, her eyes squinting, so tired and still concussed to the point the bright screen was almost causing her to see double.

"Anything?" Steve tried to sneak a look at her screen, but he had to concentrate on each step he took. He stayed just ahead of her to point out any bad steps.

She chewed her lip a moment longer, "Yeah, Harry's got us pinpointed along an offshoot about half a mile west from Rio Juruena."

"How wide is Juruena?" he questioned, "Enough to maneuver a boat?"

"Small one, sure," Catherine was doing a lot of estimation. Even with the onscreen map scale it was hard to calculate exact mileage or sizes, "But it's really splintered in this area, and I see rapids. I don't think maneuvering a boat upstream would be advisable."

"You need to remember these boys aren't just teenagers and toddlers, they're trained extensively for this sort of stuff," Steve put in, "They might be up for it."

Catherine closed her eyes for a second, pausing her step, "No," she relied on her instincts. "I don't think even Vichy or Lawson would risk them on this type of journey. Those boys mean too much to them. They'd find a safer spot, wider and easier to maneuver."

"Okay," he deferred to her opinion, "Find it."

Her head gave a nod as she resumed walking, using Steve's wake to safely step as she focused on the screen. Her left hand balanced the laptop as the right expertly worked the trackpad so she could follow the river's course north. "They'd be sure to head upstream toward the Amazon. Going south would take too long and the rivers all seem to narrow considerably, so…" she licked her lips and concentrated. "Rapids, more snaking river… shoot, there's a lot of cloud cover on Harry's SAT pictures…"

Steve listened to her thinking out loud. It actually made him smile to hear. He loved when she was in detective mode, figuring out a code or some other puzzle piece. It was hard not to admire her tenacity, even if he'd had to spurn her along a little. Steve knew she'd done the same for him more than a few times over their years together. "Any confluences?" he finally asked, "That would likely make a wider spot, wider means calmer water…"

"Yes, I just found it," she declared with more excitement than her tone had held in a while, "Juruena and Sao Manuel converge and become Rio Tapajos… or Tapajos divides and branches off to form those two… you know what I mean."

"How far from here to that confluence?" he got her back on track.

"Umm…" she made a quick calculation based on the screen scale, "About two hundred and twenty miles."

He knew she was estimating, but he trusted she was within a small margin of error. "Typical cruising speed for a light-lift Huey is about 115 mph, which means it would take about two hours. Four hours round trip. If we're right about this, we've got some time before they can clear out all those kids."

"Maybe we have time to rescue some of them," Catherine agreed, but she had her doubts, "Vichy could still get away with over half these kids depending on how fast Doris and Joe White can organize a team and get them here to help."

"You think we need to do something else, something more?" Steve guessed.

"We could leave An here for a while. You find a way back up to that complex on the cliff, and I hike to the nearest neighbor and get a lift to the river confluences. I check it out, see if they really are using that area like we suspect. You keep an eye on Vichy and the boys left at Lawson's school until Doris and Joe show up."

He stopped and turned so they were facing. Steve has his eyes narrowed at her, "So we split up again? You with the laptop and me with the only CB radio we have left. We'd have no way to communicate."

She could see he wasn't thrilled with that idea. "I think I might be able to tap into CB radio channels on my computer. They have programs for everything these days. I used to listen in on enemy military channels in the field, worked out some of their codes," she watched him nod along, no doubts as to her ability. But she could see the reluctance in his eyes, which reflected her feelings, "No," Catherine let go a frustrated sigh. "I don't want to split up again, but I'm just not sure how we can do this without splitting up."

Catherine closed the laptop. An's re-wiring had allowed the battery to charge, but it wasn't quite up to the same long-lasting power it had previously held. She stuck the laptop in her pack and swung the bag back over her shoulder, "Ow," she whispered as her arm brushed against her chest.

"Ow?" Steve questioned, "What's wrong, your head?"

"That, too," she admitted, "But this time I was referring to, uh… it's my…" Catherine waved a hand at her chest, "My boobs are extremely sore," she confessed, "They feel like they might explode."

"From not nursing?" he wondered, watching as she gave a small nod, "They wouldn't actually explode, would they?"

She smiled, "No, but I could get an infection, mastitis. You're not supposed to just stop like I did when we left the other day, that's why you wean slowly. It's a process."

Steve nodded, not sure about the process at all, "How long has it been now since you nursed?"

"I expressed some milk yesterday," Catherine paused, having to think about it, "Or… yeah, I guess that was yesterday; last night. When we were in Paulo's truck. You were asleep and I found a small plastic container that I used."

"How?" he couldn't help wonder.

"Used my hands."

His eyes widened a little, "You should've woken me, I could've helped."

"Wow," Catherine's eyes rolled, "A serious situation that you're trying to make sexy. And you call me dirty-minded."

"Could've been sexy," he shrugged. "I could help you now, if it's serious."

"Really?" her brow furrowed, "Are you sure this isn't something your love has limits on?"

"Cath, I wasn't being serious before. I never should've said that. My love for you doesn't have any limits. If your puke water was the only water I had to drink, I'd drink it," Steve declared, "And if you need me to… you know, milk you…"

Catherine couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped.

"Here I am trying to be serious and you're laughing at me?" he frowned.

"No, I… I'm not laughing at you, not exactly." Catherine found that the laughter died quickly as she glanced around the dark surroundings, realizing just how serious their situation still was, Steve clutching An as they tried to joke about breast milk and puke water, "I just… I can't imagine this situation getting any more ridiculous."

"And I can't believe you just said that," his head shook, "You shouldn't have said that, Cath. Haven't you ever realized that whenever anyone says something about a situation not getting worse, it usually does get worse."

"You watch too many movies," Catherine dismissed, but she was stopped in her tracks by a sound overhead.

A thwap-thwap-thwap echoed through the valley and Steve craned his neck to try and spot the chopper.

"Could be Doris's CIA contacts," Catherine was hopeful.

"Maybe…" Steve remained cautious as he moved them toward the nearby tree line. He laid An out along the ground and pressed his back against a tree trunk. Catherine stuck close to his side, glancing around him to try and make out the helicopter. The chopper's bright headlight cut through a break in the trees. She reached up and flipped the small switch on the headlamp Steve's was wearing, plunging them into complete darkness.

The chopper's repetitive blade thwap grew softer for a moment and almost faded completely. A few minutes later the whir of the blades resounded just above them. The tree branches swayed from the wind the vehicle had kicked up. "Damn it," Steve mumbled, "I don't think that's CIA," he eyed the chopper, seeing it looked very much like the Huey he'd described to Catherine a while ago. "They're searching for us."

"What do you want to do?" Catherine deferred to his superior knowledge of evasive actions.

"Stay put," he spoke a little softer, though loud enough to be heard over the chopper noise. "Stay quiet."

They did exactly that. They stayed in that spot for over fifteen minutes as the chopper continued to hover somewhere nearby. Steve didn't say anything, keeping to the staying quiet part of their plan, but it worried him a great deal more when the chopper finally took off again.

"I don't like this," Catherine whispered, echoing his thoughts.

He nodded, "They let someone off," Steve guessed.

She sucked in a breath, thinking he was probably right. Her hand inched behind her back and reached for the weapon at her waist. In the dim light her eyes had adjusted enough to notice Steve make the same move for his gun. Their fears were confirmed a moment later as a voice broke through the silent rainforest basin. It wasn't the voice she'd been expecting, though. Catherine could still recall Vichy's harsh tones, almost like a snake's hiss rolling off his tongue.

"Catherine!" the voice shouted.

This voice was softer, maybe even worried. It was a voice she remembered just as well.

"That's Henry," she gripped the hem of Steve's shirt, "What is he doing out here?"

Steve let out a slow breath, "Maybe setting a trap," he worried.

"No," her head shook automatically and she was thankful that it didn't hurt much to make the motion. "Henry wouldn't be part of a trap, Steve. I trust him. He and Khalil are the only reason An and I got away when we did. They got us outside, let us know about the bridge and the field to meet you."

"Seems pretty convenient, doesn't it?" Steve remained on the defensive. "That bridge that busted, which nearly caused you to fall… which did cause An to fall. And that field where I landed, which their chopper just coincidently cut us off from?"

Her fingers tightened around the gun in her hand, head shaking a little more. "That wasn't Henry's fault," she insisted, "Those two boys are not the enemy, Steve. I will not fight them. I wouldn't even fight Emerson, which is how I got hit over the head," Catherine enlightened him. "I won't fire on them."

"Catherine, are you out here!" Henry's shout carried across the space again. "We need to talk… we need your help!"

"Steve," she rested a hand against his forearm, "How much do you trust me?"

"More than anyone," he instantly responded.

"Then let me talk to him," Catherine tested his trust in her.

He only took a second to mull it over before nodding, knowing arguing with her would be futile, "I want you to walk straight out toward the stream," Steve instructed, "I'm staying right here. I'll have eyes on you the whole time. Do not let him get between you and my line of sight, okay? Keep him toward the water."

"Got it," she agreed, slipping past him and stepping out into the open. "Henry?" Catherine finally called back to the boy.

She stood a few feet away from the water's edge and glanced around in the dark before she noticed a light in the distance flick on. Catherine spotted the boy about three yards to the north. He was already jogging toward her, his legs swift and sure across the rooted and muddy landscape. There was a flashlight in his hand, the light beam bobbing in time with his steps. She'd seen how physically fit all the boys were, but this was her first eye-witness to his actual ability. Henry crossed the short distance in short order and stood in front of her.

"I'm so glad we found you," he wore a smile.

There was no hint of deception in his tone and his smile put her at ease, but she kept the gun at her side. He was dressed in jungle camo like the other boys she'd first seen at the crash site. "Henry, what are you doing out here?" she asked, noticing that he had no weapon on him, at least none that she could see. "I thought Vichy was running an evacuation?"

"He is," the young man nodded, "But a few of us got away."

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"Vichy thinks we're making one of the trips to the river confluence to drop off some of our brothers," Henry began to explain, confirming what she'd guessed. "We did drop some boys off. There are boats up there waiting for us, waiting to take us further… I think all the way to the coast so we can board a larger ship and…" he sighed, "Who knows where we will go then." Henry smiled softly, "I know I told you you'd never find us, but then I decided it was us who needed to find you."

Catherine stepped to her right a little, making sure to heed Steve's wishes and keep Henry from coming between them. "I'm not sure I follow, kiddo."

His lips formed a thin line for a moment, pondering the odd term she'd just used for him. Henry resumed his explanation a second later, "I know we said we couldn't go against our brothers, couldn't fight them, wouldn't…" he took a quick breath, "But after Khalil and I left you and An we realized we had to risk at least telling some of our brothers about you. We spoke to our elder brothers, just the ones from our immediate families. They weren't sure to believe us."

"It's not easy to go against everything you've been taught," she acknowledged.

"No, it's not. But father has only ever spoken about you with reverence," Henry continued, "We all know that. He wouldn't want you hurt, but that's what Emerson and many of the others are trying to do. Khalil and I convinced our brothers that father wouldn't want you hurt the way Emerson said Vichy planned to hurt you. And we don't want father hurt either, but your death would be a horribly painful thing to endure for father."

On some level Catherine hated the way Henry spoke about Lawson as father, as if he were a great man. But she refrained from lambasting the man in front of Henry, especially since the boy was using Lawson as a means to convert to her side. "So you came looking for me, to help?"

Henry smiled, "Yes. My brother, Liam, is a pilot. Vichy had already given him the assignment to fly one of the choppers. We managed to mostly take older boys on this trip, telling Vichy we'd need them at the confluences to help when the younger ones arrived. He agreed. Upon our return we came to search for you and An and the man with you; your husband," Henry recalled. "Where are they now?" he glanced around. "We need all of you to help."

Her faith in the boy's story was what spurned her to wave Steve over. She watched as he moved quickly, but cautiously across the small expanse. Catherine loved him all the more for remaining on alert. "Henry and some of his brothers need our help," she didn't waste too much time with all the explanations. "I trust his story."

Steve looked the boy over, "You have a weapon on you, son?"

"No, sir," Henry spoke with military-like subordination, "I left it on the chopper, sir. I didn't want to appear a threat. I've already asked for Catherine's help, now I'll ask the same from you, sir," the boy's wide-eyed gaze bored into Steve's, standing face-to-face with the older man. "We believe you to be the… how does the saying go? Lesser of two evils."

"You know we still aim to put a halt to what Lawson has created here," Steve pointed out, "To end your whole way of life here. You understand that?"

"I do, sir," Henry sighed, "We don't see any better way to stop Vichy. We can't fight our own brothers."

A hand went to the boy's shoulder and Steve gave it a manly squeeze. "Tough choices are the mark of a brave man," he told the boy. "You have a radio to contact the chopper?"

Henry nodded, unclipped the CB off his belt and found the secure channel, "This is Poet, calling Nighthawk - Operation Juntar is a go," he reported. "Requesting pick up in five."

"Copy that, Poet. Pick up in five," a voice confirmed, "Nighthawk out."

He held the radio to his side and glanced over Steve's shoulder. "Where is your other friend, An?" Henry asked.

Steve ushered the boy and Catherine back toward the tree line where he'd left the woman's body. He watched Henry register the situation, taking it all in without the need for words of explanation. "Hope there's room on the chopper for her," Steve said as he lifted the body into his weary arms again. "We're not leaving her here."

The young man nodded, "Yes, of course there's room." He turned his inquisitive gaze upon Catherine as the sound of the chopper approached. "What happened to her?"

They remained far enough away from the bank so the chopper could land.

"The bridge," Catherine relayed on an exhale. She gave a rather brief summary of what had happened.

"Then it's my fault," Henry lamented as the repeated thwap of the chopper blades threatened to drown out his voice, "Khalil and I were just trying to get you somewhere safe, the bridge was the only exit we could safely take you to without passing the guards that we're running the evacuation. But I forgot to tell you it had weak spots, boards that were old…" he sighed.

The chopper finally drowned him out completely.

Henry helped Steve get An aboard. Catherine stepped on with Khalil's outstretched hand to help her up. The two young men secured An's body with straps bolted to the floor. Steve guided Catherine over to two seats side-by-side at the rear of the chopper. He made sure she was buckled in before he fastened his own belt. Henry and Khalil secured their belts and all of them gave the lead boy a thumbs up. That boy then instructed the pilot they were ready for takeoff.

The noise inside the helicopter leveled off shortly after takeoff, allowing Catherine's voice to carry across the small expanse between her and Henry. "What happened up there on that bridge, An's death… it wasn't your fault, kiddo," she told him, a small reassuring smile flashed to add to her insistence, "And it wasn't mine either." She felt Steve grip her hand, clearly having overheard her. Catherine closed her eyes as they drifted across the lush rainforest valley, rising.

She listened to the roar of the waterfall and did her best to believe her own words were true.

000

He walked behind her and held his hands over her eyes as they climbed the ladder.

"I know where we're going," she said, trying not to slip as he kept both hands over her eyes. "I know this ship too well not to know where we are."

"You think you're so smart," Steve groaned, "Just keep moving," he instructed.

The midnight air was a bit chilly as they emerged outside and he finally dropped his hands away from her eyes. The water was still a bit rough from the huge storm that had rolled in that morning and lasted most of the day, lightning, thunder, and a torrential downpour. The deck at the very rear of the ship was still a bit slick from storm water, and Catherine reached for his hand to help keep her steady as they walked across the small deck toward the rail.

