Thanks for all the lovely reviews, it always creates a smile on my face to read one.
For those wondering if this story is a deathfic - nope, it's not. I'd warn you if it was.
It was just an envelope. Brown, cheap, the same as any other. The kind used by millions of people every day. But the contents had the power to detonate shards of pain through Danny's chest like an atomic bomb.
Danny almost didn't open it. He scooped it up with the rest of the post and brought it into the kitchen. A hundred things ran through his head as he dumped it on the counter, then picked up a glass of water, downing it. He needed to make his mind focus somehow, to finish the yet unsolved homicide case Five-0 had. Filling the glass with more cold water, he was already thinking about what will be the next steps to take in order to come another bit closer to their suspect.
That's what he did all the time, these days, think about work. Throwing himself into it like a mad man stopped him from thinking about Steve and the memories and hollowness left inside him. He practiced a lot of denial. Maybe it wasn't healthy, but he didn't really care. It was the only way to get himself through the minutes and hours.
Danny glanced at the clock. Six forty-five am. He should be at the HQ by seven. But he didn't leave the house. For some reason, he picked up the post.
He flicked through a white envelope – bank statement – a brown envelope – bill – white, with the name of a loan company on the front that he tossed into the bin without opening. Then he came to another brown one. Maybe it was the fact his name and address had been handwritten in block capital letters that piqued his curiosity. Most of the mail had computer-generated labels or window envelopes that showed his postal details.
He ripped the envelope open. As he slid the photo out, it didn't really register what he was seeing initially. Yes, of course, Danny knew it was a photo of his best friend, but he couldn't comprehend what that meant for a moment.
Danny frowned, his heart slamming to a sudden stop. What the hell? Why would someone send him a photo of Steve?
But before he could even think of possible answers, his gaze was already drinking in the details. Steve's hair was longer than he'd ever seen it before, curling up at the edges of his shirt collar. A beard covered a face that was thinner than Danny remembered. He sat at an outside café table, holding a newspaper across his chest.
He brought the photo closer to his eyes, studied the name of the newspaper, read the date on it. Two days earlier. It felt like Danny's brain was melting inside his head. That couldn't be right. Steve was dead.
Danny slumped down onto a chair, his legs suddenly refusing to hold him upright. The photo slid from his grasp and rested face up on the kitchen counter. He leaned his elbows on the counter and pressed his hands to his lips as a prickle of a surprise and a shock.
What was this? Someone's idea of a sick joke? The more he stared, the more he noticed other things. It was obviously a selfie, Steve's arm outstretched before him holding the phone. There were flecks of grey in his hair that had never been there before. Lines graced the corners of his eyes. He looked older, but… how could that be even possible?
He tried to think of the rational possibilities of how someone could've got hold of this and sent it to him, but he couldn't make sense of it. He licked his lips, his mouth dry, eyes wide and fixated on that piece of shiny paper.
Why would someone send this to him? For what purpose – to hurt him? If so, then mission accomplished.
Tears welled in his eyes. The loss he'd been trying so hard to block out suddenly hit him again with all the force of a wrecking ball. If Danny was honest with himself, and he didn't like to be – he had to admit that the gaping hole Steve had left in his life was still as fresh as the day he'd heard about the plane crash.
He wiped the tears away with the back of his trembling hand, trying to think why anyone would do this to him. Then he had another thought. Maybe there was a letter inside the envelope. Something that would explain what was going on.
He picked it up and swept his hand through its insides. Empty. He looked at the back of the envelope, hoping for a return address, but there was nothing there at all. It was postmarked Bern with yesterday's date. He picked up the photo again and turned it over. On the back of it, someone had written a message.
I need your help, Danno.
I will contact you again soon.
You can't tell anyone about this.
A shard of ice spiked his heart. The familiar nickname only three people in the whole world were allowed to use. His kids, and his soul brother.
Danny stared at the photo again. Steve had sent it to him.
And yet, that was impossible.
Danny parked his Camaro in the car park at the front of the headquarters, totally unable to recall the journey there. Too many thoughts had been crowding his head for him to take in the roads busy with traffic.
