"No way," Danny yelled, standing in Steve's office, waving his hands wildly. "No way are you going in alone."
Kono and Chin watched anxiously from the center console computer, where Chin was enhancing the signal from Jerry's tracking device, and sending coordinates to Catherine.
"Danny," Steve said. He was trying to be patient, but his voice was tinged with exasperation, as he slapped various velcro straps into place on his vest. He picked up a few more unidentified objects and slipped them into pockets and pouches, moving on automatic.
Danny was afraid of this, had been since Chin identified the location of the tracking signal as a long abandoned civil service field hospital. Steve had smiled, a strange, humorless smile that had sent chills up Danny's spine, and prompted Kono - fearless, never intimidated Kono - to reach out and hold his hand. Danny's fears were further confirmed as Steve picked through the flotsam and jetsam of equipment that had been carefully retrieved from his truck and placed in his office: none of it HPD issue, most of it in what Danny now recognized as Navy Working Uniform Type III - oh, Danny liked to harass Steve, sure, with deliberate mix-ups, but Danny didn't make detective years ahead of the rest of his class for nothing.
"Danny, I'm going into an underground bunker that is probably surrounded with live rounds of ammunition and explosives, dating back to World War II. This is not something for the team. I'm trained for this Danny, you guys aren't."
"Take a Navy team with you then," Danny argued.
Steve shook his head. "There's no time to coordinate, Danny. There's no time, period. I go in, fast, alone, I bring Riley out. There's no other plan, there's no other option. This is it."
"We just stay here, useless," Danny said, his shoulders slumping.
"No, Danny," Steve said. "Chin and Kono stay here, feed me intel. You stay at the hospital with Joe and Jerry, keep an eye on them in case WoFat decides to make a play while we're distracted. In case one of them goes sideways, or remembers something important. You're my command center, Danny, my link to everything. Far from useless." Steve filled a pocket with what looked like first aid supplies, Danny couldn't be sure, because the writing wasn't even in English. He'd lost track of the number of weapons and pieces of equipment that Steve had tucked away on his person.
"You've done this before," Danny observed. Quiet, resigned now to the knowledge that his best friend and partner was about to disappear into some god-forsaken corner of the island.
"More than once," Steve said. He handed Danny his Five-O badge. "Danny, if . . . you'll call Mary, right? Explain . . . make her understand."
"Steve -" Danny said helplessly, but nodded. "You better get your ass back here and explain it yourself, you schmuck."
Steve grinned and squeezed Danny on the shoulder. "Thanks, Danny."
It was two words, but they didn't need more than that between them; hadn't, since the day they pulled guns on each other in Steve's garage.
Steve strode out of his office, Danny falling in step behind him. Kono couldn't entirely suppress a shiver of both intimidation and . . . okay, she was woman enough to admit it, Steve in full SEAL tactical gear flipped quite a few of her switches. She quickly turned her attention back to the computer.
"I have the best point of access, boss," she said, pointing to a spot on the map. "Steep incline, here - you should be able to leave the SUV undetected. It's about two miles from where we think the entrance is . . . although there's really no way to tell."
"That looks good, Kono," Steve said, nodding. "Catherine should be able to confirm entry points using the satellite. Chin, did you get the dosage information from Malia?"
Chin pulled an image up on the screen. "Based on Riley's weight and what little we know of her ability to sustain an increased heart rate, this is what Malia thinks is safe. She said to remind you it's a barely educated guess."
"My pharmacology is based on two hundred pound Navy SEALs," Steve replied, "so her guess is more educated than mine."
Steve studied the map intensely for a few seconds, then nodded briefly to himself and picked up an earpiece. Tucking it into his ear, he nodded to Chin again. "Tac Channel 2," he said. "Thanks, guys. I'll keep you posted as I'm able."
Danny marveled, not for the first time, that over six feet and probably well over two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and equipment could move so quickly and silently, as Steve disappeared into the elevator. As the doors closed, they saw him press his finger to his ear.