"Oh, look… the fantail… why am I not surprised?" Catherine smiled up at him, clutching his hand as they approached the rail, "I've been here before."

"Yes, you're very smart," he responded, "Here I am, trying to take us somewhere nice and you have to ruin it," Steve pretended to be hurt, but smiled to let her know he wasn't, "I happen to love the fantail, quietest place on the ship as far as I'm concerned. This is where I always go to 'get away' aboard ship," he let her know, pleased that she'd snuggled up to his right side and was gazing out at the vast ocean with him. "But it's not about where," Steve whispered in her ear. "It's about when."

"When… what?" she wondered.

"The time, not necessarily the setting," he turned to face her, hands at her waist as he leaned in.

"Steve," she pressed her palms against his chest, glancing over his shoulder, "We can't, not out here where someone could see."

He smiled, "I have a couple special guards keeping watch for us. No one is going to disturb us out here," Steve assured her.

Catherine gave a slow nod, "So, you were saying something about the time?" she allowed herself to relax, impressed by all the friends he'd made in a week's time.

"Actually, in this case, the setting is important as well," he noted, turning them so they faced the water again. They couldn't see very far outward due to the lack of light, in fact they could only really make out part of the frothy wake. But he put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head to look upward, "Clear sky, stars- the calm after a storm… sort of like my life at the moment." He gazed up at the tiny white specks of starlight. "Everything has been so chaotic lately, this past year… heck, the past few years."

Steve returned his eyes to her, seeing that she was still looking at the stars, "But when I'm with you I always feel…" he struggled a little with getting his emotions out in words, not used to talking about them. "You make me calmer. You make me want to look at stars and just, relax. You're my calm after the storm."

She returned her attention to him, noticing how serious he looked. It made her stomach tighten, "That is so…" Catherine felt something shift inside her, something she couldn't quite explain, but the next thing she knew she was laughing outright at his words. "That is so corny," she finally said.

"You're laughing at me?" his brow knit, feeling rather hurt for real at the moment, "At my attempt to be romantic?"

"I'm sorry," she did her best to recover, "This is great, really. It's beautiful out here and I know what you said is romantic and sweet and… I just can't help laugh."

"There's something wrong with you, Catherine," Steve tried to be upset with her, but she sounded sincere, "You're supposed to want a knight in shining armor on a white horse, and you're meant to swoon when I say things like you're my calm after the storm."

Catherine cracked up again as he said those words, "I'm sorry…" she caught her breath.

"There's something wrong with you," he repeated.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, clasping her hands there. Their foreheads touched lightly as she smiled softly, "You're probably right."

"I mean it, Cath," Steve looked into her eyes and noticed the way she was avoiding a straight on gaze, "There's something bothering you. You're not yourself."

"I just don't like surprises," Catherine shrugged, letting go of him and leaning against the railing.

He wasn't sure what to make of her behavior, but he wasn't about to let it go with that sort of response, "How about the surprise of meeting me at that dance in Coronado?" Steve asked, "Or the surprise of me coming along on this trip. Those were good surprises… but you're not very happy."

Catherine turned to face him again, all laughter gone, "And you're running away from something," she accused, "Yes, you came for reserve training. That was convenient. But you're doing all this extra stuff, the 10k run and befriending everyone aboard this ship. Sure, I believe that you enjoy making friends, but you've got half this ship helping you out, doing favors for you. That's kind of coming on a bit strong, don't you think?"

"It's, uh…" Steve sighed, impressed that she could read him so well. "The case last weekend… Lori resigned from the team," he revealed.

"What?" she hadn't been expecting that, "Why?" Catherine was surprised he hadn't said anything all week about it.

"The way things went down, I… the governor didn't give her much choice," Steve explained in more detail, glad that she was willing to listen.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I know she'd become part of the team, and a good friend," there wasn't a hint of jealousy in her tone as she talked about him being friends the woman. He'd told her months ago there wasn't anything between him and Lori other than friendship and Catherine trusted him completely.

"Yeah, I'm upset she had to leave like that. I feel it was my fault. I should've done something different, or…"

"You know what that sort of blame can lead to, and it's nothing good."

"You mean overcompensating by training too hard and trying to create overly sappy romantic gestures that aren't really the norm," he sighed.

"Something like that," she nodded.

"Doesn't change how I feel about you, Cath," Steve insisted, "I… I want to be here with you, I want this time." He pushed a lock of wind-blown hair behind her ear, "But you don't seem like you're really as into it as I am. You seemed happy when we left Oahu, but now I feel kind of like you're pulling away a little more each day out here, and I'm not sure if it's intentional or not."

"I'm afraid," Catherine revealed, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Of what?" Steve's eyes widened. "I know about the flying thing now, but that's sickness not fear. What could you possibly be afraid of?"

"I'm worried that I've been leading you on," she told him.

"Pretty sure that's never been the case," Steve responded, still confused. "Cath, I leave first thing tomorrow and we… we haven't made a plan for next time yet."

"I know…" Catherine nodded, "Because I don't want to keep you dangling on a string, I lo… I care about you too much to do that. For the last several years we haven't been able to find any amount of time together more than a week. You leave tomorrow and I stay here for… I'm still not sure how long. And when I am done with this temporary duty I may not be able to go back to Oahu. It's not fair to you to keep up this long distance thing."

He smiled, relieved that she'd told him the truth, "The way I see it, the only way you're going to be on Oahu for good is if you get that job, or you retire. And I don't see you retiring just yet," Steve shrugged, "You love your work, Cath, you're great at it. I care about you too much to get in the way of that. But you could get that job… if you want something badly enough I know you'll go after it. I've never known you to not go after what you want. You have to have a little faith."

She actually smiled, "That easy, huh?" Catherine was touched by his pep talk.

"Maybe," he nodded, "But pushing me away because you think it's best for me… don't do that, please. I can decide what's best for me, Cath. And it always leads me back to you. So, let's just enjoy the time we have tonight, right here, together. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes," she replied, leaning into his embrace again. What she didn't say was the real truth, that she'd do anything for him.

000

It was noisy inside the helicopter, the steady thrum of the blades twirling overhead. The rush of the nearby waterfall.

Catherine did her best not to look down at her feet where An's body was. Instead she watched Henry take a leather sheath from the boy seated to his left.

For the first time she noticed the weapon patch on his uniform. It hadn't been clear to her in the darkness along the bank. She hadn't seen him handle a weapon other than her gun, which Emerson had insisted he take in hand. Henry had seemed hesitant of the gun, but he appeared at ease with the knife. It caused her stomach to tighten realizing that knife was his family weapon, the one he'd probably trained to use every day of his life.

She tried not to feel utterly fearful for his safety and the safety of all his brothers. Her thoughts of how he'd chosen to raise a child over further guards training calmed her a little. A baby he'd calmly carried and rocked, and spoken softly to, nurtured. He was a peaceful soul, not an angry or lost soul like that of the blonde boy Emerson. She wanted to bolt across the aircraft and snatch the knife out of Henry's hands the way she knew she'd do if Evan ever got a hold of a knife such as that, or even just a butter knife.

Her hands balled into fists instead of rushing over to him. Her right knuckles brushed against the raised lip of her pants' pocket.

Catherine fished An's note out of her pocket and held it for a long time as the chopper continued to rise.

Steve glanced over at her as she began to read the note.

Catherine,

Paulo gave me this piece of paper and a pen so I could write you a note. He's been incredibly kind, and easy to talk to. Helps I know the language of course, but he keeps telling me I remind him of his older sister. He says she is beautiful and works with children at a school. I tried to tell him I'm far from a school teacher, but he doesn't seem to believe me. It's actually kind of nice to have someone think I'm a good person, someone who doesn't know my past.

I have no idea how this journey will end for me, but I fear it might not be good. If I die I hope it will be for my parent's sake, or yours. And if I'm already dead when you read this and I haven't given you the location of the safety deposit box yet, it's buried in the backyard of Lawson's old house in Pearl City. You already know the address. I buried the box beneath a flowering quince bush - red flowers when it blooms. Red is my favorite color.

Some think of it as the color of blood, and therefore death. I see it as blood, but to me that means life.

I pray you and Steve stay alive to enjoy a long life with your son and the other children you'll likely have. You're good parents, and good people. The best I've ever known.

There was an obvious break in the writing and then another colored pen took up the words.

We're seated in the back of a small white van now as I write these last few things. You are asleep now as our journey continues, but at this moment I feel welcomed by this kind family. Just like Paulo before them, they have showed me nothing but kindness. For some reason you've shown me kindness as well, even when it wasn't warranted. Your kindness is why I feel safe in thinking you're the type of person who probably likes to send thank you notes. For that reason I have obtained and written down the following for you.

The first is Paulo's full name and address. The second is contact information for the family currently giving us a lift into Porto Velho.

Whatever happens to us all next, thank you for taking a chance on me.

An

Beneath her simple two-letter name, An had scribbled a small dove symbol. Then the two addresses.

Catherine didn't refold the letter, instead she handed it over to Steve.

He read it silently to himself, mulling over each word and thinking maybe he could've given the woman a little more trust.

Steve refolded the note and handed it back to Catherine. He also encouraged her to pull on her headphone and microphone unit while he did the same.

"She knew you better than I thought," Steve spoke through his unit to be heard over the chopper noise. He didn't care that the boys could hear them as well, "Remember that flight we took when I did my training aboard the Enterprise? You made sure to get Gertie and Jeremy's addresses and sent them nice thank you cards," he recalled. "Gertie still sends a Christmas card to my place. I never was sure why you gave my info as the return address."

"I was in that transition period of moving to Oahu," Catherine recalled, "Guess I just forgot to give her my new address."

"Maybe it was unconsciously intentional since you eventually moved into my place," he was glad to have her talking after reading that emotional note, "Were you working me that whole time, taking a job on Oahu, trying to get yourself moved into my place in the end?" Steve teased.

"Yep, that was my plan all along," she replied, watching the boys as they watched her and Steve interact. Catherine didn't mind what they overheard, hoping to give them all a glimpse into what a real relationship was like. "Do you know what I'm going to do when we get home?"

"Scoop Evan up and hug him for at least a couple hours before I ever get a chance to hold him," Steve guessed.

"Well, yes… hugging Evan is a given. Although, I might be able to share him after only a half hour," Catherine grinned, "But I was talking about what I plan to do after I hold and kiss the nugget for a very long time. The first thing I'm going to do is jump into our bed."

His brows arched, "I like where this is going. Will there be lingerie involved at any point?"

"Sorry, sailor," she worried for a second that their conversation may have veered a little into the personal where Henry, Khalil and their brothers were concerned, "I meant jumping into bed to sleep, to relax. I'm going to stay in bed with you and the nugget and Trooper for days, maybe even a week or two weeks. I'm just going to pile a bunch of diapers onto the bed with us and I won't have to get up for any reason."

"So these diapers are for Evan, or us?" he wondered.

"I can get up to go pee," Catherine retorted, "I'm not that lazy."

"Of course not… but how about food?" Steve liked that they were talking, even if it was a silly conversation. Calm before the storm, he imagined, "Trooper will get hungry, so will Evan and you and I. If we don't get up to eat, neither do our kids."

She only pondered that issue a moment, "We have cell phones. We can just order food."

"Okay," he nodded, a small grin in place as he noticed Henry was smiling at them but trying to hide it, "So we order food and they come to knock on the door. But we're upstairs in bed, so what do they do… toss the food up to the second floor terrace?"

"Hmm…" Catherine had to admit she hadn't thought that far ahead, "I know! Kamekona. He'll just come right in and upstairs to deliver to us."

Steve guessed that was likely, the big guy always made himself at home, "How do we pay him?"

"He'll take credit cards."

"True, he'll take his money any way he can get it." Steve tried to think of another way to stump her, it had become a bit of a challenge the last few seconds of their conversation, "So I guess that just leaves clearing away all the dirty dishes, take-away containers, soiled diapers and other trash from the bedroom."

"That's your job," she was quick to assign.

"Oh?" he turned to her, a larger grin in place, not sure how they could joke at the moment, "Nice. So you get to stay in bed and I'm the errand boy?" he watched her nod, "You know what, that's fine. I'll gladly serve you if it means keeping you safe in my bed."

Catherine reached over and took his hand in hers, her wedding rings pressed against his beefy paw, "You know this fantasy of mine is only going to last about a day," she gave up pretenses, "Then we'll be right back up again, going out into the back yard, lounging on the beach. And I'll do the laundry and you and the nugget can have some guy time to hang out together, maybe work on your dad's old Mercury."

"Speaking of cars," he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, "We still haven't found you a new one."

"Do you know what I want to eat when we get back?" she asked.

He chuckled, "No, but nice counter move… very smooth."

"Breakfast," she pretender not to notice he'd discovered her avoidance of the car topic, "Maybe a big brunch with Mary and the rest of our friends and family."

Steve played along a little bit longer even though he could see the compound begin to emerge out of the darkness. "So we have brunch first thing after we get back and then we kick everyone out and jump into bed?" Steve watched her gaze dip toward the floor of the helicopter, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in again. He tried desperately to keep her spirits up, "Will you make that egg, spinach and asparagus frittata thing I like?"

"Sure," she said, her tone softened as the waterfall came into view. Catherine could also make out the edge of the bridge where she'd lost An, "If you make your famous hash browns," Catherine tried to keep up their ridiculous litany, the words having lost some of their meaning, but none of their comfort.

"Throw in some of that hand squeezed orange juice with the fresh pineapple pulp," he replied, "And you've got yourself a deal."

"So I have to make two things and you just have one?" she watched Henry and Khalil turn to their brothers, a soft chatter starting to overtake the communication system.

"That's marital compromise at its finest," Steve leaned in and kissed her cheek, but he gave in easily, "Okay, how about I beat some eggs for you?" he watched her think it over, "And I'll change the first couple of poopy diapers?"

"Now you have yourself a deal," Catherine agreed, "Although, at the moment I wouldn't mind changing a poopy diaper."

A serious tone instantly replaced their somewhat relaxed one as the chopper hovered at the mouth of the hanger.

"What's our plan?" Steve looked to Henry and Khalil, not sure who was in charge. They were the only two boys he knew by name.

A young man with sandy–blonde hair and green eyes was seated to their left. He spoke up, turning his head toward them. "I'm Ross, one of Henry's older brothers." He pointed to the left, "This is Tullis," he then pointed to the front of the craft, "Liam is our pilot, and Carson – his twin – is co-pilot." His pointer finger aimed across the craft to two others, "Khalil's brother's; Nathan and Milo. We don't have much of a plan, at least not anything more elaborate than capturing Vichy without harming any of our other brothers inside," he relayed.

Steve swallowed slowly, "That's my goal as well," he acknowledged, "But you've got to be prepared. This could all go against us."

"We understand," Ross nodded solemnly as he eyed Catherine, "Henry said you wouldn't allow Emerson to be shot. It's his belief you don't wish to harm us. We hope he's right to trust you. But you must understand, these are our brothers we plan to go against. No matter what, their safety comes first in our lives."

"Understood," Catherine nodded.

"By my count," Steve leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he surveyed the boys with his eyes, "We have five with guns, five with knives. Not the greatest ratio. Vichy and his boys have more fire power, as well as cross bows," he recalled, looking to Ross again. The older boy seemed in charge of the group, "Do you know how many are loyal to Vichy?"