On the way upstairs he tried to think about what needed to be done. Half of his brain was working on necessities. The paperwork that needed to be done, the witnesses that need to be questioned again, the call to the Governor with the update on the case. The other half was on the photo and the message. Writing Danny recognized as Steve's as he'd seen it hundreds of times.
He passed by the group of his team with a fake smile and a greeting and headed straight to his office. This didn't make any sense. It was insane to think Steve had sent it.
He sat in his chair behind his desk and stared into thin air, his head spinning. What was he supposed to do? Was someone just playing a nasty joke? Or was his partner still alive and in trouble? Would he send another message soon?
No, of course there would be no message. Steve was dead.
But they never found the plane, a voice in his head repeated.
So what? Another voice said. If Steve was alive, where has he been for the last ten months? And why was he only contacting him now? Why all the mystery? No. If Steve was alive, he'd have contact him. He would've come home. Unless he couldn't for some reason. Maybe something bad had happened and he was captured, managed to escape and now he was on the run, asking Danny for help. Or maybe-
Danny shook his head back to clarity. He'd been through this before. A false hope won't make him feel any better. Steve was gone and someone else must've sent the photo. Someone who wants to hurt him.
He opened the laptop on his desk and typed in plane crash West Africa.
It only brought up twelve hits, which contained the brief report Danny had read after the crash had happened and it was simply repeated statement in various online newspapers. It was hardly big news, and Danny assumed it was a repeat of the official statement from the government.
Four people are presumed dead after a Beechcraft Bonanza light aircraft is believed to have crashed in dense jungle on Friday. The plane had been on its way to the capital when it disappeared from GPS tracking systems and radio contact was lost. Authorities do not believe there are any survivors.
At this time, the government doesn't consider it safe to attempt to locate and recover the wreckage due to an uprising of rebel militia in the immediate area.
There were no new articles. No reports telling him the plane had been found. Nothing that mentioned some miraculous news of survivors who'd suddenly appeared.
Danny sat back in the chair and stared at the screen blankly, paralyzed with shock.
A knock sounded on his glass door before Lou opened it and walked in, holding a cup of coffee.
"Good morning," Lou grinned, then gave him an odd look. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Danny just stared at him, his mouth half hanging open. A ghost. Yes. Lou had no idea how spot on he was. But a ghost couldn't write messages and send photos.
Lou walked towards his desk and put the cup down in front of Danny. "I saw you rushing past the rest of us and thought you'd want this."
"Yeah. Um… thanks," Danny made no move to take it. His hands were trembling so much, he'd have trouble picking it up, even if he wanted to.
Lou frowned, the lines on his forehead increasing. "What's wrong, Danny?"
"Um…" he thought about telling him what had happened. But the message stabbed at his brain. You can't tell anyone about this. The words died on his lips.
Lou came around the desk and looked at the laptop, seeing the old news reports. Crouching over Danny, he put his arm on his shoulder. "I know you miss him. We all do. And I know some days must be harder than others."
Not knowing what to say, Danny just nodded, letting his older colleague think it was just a case of grief hitting him again.
Lou walked back to the front sat on the edge of the desk, his eyes scanning Danny's face with sympathy. "You should take a day off. We can handle it here."
Danny shook his head. "There's too much to do. And I need to finish the paperwork. I need to…" he trailed off, his gaze straying to the headlines on the screen.
"Yes, but maybe you just need a bit of time out. I mean, you were back at work a week after his death. I know you felt like it would help you stop thinking about things, but maybe it was too soon. It's like you've been on a mission to just keep going, and there's bound to be some moments when you step back and everything catches up with you."
Danny knew his friend was right. He didn't live his normal life anymore. Even his kids thought he was not the same person after his partner's death. Danny poured everything he had into work to stop himself falling. It was the only crutch he had to keep him upright.
"Seriously, we've got this. Go home, take some you time. This'll all be here tomorrow," Lou suggested.
"Yes, but I have to-"
"No you don't," Lou stopped him. "I'll do it. We've got this, man."