"Catherine, what have you got . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
"What are the latest readings?" Doris asked Garrison.
Garrison frowned and tilted back in his chair, frustration and exhaustion in every line of his body. "Beta waves are all over the place . . . gamma waves are minimal. She's fighting everything we're trying to do with the imaging and pain stimulation. She doesn't know why at this point, it doesn't appear that she's reasoning at all. She's just . . . fighting it. It's not working."
"Have you tried positive sensory feedback? What about the enhanced pain relief?" Doris asked, her hand clenching again around the file, the one that contained the termination order.
"We could try that, with her conscious," Garrison said. "You forget I can't literally read her mind, Shelburne; just the data waves. I don't know what part of the imaging or programming she's fighting; just that she's fighting it. Beta waves and pain receptors are . . . it's like a lit match in a fireworks warehouse. It probably feels about that way, too," he muttered.
Doris schooled her features. "Perhaps if we administered some pain relief, it would make the imaging run more smoothly," she suggested.
"What do - you know better than that; the science doesn't work that way. That's rewarding her for resisting the programming. No. The beta wave activity makes it clear, she's resisting on a purely emotional level. Gamma waves would indicate some semblance of logic and reasoning; that's why we created the pain feedback to begin with. She stops resisting, she realizes that the pain stops, it becomes a positive sensory loop. Right now she's just -" Garrison threw his hands up in disgust.
"Just what," Doris prompted.
"She's not behaving as expected. This is not how she was trained. Almost two decades, and then when McGarrett et al gets involved . . . " he sighed again. "We are going to be hard pressed to demonstrate the success of the project. In fact, she's derailing half of the modifications. The accelerated healing, for example, which we had hoped was contingent on the genetic modifications? All but disappeared. It may have been the nanotechnology all along. Or . . . I don't know, maybe there was a half-life on the genetics that we didn't factor in."
Doris fixed him with a cold stare. "I was under the impression that the nanotechnology was only activated very recently. With WoFat's cooperation."
"That was an impression, not reality," Garrison said, equally cold. "Nanotechnology was introduced in the early years of the program. What, did you think we just sent a nurse over to deliver immunizations against mumps and measles? Really? You're disappointingly naive, Shelburne. For someone who thought that they were in control of the program all this time, you need to ask yourself if you really knew as much as you thought you did."
"Science and gadgets will only get you so far," Doris replied. "When she comes around, I'll convince her to see things our way."
"Torture? You haven't tried that tactic in a while," Garrison sneered.
Doris didn't even favor that with a response. She swept from the room and slammed the door behind her. Glancing at her watch, she felt panic sweep over her. Hours. She had only hours, before Garrison started squawking that the program . . . that Riley . . . needed to be terminated.
She walked into Riley's room, startling the nurse, who appeared to be hanging another bag of Ringer's lactate.
"What's wrong?" Doris asked, frowning at the nurse. "What are you doing? I agreed to fluids; that's all."
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said. "And now that she's running a fever, the fluids we've given so far aren't sufficient to prevent dehydration. Now, if I could give her something to reduce the fever, it would also reduce some of the swelling, and give her some pain relief . . ."
"No," Doris said abruptly. "I need her awake, as quickly as possible."
"The sedative should wear off -" the nurse started, but was cut off.
"No. There's no time," Doris said. "Flumazenil, correct? To counteract the benzodiazepines?"
The nurse stared at her, flabbergasted. She pulled down her surgical mask and openly gaped at Doris. "Ma'am. Do you know what . . . there are risks. Serious risks."
"I'm aware," Doris said. "Seizure, cardiac symptoms, yes."
"Death, ma'am," the nurse said bluntly. "Death is a risk."
"That's why this room is equipped with sophisticated life-saving equipment," Doris countered. "And why you, and the other staff, were selected from the most qualified, most experienced applicants."
"I won't do it," the nurse said, squaring her shoulders and standing between Riley and Doris. "I won't administer the Flumazenil. I'll use cold saline, epinephrine, even; but no. I won't be responsible."