Ross's green eyes widened, "I wouldn't call them loyal to Vichy, but there are about fifty standing with him at the moment."

"You think Vichy's got something on them?" Catherine wondered, "An said earlier that the only reason she could think for these boys to be helping Vichy was if they were in fear of their lives," she recalled. "What could he be holding over them?"

"Maybe father's safety," Ross shrugged, "The fifty I know for sure who're helping him are some of father's most beloved," he revealed, noticing their somewhat shocked reactions, "We all know father loves us, but he favors some more than others. We all do such things. We favor our family-brothers over our cousin-brothers."

Catherine gave it a small bit of thought, "Have you noticed anything different about the families that the fifty come from? Something that's changed?"

All the boys shook their heads, "Not much," it was Tullis who responded, his tone of voice much deeper than Ross. "Just that they seemed to suddenly shift their loyalty since the last time father was here to visit us. Vichy has kept them somewhat distant from us. They started to take meals away from the rest of us."

"Anything else?" Steve questioned.

"No, sir… nothing."

"Could just be as An noted," Steve sat back a little, "Vichy threatened them harm if they didn't help him find you."

"Kill or be killed," Catherine whispered.

They pondered that simple but chilling possibility as the chopper slowly set down in the hanger.

Liam and Carson emerged from the pilot seats. Catherine regarded their jet-black hair and equally dark eyes. They were nearly identical in every way, even their mannerisms were similar as they crouched down into the middle of the group. "We radioed ahead," Liam informed them.

"Told them we had a fuel leak," Carson continued, "That's why we were delayed, we had to set down for a moment to see if we could fix it."

"But really you were searching for us," Steve understood their cover story.

"They'll be expecting just the two of us," Liam picked up again as they took turns speaking, "We'll get out and pretend to be trying to figure out the source of the fuel leak," he explained, seeming to have more of a plan than anyone else.

Carson nodded as his brother spoke, "We'll really be assessing the situation… see if Vichy is in or around the hanger."

"It shouldn't take us too long to find that out," Liam jumped in again, "And we'll figure out where to go from there."

"Sound good?" Ross eyed Steve, clearly deferring to the twins.

Steve gave a brief nod, a sigh escaping to signify that he wasn't happy about the situation. "Do not initiate any contact with Vichy until we are all out there to back you up," he warned the boys, "If you alert them before we have some sort of higher ground we'll be sitting ducks in this thing."

"Understood," Liam and Carson said at the same time.

Catherine, Steve and the rest of the boys inside the chopper hunkered down away from the door as the twins went about their plan. "Do they look like babies to you?" Steve whispered in his wife's ear, "We should be the ones running point on this."

She wore a placating smile as she patted his knee, "They're probably old enough for US military service, Steve. We're just getting older."

A low scoff emitted from the back of his throat, but they quieted down as they listened to the murmurs in the hanger. The chatter seemed soft and non-confrontational. A few moments later the chopper door was flung open and Liam grinned, "Vichy's not here," was all he reported while motioning them to get out of the aircraft.

Along the northern wall of the hanger, boys were lined up, some of the older boys holding the hands of the younger ones. Others had babies and toddlers pressed safely against a hip. They looked like a refugee camp, except all the boys were muscular and appeared well fed. Catherine hadn't seen so many of them all at once before, only Henry and Jomi, then Khalil and his fellow guards. And there had been Emerson and several under his charge.

Catherine also remembered the group at their crash site. She stomped down the guilt she was still feeling over that entire incident.

"What's going on?" a young man of about eighteen stepped forward and asked of them, "Why did you want to know where Vichy was? I thought you had a fuel leak?"

"Don't worry about us, Puna," Ross slapped a heartfelt hand to the boy's shoulder, "Take a small group onto the chopper, pretend you're planning to leave but make sure you stall. Draw out the pre-flight, and whatever you do, don't take off. Also," he leaned in and whispered, "There's some precious cargo in there. Do not move or unwrap it. The little ones don't need to know what it is."

"What is it?" the one called Puna asked.

"A lost friend," Khalil responded.

Puna seemed fine in following those orders. Catherine listened as he went about ushering the younger boys onto the chopper.

They were about to climb the metal-rung stairs when from the corner of his eye – much to his concern - Steve noticed how afraid Catherine looked. It wasn't a look he'd seen very often from her, not even in North Korea when she'd fought like hell with a couple of cracked ribs. His hand was gently pressed against the small of her back as he prodded her up the stairs, "How you doing?" he whispered as they ascended, stuck somewhere in the middle of the pack of ten.

Catherine looked him square in the eye and didn't lie, "I'm scared."

"Good," he was glad to hear her admit it. "You should be scared. I want you to be scared. I'm scared, too, Cath," he kissed the side of her head. Steve looked her in the eye and smiled briefly, then he turned his gaze outward to look at Khalil, Henry and the others as they stood huddled on the catwalk above the hanger bay. He said to all of them, "We should be scared right now. Being scared means you have something worth fighting for, and more importantly, something worth living for."

With that said, they were on the move.

The fight didn't take long to find them. As soon as they exited the hanger they were assaulted by two guards with automatic weapons.

Steve managed to grab one from behind and subdued him with a sleeper hold. He immediately snatched up the gun and slung it across his chest, fingers at the ready to fire if need be. As he'd done that, Ross and Tullis had combined efforts to take down the second guard with their fists and a small gab to the ribs with the butt of one of their knives. Catherine directed them to drag the boys to the maintenance room she and An had found earlier.

Nathan had a length of rope and tied both boys to a boiler pipe that ran across the ceiling. "If you're smart, you'll keep quiet," Steve warned.

They encountered two more sets of guards before their reached the stairwell that led them back down into the main complex.

The maze of corridors wasn't too cumbersome now that they'd traversed it before.

"Well, well," a snarky voice echoed down one of the long corridors, "Seems you're stupider than I thought," Vichy's words taunted from somewhere ahead of them.

Catherine gripped her handgun, trying desperately to recall how many bullets she had left. Khalil seemed to sense her thoughts and silently handed her another clip. She held the second clip tightly and edged along behind Steve, Ross and Milo. The three of them were the tallest and most formidable looking. Milo was nearly double Steve's weight, and not the least bit fat. Ross was wiry, but she'd seen his prowess at hand-to-hand and imagined he was deadly with his knife.

She had no doubts about her husband's ability, only worries for his safety.

"Trying to storm my castle once was foolish," Vichy's voice seemed to be behind them now.

"Speakers," Khalil pointed them out.

Steve and Catherine were impressed by the tiny size of them, not noticing them during their first trip through the compound's maze.

"Can he hear us?" Steve asked, "Or see us?"

"I can hear you," Vichy laughed, "All of my special guards have wireless radios. I can't believe you were dumb enough to return. Although I was surprised you even made it out of here alive in the first place. I guess I have to give you a little more credit than I'd like."

"Vichy, cut the crap," Steve continued forward with his small but determined troop. "We know you've done something to gain these boys' loyalty. But we also know its false loyalty and that means they'll turn on you eventually. I already have several here with me willing to fight their brothers if need be. And I have CIA on the way, also a SEAL team," he wasn't positive either would be there any time soon, or that the boys would kill their brothers if need be, but he didn't mind bluffing.

The laughter had left Vichy's tone, "I have ways to keep them loyal."

"By killing some of them?" Steve asked, "That's exactly what I'm talking about. It will backfire on you. There are more of them than you."

"If they want to keep this way of life, if they want to stay with their brothers," Vichy spat, "They'll do as I ask. Lawson's been doing this for years. He fed me money to keep his little secrets here, keep this place hidden, and make local authorities believe it was some fancy private boy's academy."

Steve sighed, "Money is never enough for someone with an ego like yours," he guessed, "You wanted more, so you pushed. And he was willing to give you a little more power, maybe even slightly more money. But you got high on it, you couldn't stop. So you found his weakness. You planned to kill Catherine to get him back on track. And you've obviously found some weakness of these boys who are helping you."

"You're too late to turn them back," Vichy chuckled, "I have the upper hand. Fear breads loyalty!"

"No, fear makes people do what you want for a time, but it also makes them angry," Steve didn't back down, not trusting Vichy or anything he had to say. "They may fear you, but I don't think you have an ounce of their loyalty. You're a coward, Vichy. You play second to the ones in charge. You don't even have it in you to step out of the shadows and show yourself to me, to fight face-to-face."

"Shut up!" Vichy bellowed.

Catherine heard how her husband was breaking through to Vichy, or breaking him down to be more apt. And Vichy was stepping right into it. It seemed a silly thing to taunt a grown man, calling him cowardly. But it was the exact right thing to bring Vichy out of hiding. Steve was right, Vichy's ego would be his undoing. At least she very much hoped so. Her fate and that of all the boys with her at the moment depended on it.

"Show yourself then," Steve challenged. "I'll send Catherine and the other boys away. You come out on your own. We fight this man to man, just the two of us," he laid down the rules, "Then we see who comes out the winner," Steve hated to use that term. He knew neither of them would win a damn thing, but it was Vichy's mentality that he needed to play to. He needed to stroke that cocky ego of his and lure him out into the open.

Silence filled the air for a moment.

"I accept your challenge," Vichy finally said, "Send them all away as you promised."

Steve turned to Catherine, "Take them back to the hanger," he instructed. "You can fortify that place more easily than anywhere else."

Her lips pursed until she was able to speak, "I'm not leaving you again."

"Hey," he flashed a smile, trying to look reassuring. "You got your chance to go off on your own, now it's my turn." Steve held her closer, one arm about her waist and the other moving to the back of her neck. He rested his forehead against hers as Ross, Henry and the others surrounded them in a protective circle. He whispered the last few words in her ear so Vichy couldn't overhear, "Nothing bad is going to happen to me as long as I have you on my side," Steve concluded as he gave her neck a gentle squeeze.

She took a step back and looked him in the eye, a silent conversation taking place between them. Catherine gave a quick nod before the boys ushered her back toward the stairwell.

He took a deep breath, not watching as she left with the boys. He heard the sliding mechanical stairwell door hiss open and then closed.

Not long after that, very much to Steve's surprise, Vichy stepped out into the open corridor.

Vichy stood about fifty feet away. "You have a gun," he noticed.

"So do you," Steve stated although he couldn't see it.

It took Vichy a little longer to show his hand, but he finally removed the pistol from his back waistband. "I do. This is very equal then. Honorable, just like the old west."

"Funny thing about the old west," Steve shook his head just a little, raising his gun and aiming it at Vichy, "Some of those duels were far from honorable or equal."

A gunshot rang out.

"No!" a shout came from behind Vichy at the same time.

"Oh… shit…" Steve knew who had fired, but he hadn't been prepared for who dove in front of Vichy to take the fall.

"Emerson!" Catherine yelped as she watched her bullet hit the boy in the leg.

She didn't have a spare second to change that outcome as she watched Vichy take aim at Steve. Her mouth hung open, silently, as she watched her husband rushing toward the injured boy without much worry for himself. Steve ducked and rolled down the corridor as Vichy fired and missed. Her finger found the trigger again, firing two more shots in quick succession. Each one of them hit their target.

"Damn," she swore under her breath as she realized her shots had likely hit a little too perfectly.

She sprinted down the hall toward Steve and the boy.

Steve was crouched down beside Emerson, one hand pressed against the boy's bleeding leg.

"I was…" Catherine gulped as she skidded to a halt beside Steve and Emerson. She dropped to her knees and gently rested her hand against Emerson's forehead, "I'm so sorry," she whispered to the boy. Her gaze rose to meet Steve's, "I was aiming for Vichy, to shoot the gun out of his hand, I…"

He nodded, "I know, Cath," Steve tried to reassure her.

"You squeezed my neck," she was nearly hysterical as she spoke in gulps of sir, "You… I thought that was a sign, the star tattoo and what I told you about you always having my back. And I always have yours, that's why I stayed behind and… I just wanted to disarm him so we could question him."

"Catherine," he let go of Emerson and took her by the shoulders. "Look at me," Steve encouraged, "That was exactly what I was trying to get across to you. You did what I wanted. Now just take some deep breaths and calm down, okay? Please, Emerson needs our help right now."

She gave a weak nod, trying to catch her breath. Her hands pressed against Emerson's leg wound where Steve had momentarily let go. Catherine looked down at the boy, "You're going to be fine," she glanced down at her bloody hands, "I don't think it hit the femoral," she applied more pressure. "Hang on. There's an infirmary here, right? We'll get you there."

"I'm sorry," Emerson spoke softly to her, "I had no other choice." The boy took a slightly wheezy breath, "Vichy has them… we had to help him. I had to hit you over the head and… I had to stand in the way of that bullet or he'd…"

"Who does he have?" Steve asked as he moved to Vichy's side.

The man's eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Steve reached out to search for a pulse, but he knew he wouldn't find one. Catherine's two successive shots had hit him in the chest, point blank, and apparently he hadn't been smart enough to wear a protective vest. There was already a pool of blood around him much larger than the one near Emerson's leg. Steve paid the man one final mercy, closing his eyes. It was more so for the other boys who'd returned, crowding into the corridor.

Even though Steve knew they were tough kids who could fight, for some reason he didn't want them to see those dead eyes.

"He's taken twenty-three of the little ones, our younger brothers," someone spoke from behind Vichy.

Steve could see a few of the others loyal to Vichy had come out of hiding, crowding into the hallway. The boy who spoke had reddish-brown hair and looked stricken as he spoke, "Vichy took them to keep us on his side. There are so many here it can be hard to keep track of all of those not within your immediate family. I only noticed one of my little brothers was gone, but then some others mentioned their little brothers having gone missing."

"We kept it to ourselves," Emerson rasped, "Didn't want to alarm everyone. They took two of my younger brothers, three from Damien's family, and more from ten other families. We lied about head counts at night. Vichy threatened that if we told our other brothers, he'd kill them all. He made us fight for him. He planned this, like he knew you'd show up here. I know Vichy, he's worked with Lawson for many years. I believed he was telling the truth when he said he'd kill them. I believed him over you. I'm sorry, I made the wrong choice."

Catherine smiled for the boy, "No, you made the choice you thought would save your brothers," she assured him.

"But now he's dead, isn't he?" Emerson easily guessed though he couldn't see the man. He'd heard the other shots. "And we'll never find them."

"I think we might," Catherine looked to Steve.

"The soybean field house," Steve agreed as he got to his feet. He searched the small crowd and settled on Khalil. He pulled the boy aside, knowing the young man had been in training to work as a guard someday. "Do you know of another place Lawson had in the area, a house for himself. Probably a smaller villa."

Khalil shrugged, "He told us little about hideaways," the boy tried to think, "I only recall the ship he said he owned."

Steve sighed, trying to think of some other way to ask the question. He finally hit on something, "Was he ever here for a day and then gone at night and back the next morning?"

"Sure," Khalil nodded, "The R22 is his favorite chopper, easy to get around."

Steve returned to Catherine, "That villa has to be close, and it's nearly daybreak. I'm going to take a small team out and see if we can find it."

She gnawed her lower lip nervously, "I'll stay," Catherine made her choice, though it wasn't an easy one. "If the CIA show now I'm not sure how these boys might react. I feel like I should stay. Vichy is dead, he can't hurt me. But I am worried about these boys, worried they'll fight to keep their home after all they've been through recently," Catherine sighed, "I wish I could do both, go with you and stay with them."

