No Stranger to Hell

Chapter 34

Thank you all so very much for your comments, follows and favorites. Will be replying as soon as I hit the 'enter' key to post this. Please see the note at the end of this chapter.

No one beta'ed this puppy. Ran it through spell-check but that's all that time would allow. If you spot any glaring error, please let me know so I can fix it immediately. Otherwise, corrections will probably be made over the next couple of days. There are ALWAYS corrections to be made, for time is short and squirrels are many.

Disclaimer: Had Microsoft not had other plans, this chapter would have been posted Friday night. If I got paid for this, (which I don't), I'd take my earnings and purchase the biggest baddest Mac that money can buy then engage in a chocolate binge that will erase all memory of Windows 10.

*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*

The Last Shot

Fanning and Shan had decided to make another adjustment to the drug study. Their patient, now too weak to walk all the way to the infusion center and resistant to the use of a wheelchair to get there, would receive treatment in his room. It would make the infusion as stress free as possible for all concerned. As it is, this last one will probably be pretty rough.

As evidenced from the prior infusion, Steve's increased sensitivity to the drug meant its painful effects would be immediate. The possibility of other patients in the infusion center observing someone in nearly intolerable pain is definitely not a good idea. Those undergoing chemo and other procedures already have enough to deal with.

Precisely at nine AM, Dr. Fanning himself walked in carrying a tray on which were the main components of the process: a small vial, a large needle, a bag of saline and the turkey baster sized syringe. He'd prevailed and it had been decided to once again dilute the solution even though it would take longer to infuse. He hoped to lessen the feeling their patient had described as 'having acid poured into his veins'. Dr. Shan had only reluctantly agreed.

They'd also come to another decision. Detective Williams had been very persuasive to put it mildly when arguing that, if by now, they didn't have enough evidence of the drug's effects as it was being administered, then, they never would. Without a hit of a pain reliever before the infusion, they'd just be torturing his friend for no reason. This time, both doctors concurred. Study be damned, for this, their patient's last treatment, they'd administer a fairly heavy narcotic before the infusion begins.

Danny observed from a few feet away as Catherine stood next to the halfway reclined bed; Steve sitting on it cross-legged while Catherine held his hand.

Tina inserted a needle into a vial she took from her tunic pocket and drew out several cc's of a clear fluid into a syringe, flicking it to remove any air bubbles. "Honey," she addressed her patient, "This is gonna make you a little sleepy, just go with it." She gestured for Steve to lie back on the bed and he nodded wordlessly in reply, his grip imperceptibly tightening on Catherine's hand as he complied with the nurse's directive.

Tina knew the commander really didn't like the effects of narcotics, (probably a control issue she'd thought), but it was either this or he'd suffer the full agony of the infusion. Quickly inserting the needle into the port of the IV catheter in the back of his right hand, Tina pushed the pain medication.

Almost immediately, Steve blinked in surprise as he felt the cool rush of what druggies call 'hospital heroin'. "Wow. This stuff works really fast." He exclaimed and looked toward Danny with a dazed smile before he leaned back his head and closed his eyes.

"You got the good stuff, eh buddy?" asked the detective with a small smile

"Mm." Was all his friend had time to acknowledge before his eyes drifted shut and he began to nod off.

Tina had told them the hydromorphone, aka dilauded, would be fast acting and, considering Steve's weakened state, though it wasn't a big dose it would most likely knock him out - if only briefly. Dr. Shan the nephrologist, felt that a larger dosage would put his patient's kidneys at too much of a risk so they were giving him only as much as they felt was safe. It wasn't going to take away all of the pain but, hopefully, it would at least be dulled.

On the other side of the bed Catherine held tightly to Steve's hand until she felt it relax and go limp when he went under. Her trepidation at seeing him in pain was strong but there's no way she wouldn't be by his side for this. They'd already lost too much of the time that seemed to become evermore precious with each passing minute.

Fanning had completed the process of diluting the drug with saline and it was now ready to go. He had Tina lower the bed until it was nearly flat then pulled a rolling stool to the side of it and sat down. "Here we go Steve." he said to his patient who may not even have heard him. Then, inserting the needle into the designated port of the picc line, he slowly pushed in the plunger.

After only a brief moment, eyes that had closed with the effects of the dilauded suddenly opened wide as Steve gasped and cried out before slamming them shut in agony and attempting to curl himself into a ball.

"We need you to stay flat Steve. You can't compromise any blood flow by flexing your limbs." warned Dr. Fanning. Not yet done infusing the drug that caused this disturbing reaction, he moved quickly to keep the picc line from being crimped when Steve rolled onto his side.

Tina cajoled, "Come on Steven, sweetie. Just lay back for us. The worst will be over in a few minutes." The nurse then added to herself, I truly hope.

Steve had pulled his hand away when the drug had hit and Catherine bit her lips as she watched him panting with pain and trying to comply with his caregiver's entreaties to lie flat.