"You realize this is a para-military operation and there will be consequences for insubordination; more severe consequences than you would have encountered in the civilian world?" Doris asked mildly.
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said. "I don't care. The treatment for this patient has already crossed the line into unnecessary cruelty. I refuse to cooperate."
Doris studied her for a moment. "Yes, you do refuse, don't you?" she murmured, almost to herself. "Please stay in the room," she said, addressing the nurse. "I'm going to get another technician but . . . stay."
The nurse looked at her skeptically.
"Please," Doris said, quietly, and the nurse was sure that she saw tears in the agent's eyes.
"Why?" she whispered, instinctively turning away from the mirror.
"For her," Doris said. "Please stay, for her. Please."
The nurse nodded, and watched in confusion as Doris left the room.
#*#*#*#*#
Steve closed the back of the SUV silently, and then smiled to himself as he tossed back the prescribed dosage of anti-inflammatory tablets.
"So help me, McGarrett, if you fail to complete this mission because you didn't take your head out of your ass long enough to take the damn pills . . . "
Catherine had made her orders clear as she fed him the most recent satellite surveillance of the site. Lots of recent activity, most of it muffled under cover of darkness, but it fit.
It had to fit, not fitting was not an option, because they were rapidly running out of time.
Steve shifted his tac vest a bit so that it wasn't pressing against his bruised kidney, and then slipped into the cover of dense foliage. He should have no problem covering the couple of miles to the underground bunker, he thought, as he fell into a smooth, familiar pace: swift, but not rushed. As his feet carried him silently toward his goal, he acknowledged and embraced the gentle thrum of adrenaline.
He could imagine Danny looking at him, equal parts exasperated and fond, saying "You enjoy this . . . "
He'd never denied it.
#*#*#*#*#*#
The technician administered the Flumazenil dosage without a glance at Riley, though he did sneer at the nurse who'd refused to administer it.
"There you go, ma'am," he said. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you," Doris said.
He left the room with a shrug. He didn't know who the nurse was, they all kept surgical gear firmly in place; it was easier that way. Better not to know anything more than they had to, better not to get attached. He assumed he would never see her again, not if she'd refused a direct order from Shelburne.
"What's your name?" Doris asked the nurse, quietly, turned away from the mirror.
The nurse looked up at her, over the top of her surgical mask.
"There aren't microphones," Doris said. "Just the mirror."
The nurse bent her head over Riley's IV. "Rebecca, ma'am."
"Rebecca," Doris said, "I know you must think . . . there are orders. I can only imagine what you must think of me, but I . . . believe it or not, I'm trying to save this subject's life."
"Subject," Rebecca sighed. "Is that what she is to you? A subject?"
"It's safer for her that way," Doris replied.
"Is it safer for me that way?" Rebecca asked. "Because if so, I've crossed a line, haven't I?"
"Yes," Doris said. "I have very little control over what happens to you at this point. You understand."
"So that's why part of the job application was extensive questioning as to friends, family, loved ones. That's really why I got the job, wasn't it? I'm very good at what I do, and there's no one to notice if I turn up missing," Rebecca said quietly. "Okay. Tell me what you want me to do."
Doris looked at her, briefly. "Keep her alive, as best as you can, if things go . . . badly."
Rebecca nodded. "You are making a horrible decision, and I hope that at some point, you're held accountable."
Doris smiled at her, genuine. "I hope that at some point, you're rewarded for your courage."
#*#*#*#*#
Hang on hang on hang on hang on . . .
Riley had repeated the words to herself to the point where they almost had no meaning, not as language, anyway. But the idea was still there, underneath the fog of sedatives, the steady stream of confusing, conflicting images, and the waves of pain that washed over her.
She'd long ago given up trying to push the pain aside; somewhere, there was a thread of confusion as to why she felt like she should be able to do that, and for a while, she'd worked hard at trying to remember how. But then the images had assaulted her, unwelcome, frightening, and she'd instinctively forced all of her energy into trying to shove them out of her mind.