He smiled, "Staying is the right choice," Steve kissed her forehead, "We make a good team, either together or apart."

Catherine gave a dismal nod, "Go, before I change my mind."

"I'll see you soon," he gave her another quick kiss before rounding up a few boys. "I can pilot," Steve decided, "Ross and Milo, Nathan and Tullis, you four will come with me. When we find the children we'll have to make two trips. A few of you will need to stay behind to guard the others until we make it back for you. If you're all willing?"

Four nodding heads was his swift answer. "Good," he glanced down at Catherine before heading back to the hanger.

She was already completely focused on the task of helping slow Emerson's bleeding. He guessed to take her mind off of him leaving.

As he walked away without another word, Steve could hear her calling out orders to get Emerson to the hospital wing.

000

The bright, artificial lighting was starting to annoy her.

She'd been in the infirmary longer than she cared for and wanted out.

There was still so much to be done. And too many thoughts in her head to keep straight.

Her fingers drummed along her left thigh, fidgety, worried. She couldn't stop thinking about Steve, wondering where he was at the moment. She couldn't help wonder if Emerson would live. But, as she glanced up, she smiled softly at the boy standing in front of her. Her worries focused on him at the moment. "Henry, you can stop hovering," she gently spoke to the boy, sensing he was in a fragile state.

He paced back and forth in front of the exam table where she sat, his hands balled into fists that swung at his sides. "I know you don't think I'm responsible for this, for…" Henry unclenched one hand and waved it at her head, "I know Emerson was the one who knocked you out, or… I guess he didn't knock you unconscious." He stopped pacing and faced her, "You must have a really hard head because that looked like it hurt and I heard it. There was an actual crack sound and…" the young man gulped, "I'm sorry I didn't do more to protect you."

Catherine smiled again, reaching a hand out to squeeze his shoulder. "Henry, where is Jomi?" she asked, hoping to switch his focus.

"I sent him away on the first chopper that left for the confluence," he revealed. "Leonard and Miguel went with him. The four other youngest are still here. I checked on them a few minutes ago before I came to find you. To check on you," Henry glanced at the cut on her forehead, his brows bunched with concern. "You've hurt your head more than once."

She nodded, letting go of his shoulder, "You sound like my husband," Catherine shimmied off the exam table.

A woman walked toward them, short and slightly stocky. She had light brown hair that was flecked with gray and pulled back tightly in a neat bun. Her round face was adorned with wire-rimmed glasses and she spoke with a slight English accent. "Here you are," the woman flicked on a bright screen and shoved a large x-ray film onto the light board. "This is your scull," her right index finger circled the cranium, "I don't see any sign of fractures."

Henry smiled, "That's good, right, Dr. Roberts?"

"It is very good, Henry," the female doctor agreed with his innocent assessment as she turned her attention back to the patient, "MRI shows there's no internal bleeding either, but you do have a slight concussion. The second concussion in a short period of time, it would seem," she declared, running an examining finger across the cut on Catherine's forehead.

"Third, actually," Catherine whispered under her breath, thinking back to the very hard hit she'd taken a short while ago on the Kappa, or rather, falling off the Kappa. "But who's counting?"

The doctor frowned, obviously having overheard the whispers. She removed the x-ray film and turned off the light board, "I suggest you try to take things easy for a while. Your body is stressed, fatigued, you need to rest."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "That's not likely to happen for a while, not until I get home and can hold my son."

"You have children?" Dr. Roberts asked.

"One, he's four months old," Catherine nodded but immediately stopped, finding her head ached again, probably because she had time to dwell on it, "I haven't seen him in several days, and my boobs are so freaking sore," she glanced over to see the rather uncomfortable look on Henry's face, "Sorry, kiddo," she squeezed his shoulder again. Catherine shot the doctor a side glance, an apologetic smile still in place for Henry, "Sorry, but they hurt like heck. I don't suppose you have any sort of… you know, pump?"

Dr. Roberts replied with a sympathetic smile, "Sorry, no. Breast pumps are not something needed around here. The babies all drink formula since we have no mothers. I do have some cold compacts that might help ease your pain. And there's a private exam room around the corner. I could lend you a container to…" the doctor turned to Henry as she allowed her final words to be implied.

"No, thank you," Catherine replied, saving the boy from hearing about breast pumping any further, "I don't have the time right now. I need to know how Emerson is, and then I need to see if I can contact my team."

"Emerson is going to be fine," the doctor was quick to assure, "I removed the bullet and he lost a decent quantity of blood, but he's young and he'll very likely heal quickly. He really just needs rest right now, but you're welcome to go see him for a moment," the woman smiled as she opened the door of a small fridge. "Here," she pulled out two thin, round ice packs and handed them to Catherine.

With that done, the doctor left them in favor of checking up on Emerson.

Catherine glanced at the ice packs and sighed.

"Go ahead," Henry said, "I know you still think of me as a kid, but I'm not." He turned away but stayed close.

She used the semi-private moment to stuff the packs into her bra and nearly moaned appreciatively at the immediate relief she felt. "Well, this is about as attractive as leaky…" Catherine trailed off and chuckled as she realized the ice packs were already causing wet spots to spread across her filthy, bloody t-shirt. "You can turn back around, kiddo. No way to hide these things."

Henry tried to avert his eyes, but it was hard to miss. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt and held it to her, "Take this, it should fit you."

Grateful, she took the shirt and found it fit well, even hid most of the wet spots. "You are still a kid, Henry," she sighed, "A really good kid. Thank you."

"Your head will be fine," Henry remarked as he pushed away the tan curtain surrounding the exam cubicle, "Dr. Roberts is very good at her job. She's taken care of all of us for many years here. She's kind."

"I'm sure she is," Catherine glanced across the infirmary's large main room and regarded the woman whom she'd only met a half hour ago. "She certainly seems very… nice," she tried to sound sincere because Catherine had found no fault with the woman. Her eyes redirected to the boy beside her, "Henry, you need to understand something. Dr. Roberts has worked here for years without saying a word to anyone about what this place really is."

The boy stopped, turning to face her, "This place is a school. That's what everyone who works here believes. They were never told any different."

Catherine let go a heavy sigh, "You're right. But it's hard for me to think that someone could've put a stop to all this years ago and they never bothered."

"We didn't want them to," Henry countered, "We still don't. This is our home, Catherine."

"But it can't be any longer," she insisted, watching him struggle with that concept.

"Then what happens to us?" he bravely asked.

"I don't really know yet," Catherine was honest. Silence fell between them for a moment as she walked over to Emerson's bed and stood beside the young man whose eyes were closed. "I just hope I can help."

Henry frowned, "Nothing that's happened here is your fault."

She turned to him, a sad smile forming on her lips. "Maybe not my fault directly, but I… I feel like there's something more I should be doing now, or something I could've done to prevent this. Maybe if I'd been able to figure out what Lawson was up to sooner…" that train of thought was swiftly shaken from her mind, knowing it was a useless path to head down. She'd been a child when she'd known him. There was no way to have predicted his actions.

Catherine spotted something propped on a table to the left of Emerson's bed. "Who brought his crossbow in here?" she wondered.

"We are trained with our family weapons very early on," Henry replied, "We're taught they are a part of us, an extension of our strength. His brothers thought it might bring comfort to him as he recovers."

A low groan interrupted her conflicted thoughts. Catherine glanced down to see Emerson's eyelids fluttering. A moment later he opened them and glanced up at her. He reached out without warning and took her hand, "What happened?" the boy asked with a slightly shaky tone.

Without thinking about it too much, Catherine squeezed his hand softly, lending him a bit of her motherly warmth. "You survived," she whispered, regret pooling along her tongue as the next words slipped forth with a greater effort, "I'm so sorry for shooting you."

"Please," Emerson's voice remained weak, "Please, don't apologize. You were trying to stop Vichy."

"And you were just trying to get your family back," Catherine gulped, their conversation a bit repetitive to what had transpired in the corridor an hour ago, but she guessed the boy didn't recall much of that. "I understand that feeling - that need to do whatever is necessary."

Emerson looked her in the eye, "I'm the one who should apologize for what I've done. I hurt you. I truly believed it was the only way to get them back, but…" he struggled for a moment to try and find the right words, "You're a stranger. Father can tell us all the stories he likes, but you were always still just a, a fairytale. I didn't think I could trust you, but I was wrong. I'm sorry," he apologized, "How is your head?"

Her sad smile turned into a brighter grin, "I survived," Catherine remarked.

"Will they find them?" Emerson asked as his eyes slid shut again, pain medication making it hard to stay awake.

"I hope so," she didn't lie and tell him everything would be okay, because she didn't know how it would all play out. Catherine patted his hand and then let go, "You should rest, your brothers will need you strong when they return," she decided to remain hopeful.

Emerson murmured something unintelligible, drifting further into a sleep state.

A beeping caught her attention. It wasn't from any of the medical machines in the room, though. It was emitting from her laptop.

She rushed across the space and grabbed her pack off the counter where Henry had left it earlier. Catherine pulled the computer free. She opened the device and tried to answer the Skype call from Five-0 HQ, but the signal was too weak and conked out on her right away. "This building is still shielding my ability to get a decent satellite feed," she lamented. "It worked fine outside."

Henry tapped her arm, "Come this way, it should work over here."

Without question, she scooped up her laptop and followed Henry. He led her across the hospital toward a back corner and an unmarked door. Henry opened the door without knocking and they both stepped inside a large room. There were windows on two sides and a few windows above that created a sloping roof. Catherine could see the trees overhead and morning sunlight was pouring in through the windows.

The room's interior held a bed and dresser, small desk and chair, all carved out of rich dark wood.

"What is this place?" she finally asked.

"Private room. I visited father here once when he was ill," Henry explained. "I remember he was working on a laptop like yours. SO I figured maybe this place isn't shielded," the boy shrugged, working on a hunch.

Catherine decided to find out for sure.

She placed the laptop on the desk, and when Harry's program seemed to be up and running she tried placing a Skype call to Chin.

"What happened?" Chin's worry was evident as his face appeared on screen. "We were supposed to stay in touch."

"Sorry," Catherine felt a wave of relief roll over her as she sunk down onto the chair, "We've been a little busy."

"Where are you now?" Chin asked.

It was easy to see he was trying to get a better look at the surroundings behind her, "In a room at the hospital wing in Lawson's compound."

"Why? Are you hurt?" he was worried again.

Her head shook a little, "No, I'm fine… aside from a slight concussion," Catherine admitted.

"Where's Steve?" Chin wondered.

This time she could tell her friend was staring intently at Henry and so she motioned the boy forward a little more, "Steve isn't here at the moment. Something important came up, but he'll be back soon," she said those words more to calm and reassure herself than Chin, "This is a new friend of mine, Henry," Catherine introduced, "Henry," she waved a hand at the screen, "This is a dear friend of mine, Chin Ho Kelly."

"Nice to meet you," Henry smiled a bit shyly.

"Likewise," Chin wore an honest smile, trusting anyone Catherine trusted. His gaze returned to her, "We need to talk… it's about Lawson's past."

Catherine watched Chin eye Henry again, and she could hear the trepidation in his tone, "We can talk in front of Henry. It might actually be good for him to hear. I assume you were able to find out something more about his family… his father?"

Chin gave a serious nod, "When I searched for Nick Lawson before all I'd found were school records and that he lived with his mother in the same town since his birth. Digging deeper, at your insistence…" he fiddled with the command table controls, "I discovered that his school records didn't go back very far, only as far as his time in junior high. Then when I looked for school pictures I couldn't find any, for any year, not even high school."

"That's strange," Catherine agreed with his unspoken assessment.

"That prompted me to look into his mother's past," Chin explained, "I wound up with more of the same, which was next to nothing on Cecelia Lawson."

She frowned, "You wouldn't be calling if there was nothing."

He nodded, "I got completely stumped for a while. Before 1965 there were no documents in his mother's name, no tax records. I wasn't ready to give up, though, so I pulled up her last known driver's license photo. Ran it through photo recognition software and got nothing. Then I used an archive search engine, which got me a hit on a newspaper article from February 1957. It was a wedding announcement. Odd thing is, her last name wasn't Lawson. Cecelia Roberts was the married name, maiden name was Hayes."

The last name of Roberts caused Catherine to pause, wondering if the doctor who'd just treated her had some connection to Lawson other than employment related. She decided it was a common enough name to be coincidence, "What'd you find on Cecelia Roberts… or Hayes?" Catherine was very curious.

"I found she had a sister named Melanie," he revealed.

"Melanie was Lawson's daughter's name," she stated, "So he named his daughter after a favorite aunt?"

Chin shook his head as he went on, "Cecelia Roberts was only married for two years. She divorced and had no children."

That was certainly not the news she'd been expecting, "So what are we thinking here?" Catherine tried to figure it out, "Most likely Melanie Hayes was Lawson's mother? So Cecelia Roberts was Lawson's aunt. Did she kidnap him from her own sister?"

"No," Chin clearly already knew the truth. "I found another newspaper article from 1964. Cecelia Roberts is standing next to a young boy outside a courthouse… here," he managed to show her the slightly faded newspaper picture.

Catherine looked at it closely for a moment, but there wasn't much to see, "Looks like she's trying to shield him from the cameras."

"Exactly," Chin confirmed, "But when I zoom in a little closer and enhance it," he showed her the revised image.

She inhaled sharply, seeing what looked like a ghost from her past, someone she'd last seen at least twenty years ago, "Chin, the boy in that picture looks almost exactly like Matt, Nick Lawson's son. But it was taken too long before his birth to be… is that Nick as a boy?" realization finally dawned on her. "What was the news article about? You mentioned a courthouse."

"The article was about the murder case of a young girl and her mother," Chin revealed, "Mother's name was Melanie Ryan. The girl was only seven at the time of her death, and her name was Caitlin Ryan."

"Caitlin," Catherine whispered the name.

"Melanie Ryan also had a son, Connor Matthew Ryan," Chin further explained.

"Lawson is Connor Ryan," she stated without a doubt.

Chin gave a quick nod, "Pretty sure. I discovered that Nick Lawson's birth certificate is a re-issued copy from 1964, and states a birthdate of March 17, 1952. The birth certificate issued for Connor Matthew Ryan also lists March 17, 1952 as his birthday."

"So was he adopted by the aunt?" Catherine was still trying to fit all the pieces together, "She must have married again to someone named Lawson and they took in Nick, or... I guess was his name Connor, after her sister and niece were killed?"

"I couldn't find anything about her remarrying," Chin replied, "There was just the re-issued birth certificate for Connor. All the tax records after 1964 are in Cecelia Lawson's name only, so I doubt there was a husband. Lawson's school files after 1964 simply said he'd moved. Back in the day I guess they didn't look into those things as closely. She just picked a new last name and that was it. She managed to get by with it."

"But why the name changes?" she pondered, "Because of the murders?"

"The picture I found in the paper of Cecelia and Connor was from about two years after the murders," Chin explained, "Connor was fourteen. The article was about Connor testifying against his father during the murder trial of his mother and little sister. I'm guessing that's why they changed their names."

"Damn," Catherine certainly hadn't been expecting that, but it was starting to make sense. It was about his father.