"We're here, Babe." soothed Danny as he came forward and pressed gently on his friend's shoulders to hold him down when Steve mumbled a curse and tried to curl up again.

"Danny!" his partner cried out in pain as he writhed on the bed.

Detective Daniel Williams had experienced this terrible feeling of helplessness very few times in his life. One of them was when his daughter's namesake, Grace Tillwell, had been killed. They'd been tied side by side in a dirty warehouse when she'd been shot. His NPD partner only had time to desperately call out his name before she was gone. Now, here he is watching Steve go through this torture without being able to do anything to stop it. He wanted to cry.

Catherine Rollins, a woman who'd faced armed combat; who'd actually taken bullets and broken bones in the service of her country and was as fearless as the man she'd loved and left was now nearly overwhelmed with fear. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them away, instead, capturing Steve's flailing hand and holding on for dear life as he writhed and twisted on the bed while Danny worked to hold him down and Tina tried to soothe him with her words.

Is this what he'd been enduring without her being here to offer any support? She knew that his ohana had never left his side but she should have been here. How could she ever make up for her abandonment?

…

Feeling a sudden puff of cool air on the back of his neck, in one motion, he stood and whirled to see the sliding door ajar and a darkly clothed figure rushing toward him; something shiny in its hand.

Dropping the piece of toast he still clutched, Martin gave a squawk and fell backward over the coffee table when the backs of his knees contacted its edge.

Landing in a heap and with eyes wide in terror, he quickly rolled beneath the heavy table to look upward through its glass. Petrified, he saw the assassin's face crease into a triumphant smile. Leaning downward, the attacker lifted the heavy piece of furniture as though it were feather light; tumbling it on its side to better reach the prey that cowered beneath.

His see-through shield now gone; Martin scrambled backward, his hand landing on something that had rolled along the floor to come to a stop at the sofa's bottom edge; the ketchup bottle left from last night's dinner.

…..

The Jezebel's captain now had the pleasure of the sparse accommodation of the blue room where the attractive island woman and the tall black man had been questioning him for the last hour.

"You do know that your employer could give a rat's ass about his little worker bees, don't you?" asked Grover, his heavy brow rising in question.

"It's true." added the woman, "The last couple guys who failed him are now occupying drawers at the Medical Examiner's office."

"I already told you. I don't know anything about any paintings. Those crates were only supposed to be holding supplies for my ship. If there was anything else in them, then I have no idea how it got there."

"That's not what your crew member told us." smirked the tall cop. "He said that you weren't too pleased to be hauling, I quote 'Fucking Piccassos'."

Snorted the captain as he stretched his legs and once again tested the cuffs that bound him to the metal chair, "You do know that little mama's boy is a drug dealer right? There's nothing lower than a drug dealer."

"Unless, of course, you count your employer who is not only a drug dealer but a racketeer and murderer as well." replied the female cop as the other one nodded in agreement.

"I don't know anything about that." chuffed the leather-skinned sailor who'd come to the conclusion he wasn't going anywhere for the time being. He sighed then looked up with a lazy smile. "You people are barking up the wrong mast. I don't know anyone who could be called a racketeer, let alone a murderer."

"Well, I suppose you'll find out soon enough." replied Grover before he turned toward Kono and asked, "Officer Kalakaua, what say we just turn this guy loose and see how long it takes for his boss to sic his troops on him?"

"Sounds like a plan." responded Kono with a seemingly delighted smile, "I've got twenty that says they find him and take care of him within three hours - four tops."

"You're on. I say they find him within two, and I've got another twenty that says he's in one of those drawers beside the others within a day, day and a half at most." nodded Grover with an even bigger smile. "Your twenty will just about buy me a plate of garlic fried shrimp and maybe a beer to go with it. Man, I love that stuff."

"That is if we can find his body after they're done with him." said Kono, a frown creasing her smooth brow. "If that museum director was any example, you know it might take a while."

"Yeah, you're right. As I seem to recall, all his parts weren't still attached to him when we found what was left at Makapu'u Point. You know, I'm still not convinced it was just sharks – at least not the kind that swim in the ocean – that were responsible for those missing pieces." sighed Grover.

Rattled by the macabre wagers and even more so by the disturbing description of another of Nozaki's former employees, the captain blurted, "He wouldn't do that! He's a businessman!"

"I guess so." shrugged the tall cop before adding, "But his business is gonna involve putting you in the ground, or, you know, the ocean."

"That does seem to be a favorite of his." mused Kono aloud. "But it does make it harder on us. We always have to wait for victims to wash-up on shore. It's kind of annoying to have to wait so long."

"That is if we can find your whole body." said Grover, "No matter, I guess, 'cause we don't need much tissue to get DNA from. The rest of you can be shark food. It'll save us the expense of shipping a body back to where was that again? South Africa? It's way cheaper to just send a piece of one."