Names had long abandoned her, but the associations she'd worked to deliberately build lingered. Blue eyes, sunshine. A smile, the smell of coconut. Dark eyes, strong arms. The clicking sound of a keyboard, inexplicably soothing and comforting. And a fragment of a memory, just a sliver, but the strongest of them all: strong hands, wrapped around her own arm, gaping open, bloody. And the voice.
You're stronger, and smarter . . . trust me, no matter what . . .
Her heart rate increased, and the numbing, hazing effect of the sedatives retreated beneath the new onslaught of chemicals. The images became sharper, more confusing, more terrifying.
WoFat, with his needles, and his cattle prod, and with the water. Always, with the water. Riley fought a sense of panic and lost, gasping for breath and fighting against the restraints.
"Riley," Doris said, placing her hand gently on Riley's arm. "Riley, wake up, darling, you're having a nightmare. Open your eyes, Riley."
Riley struggled, choking, but managed to open her eyes, squinting against the bright lights.
"Where am I?" she demanded hoarsely.
"You're safe, Riley," Doris said. "You're safe with us. Do you know who you were with? What were you remembering?"
"WoFat," Riley said. "Who is he? What did he want?"
"He wanted me, Riley," Doris said. "He was hurting you, trying to find me. Do you remember why?"
"There was . . . he wanted Shelburne," Riley insisted.
"Yes, darling, remember, I was writing a story, and stumbled upon Yakuza activity, at the highest level. They came after me," Doris said. "I had to go into hiding, and so did you. Remember?"
"Joe," Riley said. She was suddenly terrified. "But Joe . . . no . . ." she struggled against the restraints again.
"I'm so sorry, darling, I thought I could trust him. But we couldn't," Doris said. "He turned you over to WoFat."
Riley looked at her.
Hang on hang on hang on . . .
"No," she whispered, and closed her eyes against a searing pain, a confusing pain, that didn't seem to be associated with the various body parts she had catalogued as injured. "No, he wouldn't . . . something isn't right. There were others, too . . ."
"There was a rescue team that came for you, Riley, that might be what you remember," Doris said. "Do you remember what happened when they came to rescue you?"
An image of a young man, smiling, and then, falling, and blood . . .
"I shot him," Riley gasped.
"It was an accident, darling," Doris soothed, "but that's why it's so important that you remember, that you get your memory straight. After what you'd been through with WoFat, and his men . . . you created other memories, to protect yourself from what was happening."
Riley shook her head. "It was just WoFat, there weren't . . . there wasn't . . . " she whimpered, hating how weak she sounded to her own ears. She wasn't weak, was she?
No. The voice said that she was strong, and smart.
A pair of dark eyes, over a surgical mask, came into her line of vision. Riley's eyes widened in recognition.
Hang on hang on . . . hang on to whatever you can . . .
"No, there were others," she insisted. "I was with other people . . . they were friends . . . "
"Riley," Doris said, a bit sharply. "You've been rambling about these . . . friends . . . darling, you need to let them go now. You created them to get through the horrible ordeal . . . but you're safe now. With me. You're safe, so just let go, Riley. Just let go of your imagination. I promise, as soon as you do, you'll feel so much better."
"No, there's . . . no, I don't want . . . " Riley bit back a moan of pain, "there are people . . . they will be looking for me."
"Riley, my people were the only people looking for you," Doris said. "We found you. WoFat is dead, he's no longer a threat. You need to just relax, and trust me, and I promise, everything will feel better." Doris hesitated. She had to find out what Riley remembered of Steve; that was the key to the whole house of cards. "There was another man with him, though, who got away. Can I show you a picture?"
Riley nodded hesitantly as Doris pulled out the set of still photos of Steve. She glanced at the cardiac and respiratory monitors as she held the pictures up to Riley. As the readings skyrocketed, Doris allowed herself a moment of optimism. It might be working. It could be working.
It had to be working.
"Darling, do you remember this man?" she asked.
Riley shook her head and bit her lower lip. She was terrified: absolutely, completely, irrationally, utterly terrified. But of this man? Was she supposed to be terrified of this man? She wasn't sure.