"This article gives a surprising amount of detail," Chin paused, "Connor Ryan was born to parents Howard and Melanie Ryan. They also had a daughter, as I mentioned, Caitlin. She was five years younger than Connor. Melanie and Caitlin Ryan went missing on Caitlin's seventh birthday. Both their bodies were found a week later in a wooded area. They'd each been strangled. Caitlin's body revealed obvious signs that she'd been sexually assaulted. And the wife had signs of physical abuse, several past broken bones. Probably went on for years."

She glanced over to see Henry still by her side, listening intently.

Catherine feared maybe she shouldn't have let him stay, but there was no going back now.

"The original suspect in the abuse and killings was Cecilia's ex-husband, Daniel Roberts. Apparently there'd been a lot of bad blood between Roberts and the Ryan family," Chin continued to relay the story to them, "It took nearly two years for police to determine Howard Ryan had been the one sexually abusing his own daughter, as well as verbally and physically abusing his wife. And they only found out because of his son, Connor."

Her eyes closed for a moment, not at all prepared for what she was hearing.

"Lawson was twelve at the time of the murders. Fourteen when he finally came forward to tell his story to the police. Connor testified against his father, claiming he'd witnessed his father abusing Caitlin before her disappearance. The boy claimed he'd been confused about what had happened, unsure of what he'd seen. But he finally realized it was wrong. After his father was imprisoned, the boy went to live with his aunt."

"Manipulating the truth, changing who you are to serve others," Catherine whispered, further confirming her suspicions, "Adapting to become what society wants. You can run away, try to hide. You can never run far enough or fast enough."

"What is that?" Chin questioned.

"Several things Lawson said in his cell, he was trying to tell me," she recalled. "So they both changed their names and moved away to try and make a fresh start," Catherine hated how sorry she felt for the man who'd held her captive for nearly a year, the man who'd tortured Steve by making him believe she'd died. The man who'd gotten Wo Fat to pursue John McGarrett to his death. "But they obviously couldn't escape that past. Cecelia died three years later, cirrhosis of the liver, probably tried to drown her sorrows."

"Lawson joined the Navy six months after his aunt's death," Chin recalled.

"He tried to change again, adapt," Catherine said, remembering more of what Lawson had told her, "Being weak gets you killed, but being tough helps you survive. When he was ordered to fire on those innocent women and children in Vietnam it probably set him back to his childhood, what his father had done. He became the thing he'd been trying to escape."

"I found a follow up article that was printed three years after the trial that sent Howard Ryan to prison for life. The neighbors all said Connor Ryan was a sweet boy, quiet and helpful when anyone needed a chore done. He mowed lawns and had a paper route. He loved his little sister, was protective of her and even walked her to school every morning. After they moved away, the article claims they weren't able to track down Cecilia and Connor."

Catherine felt sick to her stomach again, but not because of her concussion. "Caitlin… Catherine," it felt an obvious connection.

"You were right about a sibling. So all this time he's seen you as a little sister?"

Her head nodded slowly as she tried to make sense of it, "I guess so," Catherine whispered, still uncertain.

The private hospital room suddenly shook as a loud boom resounded throughout the space.

Henry actually lost his balance, falling to one knee. Catherine clutched the desk and watched as Chin's face disappeared, winking out into a dark screen as their connection was clearly severed. "What the…" she slammed her laptop shut and got to her feet, giving Henry a hand up. Catherine glanced outside but could only see trees and the tall wall that surrounded the complex.

The teenager seemed as clueless as she was as they rushed back into the main hospital wing and glanced around.

Another few explosions rattled the building and Catherine reached for the gun at her back. But accidently shooting Emerson, and the two bullets she'd put into Vichy, had emptied her clip. And she'd given the extra one to Steve before he'd left. She moved across the room swiftly, spotting something useful. Without much thought, Catherine placed her empty gun on the table to the left of Emerson's bed and snatched up his crossbow.

She trailed Henry who was already on his way out of the infirmary.

"Henry! Catherine!" a voice shouted from down the long corridor to their left.

They both turned to see Kahlil sprinting toward them.

"What's going on?" Catherine put a hand against his forearm, seeing how upset he looked.

"They're here," Kahlil expelled in a shaky breath, "The ones you told us about. You said soldiers would come to take us away."

"No," she groaned, "This isn't a war, okay? They don't want to hurt you, they're here to help."

"They want to take us away," Kahlil stressed, "I know it has to be that way, but we haven't been able to talk to all our brothers about it yet. Some of the boys are very scared. They've set up barricades along the perimeter fences. Several have taken up sentry points with guns and bows atop the roof," he explained. "They also have grenades; the explosions you've been hearing. They're already fighting, and the people you called in have fired back."

Catherine had seen it coming, had tried to stop it, but now she knew some would get hurt.

"Can I have your radio?" she looked to Henry, "I need to be able to speak to the agents outside the gates here," her gaze turned to Khalil again, "I also need you to help me get to the roof without anyone up there knowing we're coming."

Still holding tight to the crossbow with her left hand, she took the radio Henry offered with her right and followed the boys down another hall.

After several attempts, and trying to keep as quiet as possible, Catherine finally found a channel to the lead agent.

"This is Lieutenant Catherine Rollins of the United States Navy, retired," she repeated the message, while making her way through a door and up some stairs as she trailed the boys. "My husband is Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, a retired SEAL. His mother, Doris McGarrett, is a former CIA agent. We're the ones who called you here. Obviously you can see how tenuous the situation is. I request you cease fire immediately."

"Rollins, this is Agent Donnelley," a gruff man's voice replied over the line, "All due respect, but we will not cease fire while fired upon."

"These are children!" she shouted, too tired and annoyed to be effectively diplomatic.

Henry and Kahlil turned to hush her, knowing they were getting closer to the roof access hatch.

"Ma'am," the voice over the line returned, "I assure you we've taken that fact into consideration. We were apprised of the situation upon leaving for this mission, but they fired on us first," Donnelley conveyed. "They may be children, but they're children with weapons and fortifications," the man stressed that point to her. "You called us in to handle this, now I suggest you step aside."

"No, just… just give me some time to talk to them," she begged, calming down a little, "With due respect to you, Donnelley," Catherine realized she couldn't afford not to be diplomatic at the moment, "I'm inside the complex right now so I think I know the situation pretty well here. If you persist, you're right that these kids will keep fighting you," she agreed, "But not all of them are fighting back. Some innocent lives could be lost here."

Dead air followed that statement.

"Give me… even just ten minutes," she tried to get through to him, "Let me talk to them, please?"

The air was silent again for a moment before his voice finally returned, "You have exactly five minutes," he returned.

Catherine handed the radio back to Henry as Kahlil pushed another door open at the top of the stairs. They stepped cautiously onto an outdoor roof terrace. The morning air was warm with a gentle breeze, nicer than the forced air conditioning and fluorescent lights of the interior. Soft, golden tendrils of sunlight slipped through the thick trees and the plantings atop the camouflaged roof.

Slowly, the air became a bit calmer as some of the gunfire stopped. Catherine felt her heartbeat whooshing inside her concussed scull as she moved cautiously across the rooftop, leading with the crossbow in front of her. She caught sight of the perimeter fence below them. A team of men in dark fatigues held their weapons at the ready, but they seemed to be holding to Donnelley's order of a five minute reprieve.

Henry walked to her left, Kahlil to her right, as they continued forward.

Kahlil took point a moment later and stopped them, motioning to his right. Catherine had been counting on him knowing where the boys had set up their defenses. She guessed it was likely part of their daily routine to stand guard up on the roof, always cautious of who might approach their complex; their home. Catherine crept forward and noticed they had weapons aimed as well, but seemed to be holding off on firing at the moment.

"You need to back away," a voice spoke from behind her, "We don't wish to hurt you."

"Then the feeling is mutual, I don't want you hurt either," Catherine declared, slowly turning to face a boy who looked to be about the same age as Henry and Kahlil. He had a handgun aimed at her and she sighed inwardly, "I've gotten them to stop for now," she spoke calmly, "So we can talk, so this can all end." As a way to show she was serious, Catherine crouched down low and placed Emerson's crossbow on the ground in front of her.

"It only ends when they leave us alone," the boy declared, watching her closely.

"What's your name?" Catherine asked, hands at her side as she hoped to appear non-threatening.

"You don't need to know," he replied.

"His name is Edgar," Khalil answered instead.

Several more boys joined them, closing in from all sides. Each of them held weapons in hand.

As she stood, Catherine could see the boys guarding the perimeter. Everything seemed to be at a standstill, but she knew the peace would be short lived if she couldn't negotiate with the skittish boys. Her eyes fell upon Henry, admiring the way he remained steadfast at her side. He looked a little like a soldier, but she could still see the young, unassuming man she'd first met hours ago.

Something came to mind as she looked to Henry, a word that suddenly seemed important to her.

Catherine smiled as she made her decision and spoke to the boy, "Henry, you have to do this."

"Do what?" the boy looked stricken, "I don't understand."

She took a deep breath as she turned to him with her full attention, "You need to talk to your brothers. Get them to stand down. It's the only way. None of them know me well enough to trust me, but you trust me. And they trust you, Henry. You're not a fighter, at least not the sort of fighter Lawson wants you all to be. You have other strengths. You decided to become a guardian, to raise Jomi, to guide him. You have a gentle, calming nature."

His head shook a little, "But, what would I say?"

"Whatever you feel is right," she offered that small bit of advice as she remembered the seemingly important word, "Your code name is: Poet?" Catherine watched him nod. "I'm guessing there's a reason behind it."

Henry nodded, but remained uncertain, "You were the one who calmed Jomi last night."

"You were doing fine, just a bit nervous," Catherine realized he needed a little more of a shove. "Jomi trusts you, and so do all of your brothers here. Don't be nervous, just talk to them. Speak from your heart, Henry. It won't fail you." She knew that what she was doing meant putting a lot more pressure on his shoulders than she would've liked, but Catherine truly believed it might be their best shot at appealing to the others.

The young man remained rooted for a long time as he tried to figure out what to do. He glanced down at the weapon Catherine had placed on the ground and something solidified inside him. He reached for the knife sheath at his waist and cautiously unstrapped it. Henry held it in his right hand, outstretched as he crouched down, "Let them take our weapons," he spoke to the boys on the rooftop, "We don't need them anymore."

"This is our home!" one boy shouted.

Henry moved in a circle, turning around to face them all for a moment, "No, this was our home," he replied in a calm manner. "But it can't be our home any longer. Father has lead a difficult life," Henry recalled all he'd heard Catherine's friend say over the computer. "He brought us here and made us a family, but it wasn't right or legal. Catherine is a friend and I trust her. I believe she'll help us. She'll make things right for us, find us new homes." Henry looked her in the eye as he spoke, "Will you stay with us today?" he asked her, "Make sure all of us are taken care of?"

"Yes, I'll stay," she easily agreed, though she only wanted to see her own son at the moment. "I'll stay."

Catherine knew her five minutes were nearly up.

If they couldn't break through to the boys then they'd attack again, and the combined CIA agent and SEAL team force would fight back.

"Think about all of our brothers," Henry made a new appeal, sensing time was running out, "Not just the ones who can fight here today. Think of the little ones, the babies and toddlers; those we've yet to properly train. What becomes of them if we all die in this fight today?"

"We'll be split up anyhow," another boy shot back.

"Maybe not all of us," it was Kahlil who spoke now.

He wasn't the one Catherine had elected to talk, but she had come to appreciate his leadership qualities.

As she remained quiet, Catherine hoped the two of them could help turn the tide.

Several hours ago she'd been the one to spark a new way of thinking for them, now maybe they could do the same for the other boys.

"Some will be allowed to go together," Kahlil wasn't certain of the fact, but he had faith that what he said was true. "There's no way they can find places for all of us individually," he assumed, "We have to do what we've always done, take care of our brothers," he mostly echoed Henry's sentiments.

She listened with something akin to a motherly pride as Kahlil and Henry appeased their brothers.

"Let's show our little brothers that we can have a different life than this," Henry appealed, "We can change who we are. We can have a better life."

"What if it's not better?" a boy asked.

"Then we strive to make it better. We fight a different battle, we fight from within ourselves to make it better," Henry implored.

"Where will we go?" Edgar asked, seeming curious for the first time, "Can't we stay here?"

Henry turned back to Catherine, who sadly shook her head. "Probably not," she spoke in a tender voice, hopeful that they were asking questions now instead of outright denial or grenade lobbing. "But Kahlil is right, some will go together. I promise."

"Father has spent his whole life running away," Henry again relayed some of what he'd heard Catherine and Chin discuss. "He experienced some horrible things as a boy and he lost his entire family. He tried to pick up the pieces of his life, but he couldn't. He went about it all wrong. But we have a chance to do it right. We can change our lives for the better, we just have to make that first right choice. This is our chance, right now," he concluded.

Catherine smiled, fighting back a tear. She wanted to say something more, but Henry was right. Now was their time to decide.

She waited and watched as the seconds ticked by. Slowly, one by one, several of the boys set down their weapons on the ground.

With a lump in her throat, Catherine dared to hope it was over. Then she spotted movement down below.

On the ground level toward the southern boundary fence she noticed three boys take up their automatic rifles again. They aimed for targets that had been set up atop the fence. Three grenades which would likely blow a huge hole in the barrier and expose them to the CIA and SEAL teams. It would turn into a bloody head-to-head conflict. She had to stop that from happening.

Catherine crouched down to retrieve the crossbow she'd discarded and then ran toward the roof parapet.

An arrow was quickly placed as she took aim at one of the boys.

She let the arrow fly and watched as it zinged through the air with exact precision. The projectile embedded into the boy's booted foot, which caused him to yelp and drop his weapon. She reloaded and aimed, fired. A second boy was thwarted by an arrow that grazed and bloodied his trigger finger. The last boy was equally defeated as her third arrow yielded just enough force to knock his rifle off his shoulder, without doing him any damage at all.

All three shots had taken no more than a few seconds of time

The boys on the roof starred at her with awe and a bit of fear. But none of them took up their weapons again.

"I could have just as easily allowed those arrows to kill them," Catherine declared, walking back toward them, "But I don't want any of you dead."

The boy, Edgar, who seemed to be in the lead atop the roof finally lowered his gun. "We don't wish anyone dead either," he finally realized.

Catherine took a deep breath, something she wasn't sure she'd done in quite some time; not since before the first explosion. Henry placed a reassuring hand to her shoulder, much as she'd done for him earlier. "I think…" his voice was a whisper filled with hope, "I think it's over," Henry actually smiled.

She gave a small shake of her head, a lone tear finally falling. "It won't be over for a while, but this is a start."

000

She met up with him outside his temporary stateroom.

Steve smiled, but yawned as he slung his duffle over one shoulder, "Why they scheduled me to leave so early I have no idea," he bemoaned.

"A couple of unidentified vessels were spotted last night off the starboard side," Catherine relayed as they fell in step, "Too far out to reach us, but you'll probably fly an evasive pattern to get out of here."

He nodded, waking up in a hurry after hearing that disturbing news, "Used to be I knew more about the goings on than you."

"You've never known as much as I have," Catherine retorted good-naturedly.

"You seem more yourself this morning," he smiled, happy of the fact.

Catherine stopped Steve in the middle of the narrow passageway. She rested a hand against his forearm and looked him in the eye, a small smile curling her lips, "I almost ran back to your stateroom last night, or… I suppose it was earlier this morning," she recalled they hadn't made it back below deck until almost 0200, which had been just a few hours ago. "But I knew you'd prefer to get at least a little sleep before your trip back."