"Screw you!" growled the captain. "You can't prove anything! I'm just a tour boat operator, not an art smuggler! I don't have anything to worry about."

"Nah, I'm sure you don't." smiled Grover at the man who now looked to have broken out in a sweat. "We just gotta take care of a few things ahead of time before we turn you loose. Being a sailor and all, maybe you'd rather be buried at sea? You need to let us know what kind of burial you want or the address to send the body parts to. Johannesburg was it? Do you think your wife and kids are gonna enjoy inheriting a boat?"

Watching the captain's eyes widen until bloodshot whites showed all around faded blue irises, Kono thought, Shouldn't be long now.

…..

Chin and Lori arrived at the Oahu Triton as uniformed police were milling about in its small but well-appointed lobby. A call had come in about a blood-covered man rushing into it and babbling something about ninja's in his room. HPD had quickly dispatched several units.

It had been known to a very few where their witness, one Martin Shaftbottom, had been stashed. It seemed there were even further leaks in the agency responsible for his safety from Yakuza assassins. There were some serious inquiries about to be launched into the goings on of personnel at the Honolulu PD.

The two uniformed officers assigned to guard him had been found drugged in a maid's closet while two plain-clothes officers were found in the same condition in the hotel kitchen's walk-in fridge. Nozaki's forces had come perilously close to disposing of the thief who knew enough to put the Oyabun in chains.

The two Five-0 cops stood at the doorway and observed what appeared to be the remnants of a blood bath.

Their 'protected' witness sat dazed on a chair at the edge of the room; red stains almost completely obliterating the hibiscus flower design of his Hawaiian shirt. Upon approaching him, it was observed that the color, consistency, and scent of the bright red stains pointed to a liquid other than blood. It appeared to be ketchup.

….

Danny had asked Catherine to do him a favor and seek out the sacred coffee machine, (the one he'd been directed to so long ago by a fetching intake nurse). For whatever reason, the brew this particular machine dispensed was nearly equal to that sold at the coffee house around the corner from the hospital. He'd asked her to bring him back a cup though he really didn't need one. The woman hadn't said anything but he could tell she was stressed to the max after watching Steve go through the infusion. Maybe it would do her some good to go for a walk.

Steve is lying quietly in a drugged stupor. The last of the treatments had been completed and now they had to wait for nearly a week to see if it had any effect other than to put his friend through hell once again.

As he continued to sit vigil beside the bed, the detective studied his partner's face. He remembered what Steve had been like when they'd first met in John McGarrett's garage: lean, mean, and wound tighter than a tourniquet. Steve had mellowed over the last few years; not becoming soft, mind you, but just less brittle; less likely to hold himself at a distance or close himself off like an angry clam. Danny laughed silently at his own analogy. Do clams even get angry?

The man had changed – mostly for the better. The 'arrogance' had never left but his team had come to understand that it wasn't really arrogance at all. It was confidence that he could overcome any obstacle put in his path; could prevail over any situation that presented a challenge. His training had mandated it then the mindset had been reinforced by enduring unspeakable horrors and overwhelmingly harsh circumstances to emerge triumphant. Steve is made of tougher stuff than any ten men put together and could be disturbingly scary when seen in what had long been his element – battle. But he'd gotten through it and had somehow managed to retain what may be his best qualities; his willingness to help others and his kindness.

There was no one who gave so much and asked so little in return. Without Steve, his team would be lost. He'd been the one to prop them all up at one time or another. Providing quiet support to Chin after his wife's death, keeping his vow to Kono that he would always protect her, befriending a medical examiner who was a tad too 'different' for most others, and becoming a friend to an ex SWAT commander who'd at first been an adversary. Even Jerry had experienced the giving nature of their leader.

Somehow, despite his own sometime awkwardness at what Danny had called mammal-to-mammal communication, Steve had taken in so many of those who needed a friend.

Danny would be forever indebted to his partner for his covert intervention that allowed Gracie to stay in her happily established home when Rachel wanted to take her away to wherever Stan had decided they were to live. It was Steve who'd eased the transition of a Jersey detective, a stranger in a 'pineapple infested hellhole' to someone, if still not entirely comfortable in, then at least at peace with his new home in Hawaii.

But, mused Danny, despite all of his partner's fierceness as well as his caring, where had it gotten him?

Here, now, is Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, felled by an unseen enemy; brought to near death by something no amount of training or confidence could overcome. No points were given for being an amazing friend and brother to those who needed him. This was his last shot at survival and he had no control over its outcome.

Danny continued to gaze at the man who lay in exhausted sleep. How will any of them cope if Steve doesn't make it through this?

*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*

Not much more whump, (I'm beginning to worry about us all). This thing was only supposed to be about fourteen chapter long. (You see how well that turned out). Looks like two more chapters to go.

Haven't yet had time to tally up the yeas and nays regarding Ms. Rollins' return. Your input will affect the next update. Until then, any comments you'd care to make about this chapter or anything else regarding this story would be most appreciated.