"He hurt you, Riley," Doris said softly. Hypnotically. "He is WoFat's right hand man, and he . . . carried out all of WoFat's horrible orders."
"No," Riley protested, "no, WoFat did . . . WoFat is the one who hurt me. I remember."
Riley forced herself to look at the pictures again. There was something, something underneath the mindless fear.
You're stronger and smarter . . . trust me, no matter what . . . strong hands. Strong voice.
Belonging to this man. Belonging? To this man? Riley glanced at the nurse, but her eyes simply mirrored Riley's own confusion.
Hang on hang on hang on
Doris flipped through another set of photos, surveillance photos, taken at crime scenes. Photos of Steve looking at those who had maimed and killed innocent people . . . photos of Steve looking as menacing and terrifying as he was perfectly capable of looking, in certain circumstances . . .
"No!" Riley shouted, yanking at her restraints. The leather didn't give, but the bedframe itself made an ominous squeaking, grinding noise. "No, he's not . . . he isn't . . . " Riley turned her head away from the pictures.
"Riley, darling, I'm so sorry . . . we think that you may have developed Stockholm Syndrome. You may have, in desperation, formed some sort of . . . attachment to this person. It's not uncommon, but it's incredibly distressing. If you'll just . . . accept what happened. Accept that this man hurt you," Doris said, smoothing Riley's hair away from her face. "Darling, you just have to let go of these false memories that you've created."
Doris waited for Riley to turn her head back toward her, but she was unprepared for the expression on Riley's face when it happened.
"Riley?" Doris gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Riley, darling . . ."
"Olivia," Riley said, her voice deadly calm. "Stop trying to frighten me."
The tone of the heart monitor changed: still fast, but now steady, and strong. Riley had fixed Doris in an unnerving stare.
"Darling, are you in pain?" Doris asked, trying a different tactic.
"Yes," Riley gritted out, her eyes flashing in fury. "But you know that, don't you, Olivia?"
"I . . . darling, I . . ." Doris stammered. This was deteriorating rapidly. "Let's go, shall we, nurse, and talk to the doctor? Perhaps we can get something for Riley."
The nurse nodded dubiously, and with an anxious glance back at Riley, followed Doris into the hallway.
"I don't think I should leave her," Rebecca said, as soon as the door closed behind her. "I can give her something for the pain . . . "
Doris shook her head, lips drawn in a tight line. She pulled out a key card and swiped it in the door.
"Do not go back in that room," she ordered. "Do not try to circumvent the lock. It's for your protection."
"I don't understand," Rebecca protested. "I thought you wanted me to save her life."
"I did," Doris said. "And now I'm trying to save yours. There was . . . did you see her brain scans? The area of damage, from the seizure. It's the lobe of the brain that differentiates between fear and anger. Hers is damaged. We may have gone too far with . . . with some of the techniques. We've crossed a threshold . . . those restraints may not hold her."
Rebecca shook her head. "Surely there's something . . . we have to be able to do something," she pleaded. She looked through the mirror. "She's agitated, her heart is irregular again . . . she's in obvious pain and distress . . . let me try going back in, no pictures, no talking, I'll just give her a sedative, something for the pain . . . "
"No," Doris said, and her voice broke in a sob. Rebecca reached out instinctively to comfort her, but Doris pulled away. "No, I'll . . . I'll think of something."
#*#*#*#*#
Kono paced in front of the plasma screens.
"I can't see him. I can't see Steve," she said.
"I think that's the point, cuz," Chin pointed out kindly.
"Do you think he'll find her? Get her out?" Kono asked, chewing her bottom lip.
"Yes," Chin replied immediately, without hesitation.
Kono nodded, took a deep breath. "I do too. I think he'll be fine."
Chin shook his head. Steve getting to Riley and getting her out alive was one thing; either of them being fine - that was entirely another.
#*#*#*#*#
Garrison was shutting down the computers when Doris came into the control room.