"Cath, what is it?" Steve was more than a little curious.

"When I got back to my quarters last night after we'd been out on the fantail I found mail on my bunk." Catherine pulled the letter free of her duty uniform pocket and handed it to him, "Read it," she offered, waiting and watching as he slowly comprehended.

"You got the job." He looked at her with wide eyes.

She nodded excitedly, "Its official, I got the job."

"The one on Oahu?" he was still surprised even though he'd just read it.

Her soft laughter filled the passageway for a moment, "Yes, the one on Oahu, which you just read," Catherine took the letter back from him and held it at her side as they moved up a ladder. "Well…" she spoke as she trailed him, "It actually doesn't take effect until the New Year. And I still have a couple more months out here to finish up this assignment. But if all goes according to plan I'll be back on Oahu probably toward the end of summer."

"That's really great, Cath," he wanted to hug her but he knew too many eyes were on them at the moment as they worked their way through the upper deck passageway, "But… wait, doesn't that mean you'll have several months in between this and starting the new job? What are you going to do?"

"Leave of absence," Catherine announced her plan, "I'll need the time to settle in, find a real place to stay this time, move my stuff in and make it home. Maybe then I'll actually relax for once in my busy life. Heck, I might even sign up for one of those painting classes I keep meaning to take."

His brow knit, "Painting, seriously?"

"Yep," she responded as they ascended to the flight deck. Catherine bit her lip, hoping he was happy about the news. "You'll help me look for a place?"

"Absolutely," Steve agreed. He gazed into her brown eyes, wanting desperately to touch her, to kiss her. The wind kicked up as they approached the transport chopper he was leaving on. "Cath, I'm really happy for you," he allowed the fingers of his left hand to softly brush against her waist, "I wish I could show you how happy I am. We're going to have to celebrate this at some point."

"That a promise?" she asked, happy and hopeful for the first time in several months.

"You bet it is," he agreed, reluctantly glancing down at his watch and sighing. "Take off time." Steve flashed her a reassuring grin, "I told you if you wanted it badly enough you'd get it. Didn't I?"

Catherine gave a stiff nod, trying to keep from hugging him, "You did, you were right. Thank you."

"So, the plan for next time is…" he edged toward the chopper, walking backward so he could keep his eyes on her a moment longer, "Celebrate your new job." Steve tossed his bag into the chopper and said something to the pilot. He rushed back to Catherine's side and glanced around the deck, still seeing several people around. He extended his hand and gave her a quick wink, "Take it," Steve insisted.

She did as he asked and took his hand, clasping it in a shaking motion. Catherine felt rather foolish shaking his hand until he pressed something against her palm. Her gaze turned curious as she took it, but she didn't question his actions.

Their hands parted and he moved back toward the chopper, "I'll see you soon, Lieutenant."

"Yes, soon," she agreed.

Catherine watched him climb aboard.

She moved further away from the chopper as it lifted into the cool morning air. The object he'd slipped into her hand remained clutched against her palm, hidden from anyone else's view. But she felt it there, a secret waiting for her as she watched Steve's helicopter transport disappear, swallowed by the dark morning. She remained on deck a while longer, allowing the cool breeze to kiss her cheeks the way Steve had kissed them the night before.

Finally she returned below deck and made her way back to quarters.

The stateroom was empty, Miller's shift having started already. Hers wouldn't begin for another few hours. Enough time to take a small nap since she'd been up so late. As she lay curled up on her mattress, Catherine finally opened her hand to spy the slip of folded paper Steve had given her. Her heart tightened as she found a perfectly flattened white plumeria blossom pressed between the folds of paper.

No words, just the flower.

"There really is a romantic side to you, Steve McGarrett," she marveled.

000

It was several hours later when Kahlil found Catherine in the southern courtyard, the same courtyard where the boys she'd shot arrows at had been earlier. They were all fine, thankfully suffering only minimal injuries from her skilled shots. Khalil approached with a man she'd met a few hours ago, the man and boy both seeming to be on good terms as they marched toward her.

"Agent Donnelley," she addressed the CIA agent amicably as well.

He nodded a brief greeting before he held a sat phone out to her, "There's a call from your husband. He needs your help. They've found something and the boys with him are relaying his radio signal through the sat line on their helicopter."

"Steve?" she immediately took the phone. "Where are you? Did you find the kids?"

"We've found the house," he replied after a slight delay.

"You're sure?" Catherine could hear an undertone of hesitation in his voice that no one else ever would've noticed.

"There's a sculpture on the roof parapet of two white doves," Steve described the building to her in more detail, "No guards on duty, but the place is closed up tight, kind of like An's warehouse on Oahu. There are metal shutters on all the windows and only one door with a combination lock keypad, letters and numbers. I've tried everything I can think of, Lawson's children's names, his wife, I even tried Billy's name in case it was An who set this security system up as well. Then I tried your name and mine, my father's, Wo Fat… Doris and Mary and… I've tried everything."

She didn't think it over too long, trusting her gut. "Did you try the word: child?" she asked.

"No, that's too…" Steve watched as Ross typed in the word. The lock clicked and the door made a hiss as it rolled open, "Simple," he shook his head, recalling how she tended to like the simplest codes best. That seemed to be how Lawson's mind worked as well. "That did it, we're inside…"

"Please be careful," Catherine whispered, thinking about the boys in there – the boys she hoped were in there.

"You know I will… stand by," he instructed.

The line went dead as she stood there in the sunny courtyard, Kahlil at her side, Donnelley hovering nearby. Henry approached with a wiggling, cooing baby Jomi in his arms. Two young boys trailed him, who she guessed to be Miguel and Leonard. Clearly the first transport had returned with the kids that had been aboard. Catherine smiled, happy to see Henry look so content with part of his family reunited.

Henry walked straight over to Catherine and held Jomi out to her. The baby kicked his tiny feet and grinned as a stream of drool ran down his chubby chin. "I thought maybe holding him would be a comfort," Henry offered, "Since you can't be with your son right now. Since you stayed for us."

She managed to balance the radio and baby Jomi all at once, smiling adoringly at the little bundle. Jomi easily clung to her side, seemingly content to be in her arms again. "You have no idea what happened here today, little one," she whispered. "For that I am extremely grateful."

"Cath?" Steve's voice filtered over the slight static on the sat phone.

"I'm here," she replied as Jomi tried to reach for the phone that she held out so they could all listen. "Did you find them?"

Another delay caused Steve's response to seem like it took forever.

"We've got them," he finally revealed, "All of them are accounted for. They're alive."

The small group in the courtyard sighed with a collective breath, and happy smiles abounded. Agent Donnelley even seemed pleased by the news as he gave her a nodding-grin. Catherine clutched the phone tighter, managing to keep it from Jomi's curious little grabby hands. "That's the best news we've had since Henry and Khalil ended the fighting between their brothers and the CIA and SEALs," she relayed.

"The what? Fighting?" Steve was obviously concerned, "What's been going on there? Was anyone hurt?"

"Um, not unless you count an arrow to the foot," she still felt bad for that one.

"Cath…"

"I'll explain everything when you get back here," she assured.

000

Steve stood there a moment longer than he'd planned.

He watched as afternoon sunlight caused her hair to shimmer, even though it was still bloody and matted.

His heart constricted in a good way as she turned around, seeming to sense his presence in the courtyard. She was beautiful, despite being sweaty and dirty. He watched her smile and he returned the gesture, his grin so wide it almost hurt. Catherine walked across the courtyard to him, stopping just inches from where he stood. "A girl likes to be swept off her feet once in a while," she stated.

The smile he wore turned into parted lips that emitted a laugh full of love. Steve stepped forward and lifted her off her feet.

Catherine smiled as she felt her feet leave the ground an inch or so. She mirrored his laugh as he set her back down. "Thanks for not twirling me."

"Don't want to damage any more brain cells," he reached up and pushed some hair behind her ear, his body still pressed in close against hers, "Cath, don't take this the wrong way but, uh…" he glanced down, "Your chest is cold. Icy, actually."

Her laugh returned, "Yeah, ice packs. They're helping with the swelling and soreness. I did a little hand pumping while I was waiting for you."

His brows arched, "I miss all the fun stuff," Steve allowed his fingers to gingerly feel the back of her head, "No stitches? Or did you not see a doctor?"

"I saw one," she assured him, "But no stitches. I have a tough skull."

"That's one way to describe your stubbornness," Steve grinned, leaning forward to kiss her sweaty, dirt-streaked forehead. Even though he'd been gone for hours she clearly hadn't taken a single second of time for herself, not even to clean up.

"How are the boys?" Catherine asked.

"Fine," he replied, "Tired, a bit dirty, weary, but they were in good spirits. They were fortified in there with plenty of water and provisions. Honestly, I think they were more bored than anything," Steve reported, "Ross and Milo should be bringing the second group of them back as we speak," he brushed his fingertips along the back of her neck, "Dare we hope this is all over?"

She swallowed and gave a small shake of her head, "It won't really be over until these kids are taken care of, and we're home with the nugget."

"About that," he took her hand and laced their fingers together as he walked her toward the building, "Henry met me in the hanger bay and led me out here to find you. He said you managed to get a connection on your laptop earlier. I was thinking we could Skype with Mary, see Evan."

"No, I don't want to see him," Catherine instantly shot down the idea.

Steve was more than a little concerned by her response, "Cath, I'm sure you don't mean that."

Her eyes widened, realizing that he'd taken her words the wrong way. Of course she hadn't been very clear. She stopped their forward movement, turned to him and pressed her palms against his chest, "Sorry, I mean I don't want to see him until I can hold him," Catherine clarified with a heavy sigh, "I think seeing him on a computer screen would just drive me crazy."

His worry eased considerably, understanding her reasoning, "Okay, we'll wait for the real thing," he agreed. They stood there for a while longer, the afternoon sun warming their weary bodies, "How did you know child was the code?" Steve finally asked.

"Because it means something to Lawson," she whispered.

"You mean something to him?" he emphasized.

Catherine nodded, knowing he'd tried to deny that fact. But it was too hard to do so now. "What other way might you use the term child?" she posed, "A pet name for your kid, or someone like a niece or nephew… or a sibling. I never grew up with a younger brother, but you had Mary. Didn't she annoy you sometimes?" she rubbed a hand gently across his forearm, "Never mind, I know she did."

"Yes, Mary was plenty annoying as a little sister," Steve admitted again, "I remember her relentlessly asking me to play My Little Ponies."

"Did you ever tease her?"

"Sure."

"When you teased Mary, did you ever call her a child?" Catherine thought of taunts she'd heard others use for their little brothers or sisters, "You're such a baby… you're such a child," she repeated them from memory.

"Yeah, I might've said something like that," Steve nodded. "But why is that significant?"

Catherine finally explained everything Chin had found out about Lawson's sister, Caitlin. She watched as his eyes widened with surprise, and his face even reflected a bit of sympathy for the devil over what Lawson had gone through as a boy. "All this time Lawson has viewed you as the little sister he lost. That's why he calls you child," Steve sighed, "But why use child as his code, why not her name?"

"Because he buried his memories, like I buried my memories of Ben," she guessed, "Her name was too personal. Using the word child was an emotional connection to his sister, but still a generic enough term to distance himself from it all."

Steve nodded, looking her in the eye, "I guess you got your answers."

"I guess I did," she agreed, "You were right, though, it doesn't make any of this any better. Knowing the truth doesn't change what he's done to me and you, and all these boys. It doesn't make his actions right. It just makes me feel…"

"Hey," he held her again, one hand at the back of her neck as her head rested against his shoulder, "Cath, there's nothing you could've done to change this; to change him. Not as a little girl and not as an adult. You didn't see it coming, no one did. Like you said, he hid behind the past. He ran away from it, never dealt with it. And it lead to all this. He is responsible for his actions, not you."

"I know," Catherine whispered, "I just can't help imagine what his life could've been like if someone had recognized that he needed help, if someone had reached out to him." She pulled away, looking her husband in the eye, "I can't leave these boys yet. I have to help them, Steve." Catherine caught movement out of the corner of her eye. They both turned to see Agent Donnelley walking toward them.

"What happens now?" she asked the man.

The agent stood before them, "Your Navy SEAL team has this place secure. We have jeeps and choppers to help evacuate. We'll have all the children out of here within twenty-four hours, but it's going to take weeks, maybe months to process all these kids. My tech crew has gained access to most of the data systems, they've found birth certificates and passports for all of them. Legally, they exist. That makes things a little easier."

"But who has jurisdiction over them?" Steve wondered, "Where will they go?"

Donnelley seemed hesitant and Catherine easily picked up on it, "What aren't you telling us?" she prodded.

"Your SEAL team has a few of these… young men… in holding cells for questioning. Some of these boys have committed crimes according to Brazilian law, not to mention international laws. Terrorism. Some have committed murder," the agent stated the facts as he saw them, "Right now we're busy working with Interpol to figure out how to treat these cases."

"They had no other choice," Catherine argued. "They weren't taught to obey any sort of laws aside from what Lawson laid down for them, which was outlaw-ish, kill or be killed, survival… how can you possibly hold them responsible?"

"There may not be jail time, but we have to be assured they're not a menace to whatever society we release them into, be it here in Brazil or possibly other countries," Donnelley explained calmly, not emotionally involved like she was, "Most of the boys here will go to group homes, some to foster families in the area. I've reached out to Argentina and also the US, they're both willing to consider taking some of the boys in. The babies will be easily adoptable, people want babies more so than older children."

"The older boys will be split up then, separated from their families," she already knew that was coming.

"Yes," the agent confirmed, "I'm afraid there's really no way to keep them all together."

"Can you at least assure that some of them will go together?" Catherine persisted, her motherly emotions kicking in full force. She recalled what Khalil had told his fellow brother's on the roof, which was that some would be able to stick together. "These boys consider each other to be brothers. Splitting them up like this so soon after an ordeal, it's cruel. There has to be something we can do."

"I wish we had more resources to keep them together, but it's impossible to assure anything at this time," Donnelley stated before leaving them.

Her hands balled into fists as her heart beat rapidly, "What have we done, Steve?"

"We did the right thing." He squeezed her shoulders gently, getting her to look at him, fearing she was headed down another guilt ridden path, "I know it feels like a mess right now, Cath, but these kids have their freedom."

"And no one to give a crap about them," she lamented.

"That's not true," he actually smiled, "You give a crap. They have you," Steve insisted.

"Yeah, sure," she felt tears prick her eyes again, "And what can I possibly do for all of them?

"I don't know," Steve was honest with her, "You probably can't help them all, Catherine. But I have a feeling you're not done being a part of their lives, at least some of their lives. You'll think of something."

"Maybe," her voice wavered a little.

"You will."

Catherine took a deep breath. "Right now I'm too tired to even think about it anymore."

"Well, we have a couple options," Steve held her waist, "On my way back here I spoke with Donnelley over the radio. CIA has agreed to transport us back to Rio de Janero, actually Doris pretty much insisted they do so. After that, we can board a ship… it will take a while to get home, but no airsickness. Or we can hop a flight. We'd have to stop in LA for a short layover, but we'd be home to see Evan a heck of a lot faster. Choice is yours," he concluded.

"Sounds like a no-brainer to me," she smiled.

"I had a feeling you might say that." Steve's grin mirrored hers. "Doris has already made the flight arrangements. Our plane to LA doesn't leave Rio until tomorrow night, which works out well. Henry said you promised to stay here with the boys to help them through this transition. Donnelley just said it will take about twenty-four hours to evacuate them all. I'm sure we can find a bed somewhere around here for the night."

"And you need to have a doctor check out your butt," Catherine gave him a serious look that said she wouldn't back down on that issue.

He grinned, "I believe that's your favorite pastime."

"I meant in regard to the infection," she socked him playfully in the shoulder.

"Really ruining the mood right now," Steve rubbed his arm, pretending to be hurt.

"Sorry, dear, not tonight…" Catherine took his hand again, "I have a headache."

Steve smiled, drawing her hand to his lips. "The old excuses are always the best," he said before gently kissing her wrist.

A ringing interrupted their relaxed moment.

He glanced at the sat phone clipped to his belt, a phone he'd swiped from a member of the SEAL team as soon as he'd returned. Steve let go of her hand and grabbed the phone, "McGarrett," he answered, "Danny, hey…" Steve was glad the call had been routed to him. He grew quiet, though, as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. Several minutes passed as he silently listened. Steve finally concluded, "Thanks, Danny."

Catherine gulped down a worried lump, eyeing him carefully as he spoke and then disconnected. "Steve, what…" she gnawed her lip, only one thought in her head at the moment as he wore a serious face. "Please tell me Evan is all right."

Steve finally smiled reassuringly, "Yeah, far as I know the little guy is fine. Danny was just letting me know that the Governor and US Attorney are reviewing all the information Charlie found on An's media cards, which is apparently a lot. He also let me know Lawson's release was revoked by court order. He'll be held until further review of the evidence."

That news settled her stomach a little, but she could see he had more to say. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Kono tracked down An's parents at that small clinic in Juruena that Peter had mentioned," he revealed. "Her mother is already doing much better and they're both being taken to Rio tonight via air transport," Steve explained.

"But?" Catherine knew there was more.

"Peter naturally asked about his daughter, and he could tell Kono was trying to avoid the topic. Kono finally decided it best to tell him the truth."

She swallowed, somewhat relieved it wouldn't have to be here to tell An's parents that she was dead. But she also felt guilty that it hadn't been her. "I need to see them, Steve. I need to tell them…" Catherine took a deep breath, the last few days rushing into a blue in her mind. "I want to tell them everything that happened. I want them to know the sacrifices An made in the end, for me and especially for them."

He gave a small nod, "I already figured you'd want to talk to them. Doris has arranged for An to be held at a morgue near the US Embassy in Rio. An's parents should be able to take her home as soon as they're well enough to travel. I already made arrangements with Donnelley that coincide with our transport tomorrow. We'll escort An's body to Rio and we should have plenty time to speak with Peter and Irene before our flight."

"Thank you," Catherine's voice was a raw whisper as they made their way toward the infirmary.

000

"Steve, don't let go…"

She felt his hand slipping from hers.

Catherine tried to grip his wrist even tighter, but she was flat on her belly and her legs and feet were desperately trying to find some sort of foothold on the old bridge. The boards beneath her creaked and groaned in protest to their combined weight, but she held on as tightly as she could. Her brown eyes gazed deep into his grey-blue ones, willing him to do as she said, "Just hang on, you have to…"

"Let go, Cath," his voice begged, "I don't want to take you down with me. I love you too much, I…"

"No!" she yelped, feeling him pull away. "Do not let go."

"I'll gladly do it to save your life," he whispered before legging go.

He slipped through her numb and tired fingers, plunging into the darkness.

"STEVE!"

"Hey," he gently shook her, "Cath, wake up… you're just having a dream. A bad dream."

His voice was a warm comfort helping to chase away the chill of the nightmare that had just rattled her. Catherine opened her eyes to see him hovering next to her, concern shining behind his thoughtful gaze. "I was…" she sighed, trying to forget the dream. As her eyes slowly adjusted to their surroundings, she could see it was already sunny, streams of golden light filtering through the windows above and behind them.

Henry and Khalil had been so happy to hear they were staying the night that they'd fixed up a room for them. It was the corner room in the infirmary, the one where she'd contacted Chin the day before; the room Henry had mentioned visiting Lawson in once. The boys had carried in a different bed, larger with fresh sheets. Henry had insisted they be close to the medical facility in case either her head injury or Steve's infected wound needed tending.

She sat up a little and took a few slow, cleansing breaths. "It was you."

"What about me?" Steve rose with her, encouraging her to lean against his right side as his hand rubbed her lower back. He'd been walking around for the better part of a day with a fever from his infected gunshot wound, but some meds taken last night had quickly broken it. He already felt stronger. And he realized once again just how strong he needed to be for her.

"The dream…" Catherine stared up at the trees outside their room, a vast lattice of overlapping branches and green leaves. The branches rustled softly in a gentle breeze she could feel through one of the open windows in the room. The sunlit room was such a contrast to the rest of the mostly fortified building. "Instead of An… it was you I was trying to save on the bridge. But you let go to save me instead."

He winced, but not from the pain in his backside. Steve wondered how long those nightmares would persist. Instead of trying to comfort her with words, he simply laid back and let her continue to rest against him. Steve took her left hand and aimlessly rubbed his thumb across the wedding band on her middle finger. He kissed the side of her head and rested his cheek against her temple.

"You should try to get some more rest," Steve finally said after several quiet minutes. It felt like a long time since they'd had a quiet moment to share. "I know you were up late," he eyed the laptop on the desk across the room, "Doing… whatever you were doing."

"Sorry, I thought you were asleep. Didn't mean to keep you awake," she apologized.

His head shook, "You didn't. The pain meds finally kicked in and I was out until just a few minutes ago."

Catherine gave him a quick kiss then sat forward and extracted herself from the bed. She stood and turned toward him, dressed only in a dark blue t-shirt; one item of clothing that Khalil had brought for them to choose from. After a blissful shower in which she'd even managed to shave her legs with a razor Henry had given her, Catherine had opted for the t-shirt.

Now she tugged on a pair of slightly too large camouflage pants that had also been part of their clothing allotment. With the pants fastened and folded over, twice, to fit on her slender hips, Catherine turned back to Steve. "Research," she finally replied with a grin.

Steve was a little surprised to see her smile, but he knew she was good at bouncing back after an ordeal. He just wished they hadn't been through so many. "Research?" Steve inquired, "Well, I do love your nerdy side," he said, crawling out of the rather comfy bed and reaching for a pair of pants.

She leaned against the foot of the bed and took a moment to watch him, smiling softly at his minor struggle with the clothing. He was pulling on a pair of similar camouflage pants, but the pants weren't the problem. His underwear was. Steve had borrowed clean boxer shorts from one of the boys - the baggy sort, which he wasn't used to - and a white t-shirt.

"These things are kind of ridiculous," he complained, "Won't stay put."

Catherine chuckled as she strode toward him. The green and white plaid boxers were sticking out over the waistband of his unfastened pants. "I definitely prefer you in the boxer briefs," she agreed, stuffing her hand down his front to help situate the unruly boxers.

Steve caught her hand, "Later, when this is all over and we're home…" he looked her in the eye, "I'm going to enjoy your hand where it is right now."

Her breath hitched a little, the desire definitely there. But they still had so much to think about. Their day ahead would not be an easy one, even though they had overcome what seemed like the biggest obstacles. "I look forward to it," she leaned in and kissed him, thankful for the toothbrush and paste that had made their lip-to-lip contact a reality again last night.

"So, research, huh?" Steve took a deep breath. He was more than a little curious as he did up his pants and resumed their previous conversation, "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the boys here," he teased.

Her eyes rolled, "You know it does," Catherine took his hand once they both had their boots on.

They walked through the infirmary and spotted Emerson sitting up in bed, eating something that Catherine guessed was Jell-O. "You look a thousand times better," Catherine flashed him a smile, hoping he really didn't harbor any ill will toward her.

The blonde boy glanced up and returned her grin with one of his own, "At least a thousand times better. I woke up hungry."

A chuckle emitted from Catherine, "A sure sign of healing."

Emerson nodded, but his smile faltered a little, "You'll find out soon enough, so I guess its best I tell you… four of my brothers and I talked most of the night. The CIA says all five of us have Brazilian birth certificates, which means we'd have already been conscripted into Army service by now. Donnelley claims we can seek asylum in another country or he'll work to get us immigration papers somewhere else. But we discussed it, and this is our home. As soon as we get cleared to leave here we're planning to join the Army of our own free will."

Silence spread across the room for a moment. Steve gripped Catherine's hand encouragingly. "I think that's a great idea," he offered his support, "Brazilian troops run a lot of humanitarian and peacekeeping missions. You'll be perfect for the job."

The younger man nodded, although he was eyeing Catherine, clearly hoping for some sort of encouragement from her.

But her first question was, "Are you sure?" and the next few words she managed were laced with motherly concern, "You don't have to continue on this path, you could do something else. Something completely different. Donnelley said he'd help, so will I," she offered, "You could go to college, maybe a trade school. There are a lot of other options, Emerson."

"You were in the US Navy, right?" Emerson asked, "Father mentioned it."

Steve felt her tense up at the boy's mention of 'father', but he kept quiet.

"Yes, that was the path I took," Catherine let him know.

"And that path led you here to us, to rescue us, free us from this place," Emerson noted, "I know we put up a fight against you, and I know that many of us will think of this place as home for a while yet, but… many of us have also thought about breaking away from here at one point or another."

"You have?" she was shocked.

The boy nodded slowly, "Do you really think four hundred and eleven boys are all cut out for military-like service? We all train together, we see who can cut it and who can't. Why do some chose to raise the younger ones? Why do you suppose Henry and Khalil grew attached to you so quickly? If you lock someone away long enough they begin to search for a way out. But it can be scary, so we fought to stay where things are familiar."

She knew his words to be true. She'd heard of institutionalization. She'd shut herself away at home for weeks after escaping Lawson's ship.

"We have all served and love father," Emerson went on, "But many harbored a secret desire to see what more there was of the world to explore. Me, not so much. I like the regiment of military service, it gives me goals, order. It's good for me." He could see she was still hesitant, "Some, like myself, are too old for foster care. We can serve for a while and decide what else we want to do with our lives later."

Catherine sported a small smile, "You're right. You have time. If this is what you want then I support you. Not that my support means…"

The boy cut her off, "It does," Emerson assured her, "It means something to me."

"Catherine!" her name was shouted from the main infirmary door.

She and Steve turned their heads and spotted Khalil. His tone worried her and they rushed toward him. "What's wrong?" Catherine put a hand to his arm and looked him in the eye, praying that another group of boys hadn't decided to take up arms against the CIA again.

"It's Henry," the boy spun around and began to lead them, "There's a social services worker here with a couple that are planning to take Jomi from us."

His words did not go unnoticed by Catherine. They were not taking Jomi away just from Henry, but from all of them. One of their brothers. Some had already been shuttled away to larger cities and foster homes, but those were boys Catherine and Steve had not personally met. These boys, Henry, Jomi, Khalil and Emerson, along with a handful of others, were closer to them.

"Calm down," she again reached out to touch the boy's arm, to slow his pace.

They walked a little slower until the three of them reached one of the offices at the front of the building, similar to the office An had taken them to upon their arrival. Except this one actually had a few windows. Catherine could see the back of Henry's head and little Jomi was propped against his shoulder, seeming to be sound asleep. And over Henry's shoulder, Catherine caught sight of a tall women with red hair. She smiled to see the familiar face.

"Erika Miller," Catherine approached and the two women bypassed a handshake in favor of a hug.

"Miller?" Steve was much more shocked by the woman's presence, but he stepped forward and shook her hand.

"Nice to see you again, Commander," the redhead flashed a friendly smile his direction, "Good of you to shower for this occasion."

Steve chuckled at that, more at ease, "Good to see you, too… although I have to say I'm confused."

"Catherine contacted us last night," the woman turned and waved a hand at a tall, thin man standing behind her. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. But they were friendly eyes. "Sorry, completely forgot to introduce my husband," she said, "Catherine, Steve… this is Martin."

The three shook hands as Henry and Khalil remained nearby, still cautious of the newcomers.

A brief knock sounded at the open door and another new face appeared. She was a short, wisp of a woman with frizzy dark hair and bright wide eyes. "I take it we're all here now," she glanced around the room, "Not sure which one of you contacted me?"

"That was me," Catherine took a step forward and shook the woman's hand.

Steve smiled, starting to get an idea of what his wife was up to.

"For those who don't know me, I'm Francis Gonzalez," the wispy woman introduced, glancing around the room at those gathered, "I was contacted on short notice," she eyed Catherine, "VERY short notice, to try and arrange a foster - and hopefully adoption - agreement for the minor child, Jomi… whose last name according to birth certificate and passport records seems to be," she checked the paperwork in her hands, "Delorian."

Henry stepped forward, "I am his brother, Henry Delorian. I've raised him for the last few months. He's my responsibility and I thought maybe…" the boy gulped as he looked at the baby in his arms, "Maybe we'd be together a bit longer."

"Yes, yes," Gonzalez looked over her notes again, "I understand the situation here is… sensitive," she tried to appease them all. "However, it is in the best interest of the child to be placed with proper guardians, such as a foster family or adoptive couple. In the case of Erika and Martin Miller, we have found a wonderful combination to the two. They've been foster parents to two small children over the past six months, both of whom found good, loving homes. In this case the Millers are petitioning to adopt the child, Jomi."

Henry listened and hugged the baby even tighter, "How did this happen so quickly?" he asked, looking around the room until his gaze stopped on Catherine. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Erika is a friend," Catherine explained, "We served together."

"After I finished my service a year ago," Erika stepped in, "Martin and I decided to move to Argentina."

"It's where I grew up," Miller's husband joined the conversation, all of them speaking more to Henry than anyone else. They each seemed to sense the boy would be the one they needed to win over most. "I grew up on a farm, some of which my father left to me two years ago after his death."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Henry spoke softly, glancing to the sleeping baby again.

Catherine's heart nearly broke to hear how thoughtful Henry's comment had been. She rubbed his arm comfortingly, "Henry, this is the best solution I could think of for Jomi. I know Erika and she's a good person. As soon as Donnelley mentioned that he'd reached out to Argentina, Erika and her husband popped into my head. I did everything I could to get them here right away before Jomi could be placed elsewhere."

"So you…" Henry paused, trying to wrap his head around it all, "You really think this will be best for him?" he sought further reassurance.

She smiled, a hand now rubbing along the baby's back, "I do."

"Henry," Erika approached him again, "Jomi will grow up on our farm with us. He'll have acres of land to roam, and some of the best food imaginable to eat. We eat purely organic," she tried to appease him, "And we have two dogs that I think any little boy would be happy to grow up with. They're really gentle and sweet with all the children they've ever been around."

The teenager took a deep breath and bit his lip, still a little nervous, "Would you, uh… like to hold him?" he finally offered.

"If I could," Erika was sure to follow his lead.

Steve gripped Catherine's hand as they watched Henry transfer the sleeping baby into Erika's arms. They smiled as he instructed her on how the baby liked to be held against ones shoulder, much the same as Catherine had taught him a short time ago. Martin joined his wife, a hand to her back and the other against Jomi's back. The baby woke slowly, his big eyes glancing up at the two new faces.