"What are you doing?" she asked, schooling her features and straightening her spine. She was taller than most of the men in the program; they were studious men, slightly built, not agents. It was second nature to her, to use her physical appearance to her advantage. Her height, in this case. Other advantages, in other cases.
"Shelburne, the program is over," Garrison said. "We've tampered too much, the thresholds are gone. There's no distinguishing now between what is nanotechnology and what is brain damage from the seizure, the drugs . . . the subject is fried. I'm shocked that she's even coherent. I've consulted with the neurologists and they agree. We expect degradation to begin at any point."
"You haven't given it enough time," Doris argued. "At least wait until all of the drugs are flushed out of her system. That will take hours, if not days."
"It's done," Garrison said. "The termination orders are in place. If it's a problem for you, I understand. We can induce a vegetative state . . . see what happens from there."
"I am still the director of this program, and I say that we give it more time. Termination with extreme prejudice is not the only option. We can try chemical or electrical intervention," Doris argued.
"You are not still the director of this program," Garrison said tiredly. "You haven't been, not for the last twelve hours. You've been relieved of duty. Here," he said, handing her a file. "Your orders. You're going back to Tokyo for debriefing."
"Not Langly?" Doris asked, automatically.
"CIA and SAD have disavowed the program," Garrison said. "We're lucky if we come out of this intact personally."
Doris looked frantically at the readouts on the two remaining screens. "Something could change," she insisted. "Ask for another twelve hours."
Garrison stopped, and looked at her. "It's because she fought us, isn't it?"
"What?" Doris snapped.
"You were bored with her. She was a subject, a project. But she fought us, and you felt something for her after all." Garrison shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth, far too late . . . I'm sorry. Look, go get your passport and get out. Let me . . . I'll take care of it."
Doris felt pure, unadulterated panic run through her. She squared her shoulders and looked at Garrison.
"Nonsense," she said. "I just think it's ridiculous to make such a hasty decision and waste two decades of research and development. If you lift a finger further I will personally destroy you. I'm going to the director of research and discussing the situation."
Garrison sighed. "Okay, Shelburne, have it your way. But you're not going to get a different answer. The project, and the subject, are as good as terminated already."
#*#*#*#*#
Joe woke with a start.
"Hey," Danny said, looking up tiredly from where he had dozed off in his chair. "You okay, Joe?"
"Yeah," Joe rasped.
Danny stood, stretched the kink out of his back, and retrieved a cup of half-melted ice chips from the counter. He held out the cup to Joe, who managed to get some into his mouth.
"Thank you," he said, handing the cup back to Danny, who stood watching him impassively. "Go ahead and say what's on your mind, Williams."
"That was a dick move," Danny said. "Calling Steve in here, knowing he was going to try to go after Riley, and telling him . . . making him question . . . it was a dick move. You're an asshole."
Joe nodded. "Would it have been better to let that idea come from his mother, you think? Or find out, accidentally, the next time one of them is so seriously injured that we start talking organ failure? When would have been a good time to tell him, do you think?"
"I'm not sure," Danny said. "How about, when you were about to fall into bed with his mother? That might have been a good time to reconsider options. Or maybe when he was testing their DNA the first time. 'Hey, Steve, while you're at it, here, check mine, too'. I'm not sure, Joe, but today . . . today was not a good day."
"I had to be sure he heard it from me, first," Joe said. "And you're right. About all of it. But I had to be sure that he heard it from me first, or he would never trust me again."
"I'm not so sure he should trust you again, period," Danny said.
Joe smiled at him.
"What?" Danny asked, suspicious.
"You're a good friend, Williams," Joe said, and closed his eyes.
#*#*#*#*#
"Catherine, I'm close," Steve murmured into his headset. "I need to go radio silent."
"Copy, Commander," Catherine said. "Good luck."
"Cath -" Steve swore to himself. There was so much to say, and he'd wasted so much time in not saying it. "Thank you."
"You got it, sailor," her warm voice came back. "Resume communication when you are safe to do so."
"Copy," he whispered, and moved forward.
They were expecting almost anything: a SWAT raid, more Naval Intelligence teams, even a SEAL team. They were definitely expecting Five-O; small, tight, quiet.
What the men standing guard outside the bunker were not expecting was one solitary Navy SEAL, hell-bent on retrieving his baby sister. They didn't hear anything or see anything, and they didn't feel anything, either. Their bodies fell silently and then disappeared into the dense growth surrounding the bunker. Steve felt remorse at each strike . . . he always did, and dreaded the idea that the day would come if he wouldn't. He slid more images and memories into the part of his brain that stayed locked down the tightest, and moved forward.
The last one, the one standing immediately in front of the door, had a key card in a tactical pocket on the front of his vest. Steve slid it smoothly in the door and it beeped green. Depositing the card in his own pocket, he slipped inside the door and closed it silently behind him.
Joe had said to look for computer equipment and medical supplies, so Steve scanned the dark, deserted hallway for any sign of cables or wiring. The bunker was so old, there would have to be massive external cables run . . . it was also highly, highly unlikely that there were any sophisticated surveillance systems in place. A quick glance did not show any signs of security cameras, and Steve continued to move silently down the hall.
He reached the end and looked around in frustration. Straight, left, or right . . . the halls were equally dim, identical in appearance. He could easily spend hours just searching for some sign of activity. He risked stepping into the corridor where the hallways intersected, and closed his eyes, listening.
A faint hum, to his left, prompted him to turn that way. He stayed close to the wall, thankful for the dim lighting which allowed him to blend into shadow. As he reached the end of the second hallway, the hum was growing louder. He stilled at the corner, and heard footsteps approaching.
He was six feet of tightly coiled energy as the footsteps came to the end of the hall, and his arms extended and snapped back so quickly that an observer would have sworn the petite nurse rushing down the hall had simply vanished into thin air.
Steve found himself with an armful of white labcoat; his hand covered a mouth that was already covered in a surgical mask. He turned the slight, obviously feminine body around, keeping his hand firmly over her mouth.
"I'm not interested in hurting you," he whispered. "I'm looking for someone; a young woman, probably injured."
Rebecca nodded, her eyes wide above the mask.
"You can't scream, do you understand?" Steve said. "I won't hurt you, if you stay quiet."
She nodded emphatically, and he carefully moved his hand, just a bit.
"You're him," she blurted out in a whisper. "They showed her pictures of you . . ."
"She's alive?" Steve asked, relief flooding through him.
"She's seriously injured, and there's . . . well, there's a lot going on that I don't understand," Rebecca said. "I've overheard the word termination. Shelburne locked me out of the room, I can't get back in. Riley - that's who you're looking for right? - she needs pain medication, she needs a sedative . . . but not benzos, she's had too many, she -"
Steve broke off her rambling. "I need to get her out, and I don't have much time. Is she stable?"
"She was, mostly, when I left her," Rebecca said. "It depends on how much more stuff they've shot her up with. Benzos, and then Flumazenil. You don't know what that is, do you," she guessed, taking in Steve's blank expression. "I'll come with you. I can help."
Steve hesitated. "No, it's not safe. Who uses these rooms?" He glanced up and down the hallway.
"No one, as far as I know. It's just the one project here," Rebecca said.
Steve tried a door, and it opened, squeaking a bit on worn hinges. "Will you hide here? I'll come back this way with Riley."
Rebecca nodded immediately.
"Look," Steve said, as she started to close the door behind her. "I'll do everything in my power . . . if I don't make it back here, try to get out. What's your name?"
"Rebecca."
"Okay, if this goes sideways, Rebecca, try to get to Five-O, tell them who you are and that you were trying to help me. They'll do whatever they can for you, okay?"
She nodded. "Go, quickly. She's in a treatment room down that hallway . . . there's a one-way mirror. The door is locked, though, and there's restraints . . ."
Steve nodded tersely. Locks and restraints weren't an issue for him.
"Stay quiet," he cautioned once more, and then he was gone.