Jomi took a little longer to fully wake, but when he did he grinned broadly at Erika and Martin.

Henry rushed out of the room.

Steve made a move to go after him, but Catherine stopped him without a word.

She followed the boy. She chased him down several corridors and out into the openness of a courtyard.

He was seated on his butt against the grassy spot of land. Catherine crouched down next to the boy and ran a hand lovingly along his shoulder. "I know it seems hard right now, but everything is going to be okay," she assured, her thoughts focused partially on Henry, Jomi and the other boys, but also very much on her baby boy back home. "I promise, Henry. I will help make this okay for you."

He glanced up at her with unshed tears in his eyes, "Can I pack some of his things to give them?"

"Absolutely, kiddo," she nodded, "Think I could help?"

He gave a nod as well and they walked back through the maze, headed down to the sublevel quarters. She entered a small, but efficient, room where he obviously lived. There was a bed, desk and dresser. One door to their left was partially open and she could see it was a bathroom. Another door that she followed him through led to a smaller space which held a crib and changing table.

There were simple taupe walls and carpets, meager furnishings.

The boy grabbed a small duffle bag from a bottom drawer and proceeded to stuff diapers and clothing inside it. He paused, hovering near the crib, "He doesn't have many toys," Henry whispered, "But he likes the stuffed toucan the best. Will you tell them?"

"Why don't you?"

"I don't think I can see him again, or say goodbye."

Catherine sighed, "I think it's important that you do," she encouraged. The boy nodded and grabbed a few more items. As they walked back she knew he was focused on Jomi, but she was focused on him, "Henry, there's something else. I found a place for you and Khalil to stay," Catherine watched his eyes widen, "Together," she assured, "Also a few of your younger brothers will go with you. Leonard and Miguel, and just one of Khalil's brother's."

Henry stopped in the middle of the corridor to face her, "Are you serious?" he asked.

She nodded, worried he might be upset. But when he dropped the duffle and wrapped his arms around her neck, Catherine didn't need to hear the words thank you emit from his mouth. His actions spoke louder than anything. They regrouped a moment later and returned to the office a half hour after Henry had run off. Gonzalez, Catherine, Khalil and Steve gave Henry privacy to chat with Erika and her husband. And time to say goodbye.

Steve's hand found Catherine's again as she told Khalil what she'd just told Henry about them going together to a foster home in Rio.

His response wasn't a hug, but a huge smile full of gratitude. "I should go talk to my other brothers, this is all happening so soon," he realized, "I'm afraid I might miss being able to say goodbye to them all."

"Go," Steve insisted, "We'll find you again before we head out."

They watched Khalil jog down the hall and disappear around a corner.

"How'd you do all this?" Steve finally asked, the fingers of his right hand still woven with those of her left. They walked slowly, headed back to the infirmary to gather the few things they had left with them. "This was more than research."

"I called in numerous favors," Catherine confirmed, "A few old Navy contacts were glad to pitch in with information and resources. I persistently called agencies in Rio, even though it was late last night. Gonzales has been amazing. She'd already seen the breaking news story by the time I contacted her, and she was eager to help. In fact I probably couldn't have done any of it without her."

Catherine smiled, pleased that so many had offered aid, "And then there's Erika's brother-in-law, Michael. He owns a larger chunk of family farmland in Argentina and he has a small plane to monitor crops. He flew her and Martin here at the crack of dawn."

"Impressive work, Lieutenant," Steve admired her skills, not for the first time. He kissed her cheek, "Told you these kids had you to fight for them."

After their things were packed they spent the rest of the morning hanging out with Henry, Khalil and a couple of their younger brothers. They ate breakfast together and helped the boys pack some clothing and a few mementos of their life in Lawson's complex. Henry confided in Catherine about how Erika had promised to send him pictures of Jomi, and letters to let him know how the boy was doing.

Catherine asked Henry to teach her some sign language so she could communicate with his younger brother, Miguel. The little dark-haired boy was clearly touched by her efforts, teaching her a few signs as well and giving her a big hug before he boarded the transport helicopter that was about to take them away. Henry and Khalil remained in the hanger bay, facing Catherine, reluctant to say goodbye.

Somehow the three of them had formed a bond after less than two days together.

"You two are possibly the bravest kids I've ever met," Steve spoke first, sensing his wife's reluctance to say farewell, "To do what you've done the last day and half, rallying your brother's, all of the boys here… you're both leaders. I hope you take that to heart and find a path that'll serve those instincts well." He shook their hands and smiled, then took a step back so Catherine could have a moment with them.

She couldn't seem to find nearly as eloquent words as her husband.

Catherine pulled two slips of paper from her pocket. She pressed one each into their right hands.

"This is not goodbye," she stressed. "Each of those notes has all my contact information, address and phone number. My cell phone is…" Catherine gave a weak shrug, "Well, I'm going to need to get a new one as soon as I get home, but the number will be the same. And you two can call me any time you want. I mean that, day or night. If you need anything, or just want to talk, do not hesitate… call me."

They each nodded, believing her.

She couldn't hold back any longer, enveloping them both in a hug at the same time. "Steve is right, you know. I hope my son grows up to be as brave as you guys," Catherine whispered in their ears. Steve pressed a hand against the small of her back, a silent signal that they all needed to get going. She let go of them and took a few steps back, holding her tears at bay.

The boys quietly boarded their transport.

Catherine and Steve waited as that helicopter took off.

Then they boarded their own transport along with An's body, which was now shrouded by a black bag.

As their chopper hovered and exited the hanger bay Catherine could clearly see the massive waterfall to her left as well as the rope bridge. She pressed a hand over her mouth, utterly shocked by the beauty before her, and by the immense drop off into the jungle canopy below. It was hard to believe she'd been close enough to feel that waterfall spray against her weary face, or that they'd fled across that bridge in the dead of night.

The chopper turned south and the bridge and the waterfall disappeared from her sight.

She clutched Steve's hand and leaned against his side for comfort as the three of them began the first leg of their journey home.

Most of their trip already seemed like a dream, a dream she was grateful to have fade.

000

She was almost asleep when her cell phone vibrated beneath her pillow.

Catherine reached for it immediately, glancing over to see that Miller was still asleep. She was grateful for a sound-sleeping roommate. Normally she turned her phone completely off before lights out, but she'd been hoping for a particular call. Glancing at the lit screen in the darkness of her stateroom, she was not disappointed. His goofy grin made her smile and she pushed the accept call button.

Her head rested atop the pillow again as she spoke softly, "Hey, sailor, you home?"

"Yep," his response was hushed.

The tiredness in his voice was evident to her, making her smile again, "How was your trip back?"

"Very boring without you, and lonely," his tone regained some of his usual vigor, "I had two very long non-stop flights, no layovers, barely enough time to make the connection. And I only had the SkyMall catalog to keep me company, unless you count a seatmate who snored the whole way."

"Poor you," Catherine chuckled lightly at his lament.

"Is everything okay there?" concern laced his voice now.

She knew his Navy duty-sense had kicked in, and Catherine understood exactly what he was asking about, "Turned out to be some illegal fishing going on," she reported, "The vessels weren't armed, aside from a couple harpoons."

He sighed with relief, still knowing her job could turn dangerous at any moment. "So… the end of summer, huh?" he couldn't hide the longing in his tone.

Catherine nodded to herself, secretly glad to hear how much he missed her already, though he hadn't outright admitted as much, "Yeah, seems like a very long way off." Catherine was tempted to say she missed him as well, but it seemed a little too needy to her.

"Maybe it will go by quickly," Steve offered.

"Maybe," Catherine could only hope. She listened to the soft sound of his breathing over the line and wondered if he was so worn out from the trip that he'd fallen asleep on her, "Steve? You still there?"

"Yeah," he answered, "I was just curious… painting? Really?"

She smiled and closed her eyes, imagining they were laying together on her bunk again, "I want to be well rounded."

"I think you're very well rounded," Steve's voice turned seductive. He listened to the silence on the other end and could imagine the roll of her eyes. Steve grinned, "Seriously, I think that's great. What will you paint?"

Her eyes opened again, staring at the ceiling, wishing there were string lights or actual stars to gaze up at, "I want to paint landscapes, the ocean and beach. I know it's been done so much already, but ever since you took me to Waimanalo beach I can't stop thinking about the beauty there. Simple tress and a turquoise ocean. I'd like to see if I can come close to capturing it. Maybe I won't be able to, but I'd like to try."

"You could draw a blue squiggle to represent the ocean and I'd find it beautiful," Steve tried to sound serious but his laughter betrayed him.

"Nice," she groaned, though she wasn't upset with him. Catherine had other heavier thoughts clouding her head at the moment. Thoughts she didn't want to voice, but felt compelled to anyway, "Do you think we might hate each other?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

She bit her lip, checking to be doubly sure Miller was still asleep. Catherine sighed, "If I live on Oahu full time, do you think we might eventually grow apart. Maybe we've managed to be together so long because we don't see each other very often. You know, that whole absence makes the heart grow fonder theory," she actually shrugged in her bed.

Steve's low chuckled returned, "You're cute when you worry."

"I'm not worried, I'm apprehensive," she argued.

"Same thing," he dismissed. "Cath, there are no guarantees in life."

Her eyes narrowed a bit at the phone in her hand, "That's romantic."

"That's realistic," Steve returned, "I don't know where we'll be a year from now, two years… three years. We can never know how our lives will turn out. And besides, I thought we were taking things not-so-serious."

Catherine froze, hating those words. "Yeah, we are. Sorry."

"Cath, I was teasing you. I am committed to seeing where this goes," he tried to reassure her.

"So am I," she nodded, pressing her cheek into the pillow and wishing it were his chest. Catherine heard her roommate turn over and moan, "Steve, I should probably hang up. I have a shift early tomorrow morning."

"And I guess I should get some rest, too," Steve reluctantly agreed to end the brief call, "Because this island can't seem to stay out of trouble, which means you know Danny will be calling me about a case before too long."

Catherine chuckled softly, "And you'll be glad to have the work to focus on."

"You know me too well," he responded. "See you soon, Cath."

"See you soon," she ended the call.

000

Cool water was splashed on her face before she looked up at the image reflected back at her in the airport bathroom mirror.

She was clean and so were her clothes; a new blue and white sundress and sandals Steve had insisted on buying her for their trip home. They'd even found a shop so she could buy a real breast pump and relieve a little more of her pain and swelling. A new bra and nursing shields completed the package, making her feel somewhat normal again. Except there had been nothing normal about her day.

Catherine had been certain that saying goodbye to Henry and Khalil would be the worst thing about her day, but she'd been wrong. Even in the airport bathroom she couldn't shake the vision she kept seeing of Peter Zhou breaking down in front of her, crying as he formally identified the body of his dead daughter. She could also still feel the man's frail arms as he'd clung to her after she'd told him everything An had done.

She'd offered to be there with him as he told his wife the horrible news. But he'd declined, insisting Catherine headed home to her family. He was a brave and resilient man. Catherine had been able to see where An came across the same qualities, even if he hadn't been her biological father. She'd walked away from the man with faith that their lives would begin the healing process.

But now as she stood in front of an airport mirror, on the brink of heading home, she felt guilt close in on her again.

Catherine shook her head as she fought off the feeling, knowing she needed to be just as brave as Peter Zhou. She had much more to look forward to.

The facet was turned off and she dried her hands before exiting the wash room.

One of her biggest reasons for letting go of the guilt greeted her.

Steve was standing by the doorway, his gaze peering left and then right, and finally toward the restroom's entrance.

"You always hover outside of lady's rooms?" she teased.

"Not going to apologize for worrying about you," he shrugged.

"Is this going to be a thing now, worrying about me every time I have to pee?" She smiled to see the loving concern etched across his brow. Catherine also grinned to see that he'd tried to curb his edginess with a stroll through the airport gift shop. She pointed at the purple plastic bag he had clutched in his left hand. "What'd you buy me?" Catherine asked, trying to further brush off her earlier thoughts.

"Nothing for you," he shook his head, reaching into the bag. "I already got you a dress and shoes," Steve gave her a wink, "Stingy, aren't you?"

His casual nature made her smile. She was grateful for the way he could be on alert one moment and make her smile the very next. "Fine, who's it for?"

He pulled out a large soccer ball, "One guess."

"Evan," her smile returned a little brighter.

"Yep, it's a replica souvenir Brazuca left over from last year's World Cup," Steve spun the ball in the palm of his hand. "Little big for him now, but he'll grow into it. Unless he wants to take after his daddy and play American football."

Catherine snatched the ball out of his hands, smiling and shaking her head at the same time. "I think he still has plenty of time to decide, you know, since he can't even walk yet," she declared, a soft chuckle escaping as she eyed the ball, "This makes perfect sense… his parents nearly die in a foreign country and all he gets is a soccer ball. Guess it's better than a pet Anaconda."

"No," Steve took the ball from her and stuffed it back in the bag. "Actually, he gets his parents back… alive," he concluded, hand at her waist as he guided her toward a glass door. "And you get…" Steve opened the door and ushered her outside into a sunlit courtyard.

It was an open-air seating area with lots of trees for shade, half a dozen benches, and a small cascading water feature.

"Fresh air?" Catherine quirked her lips to one side, "Pretty sure I've gotten plenty of that lately."

"Nope, not the air," he responded. They soon stopped beneath the shade of a tree and he reached up behind her, spotting the gift he'd been after. "This is what you get, stingy," he used the term playfully as he lovingly presented the item to her.

Her eyes misted over a little when she noticed the white plumeria blossom in his hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

With all the uncertainty in her life, only one thing could be counted on, her love for him.

Steve carefully tucked the flower behind her left ear and caressed her cheek. "Beautiful," he whispered.

But the flower and his compliment weren't enough comfort. "He's okay, isn't he?" she asked.

"Evan?" he easily guessed where her thoughts had turned, "Yes, he's fine. You talked to Mary this morning."

Her heart ached, picturing the baby boy as she'd last seen him - crying while they'd pulled away from the house. Catherine didn't think she'd ever missed anyone so badly, except for every time she'd been away from Steve. "I won't be satisfied until I see him and hold him, and kiss his little belly."

"I know," Steve nodded, "But we'll see him soon."

Catherine gave a brief nod, "We'll see him soon," she echoed.

He drew her close, foreheads pressed together, "What else is worrying you?"

"My inability to let go of the guilt," Catherine freely admitted. "I seem to be able to for a while - I'm fine for a few minutes, a couple hours even, and then… it all comes rushing back. And I know you keep telling me not to let it get to me, but it does. Sometimes it just does."

"It's a process," Steve shrugged, "It's not something you're going to let go of overnight. I don't expect that. But it will get better. Slowly."

She hated having the same conversation, over and over, but his reassurances helped. They always helped.

From the courtyard they could hear the first boarding call for their flight. Steve squeezed her hand; leaning support and comfort, "Just a few more hours and he'll be in our arms again," he promised, motioning toward the door. "I may have gotten you one other thing," Steve said as they walked. He reached into the plastic bag and maneuvered around the soccer ball until he finally pulled something else free.

Noticing the writing on the box he was holding, Catherine almost cried. "Dramamine," she marveled, "My hero."

Steve gave her a quick kiss as they headed toward their gate, "Let's go home, Cath."

---

To be continued…