A quiet, empty hallway would have been nice, but as he approached, he could hear signs of activity. He paused at the final corner and listened.
"All I know, is that Garrison said to collect all of the computer equipment, intact. Apparently they'll turn it over to the analysts, see if they can figure out where they went wrong," a voice said.
"I heard they turned the subject into a vegetable," another voice replied. "They've given up; pulled the medical staff out and everything. Locked the door." There was a pause, and furtive movement. "Look, you can look in." A shuffling sound.
"Damn, that's . . . that's not right. You don't leave a human suffering like that," the first voice said.
Steve felt his stomach turn.
"Come on, let's get out of here," the second voice said. Footsteps, again, this time receding.
Steve stepped into the hallway, his steps silent and sure. There, the mirror . . . he looked in and stood for a moment, frozen in shock. Riley was restrained, wrists and ankles, to a narrow, metal gurney. There didn't appear to be a mattress of any kind, and Steve's aching ribs and kidney twinged in sympathy. The heart monitor was beeping erratically as she struggled against the restraints; her eyes were sunken and feverish in her pale face. Her lips were moving, mumbling . . . Steve watched, tried to make it out . . .
Stronger . . . smarter . . . no matter what . . .
"That's my girl," Steve whispered, grabbing the keycard out of his pocket. If it worked, he might just be able to pull this off. If not . . . he held his breath and slid the card in the door. A beep, a click, and the door released. That was the beauty of ancient bunkers . . . they resisted all but the most primitive of upgrades. He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him, sliding the key card through the lock again.
"Riley," he whispered, approaching the gurney carefully.
Her hazel eyes turned slowly toward him and widened in absolute terror.
"Riley, I'm so sorry," he said softly, his heart breaking. "I know you're so, so very frightened right now. Can you remember anything, anything that's different from what they told you? Is there something that just doesn't seem to fit?"
Riley nodded.
"Okay, good, that's good," Steve said. "I know that you probably think you can't trust me, but I promise, you can. I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you, okay? You can trust me."
"No matter what," Riley whispered, and then gasped as she was overwhelmed with pain.
"I'm so sorry, Riley," he said. "I'm going to cut through these restraints, okay? I have a knife, and it's big, and it probably looks really scary, but I'm just cutting the restraints. You with me? I want you to close your eyes, keep them closed until I tell you to open them."
Riley nodded and closed her eyes. Steve made quick work of the restraints on her ankles, first, his mouth a grim line at the broken, bleeding skin. He cut one wrist free, his eyebrows raising at the bent metal underneath. Moving quickly to the other side, he cut through the restraint carefully and sheathed his knife right away. Riley flinched as he touched her arm, the one that she'd cut open in desperation.
He turned her arm over gently, his finger tracing the already healing scar, surprised to find it looking more inflamed and even oozing a bit of blood. He felt Riley still beneath his touch, and ducked his head to look at her.
"Hands . . . " she murmured. "You fixed . . . "
"Yeah," he said gently, "I fixed your arm. Do you remember?"
"I remember those hands," she said, looking up at him in confusion. "They belong to you?"
Steve nodded. "These are my hands. Riley, do you have any idea who I am?"
Her eyes clouded in confusion. "Doris says you are with WoFat. She says that you hurt me."
"Riley, it's not true," Steve said earnestly. "I need to get you away from here, okay? Can you trust me enough to come with me? And we'll figure out the rest, I promise."
Riley rubbed her wrist absently and nodded, trying to swing her legs over the side of the gurney. She winced and inhaled sharply.
"Hold on, let me get rid of these IVs and pulse ox monitor . . . " Steve murmured, looking back anxiously at the door. He assumed that someone was monitoring Riley's heart rate from another room, and disconnecting it would close their window of escape rapidly.
He heard a noise and turned, putting himself between Riley and the door, and raised his SIG. A woman was closing and relocking the door behind her. She turned around, her hands held up, holding a flash drive in one hand.
Steve stood in disbelief.
"Mom?"