Danny hesitated for a moment. He knew it would be impossible to concentrate on anything properly after this.
Lou looked deep into Danny's eyes, concern in his face. "You don't have to deal with everything on your own."
Danny nodded, knowing Lou was right. "Okay, just one day off."
"That's settled, then. I'll see you later." Lou pulled Danny up from his chair, turned him toward the entrance, hands on his shoulders, and walked him towards the door.
"Thanks," Danny mumbled.
"It's nothing. And if you need to talk, you know I'm always here."
In the past ten months, Danny had never cried in front of his friends or family. He'd never rambled on about Steve and how unfair life was and how much he missed him. He kept things inside and let them fester away. Unlike Steve, Danny never had a problem to open up and talk about his feelings. Until his partner was gone. He couldn't talk about Steve. He found it extremely hard to open up and bare his soul to people, even to his ohana. And this was something he definitely couldn't tell them.
Not until he knew what the hell was going on.
Danny drove back home again in a blur. Of course this wasn't real. It was out-of-this-world crazy for him to believe Steve was alive and had sent that photo to him. There had to be an explanation. But the irrational part of his brain ignored all that, and a tiny spark of hope blossomed inside.
He sat at the kitchen counter, pulled the photograph out of his pocket, stared at it. What was happening? Why couldn't he just come home if he was alive? Why not call from wherever he'd been for the last ten months? Maybe he'd been in hospital in Africa, pulled from the wreckage of the plane in a remote area with no phones or internet. But then how did he manage to take a photo and send it through the post? How did he get to Switzerland?
Nothing made sense. Maybe there was another message, a clue somewhere on the photo. He looked at the newspaper Steve was holding and read the headline - Two Most Successful Chocolate Companies to Merge Into One. Nothing about the plane crash.
Danny forced his brain to work harder. What's going on? Did Steve at some point survive the plane crash and go to Bern?
Never mind how. The question he couldn't shake was why. Why didn't he contact him until now?
Danny stood and paced the floor, trying to make sense of something so senseless. Part of him felt overwhelming anger. How could Steve do this to him? Let him think he was dead. What kind of a person did that to their family?
Yes, things had been difficult for Steve in the past years and he seemed to be so lost in the last couple of months before he'd left. But he'd left to find peace, the purpose of life. He was done, fed up with all the drama and mystery in his life. So why pretend his death?
Danny shook his head. He wouldn't do that to him. They shared a special bond. There were more than friends, partners, brothers. Steve would never have put him through the last ten months believing he was dead on purpose.
As bizarre as it seemed, the photo and the message all pointed to Steve being alive. And he said he needed help. Danny couldn't just sit here and wait for him to contact him . He'd go mad in the meantime.
He thought about calling Lou and telling him what had happened, but Steve's words permeated his head again.
You can't tell anyone about this.
He still didn't understand what had happened, what was happening now, but somehow, he had to try to find out the truth. Whatever it takes.
Khalfani Iwu sat back in his softly padded chair, smoking the expensive cigar. He exhaled a cloud of grey smoke out slowly, savoring the taste. Each cigar had a price tag of $700, containing aged tobacco. And they said Africa was a backward place! You could get anything here for a price.
He surveyed the plush garden in front of him from his veranda and took a sip of the finest cognac. He liked the fine things in life. Maybe he'd sold his soul to the devil, but the devil paid well. He almost laughed at his own joke but settled for a wide grin instead. His life was good. Everything was going to plan.
As a child, he constantly found himself getting into trouble. Stealing, bullying the other children, it was all a buzz to him. When his father had insisted he join the police force to control his increasingly criminal behavior, he laughed in his face. He didn't like being told what to do, following orders. He liked to be the one in control. Even his first name meant - destined to rule.
But as the job progressed, he realized that the benefits that came with joining the police were better than wasting time with petty crime. He made more money in bribes than he ever did selling stolen goods. And as he'd worked his way up, the power of his position was the most intoxicating thing in the world. Like an addict, he craved more. He could do exactly as he pleased, and it was all legal.
He was now head of the secret police and the president's right-hand man. But the president was getting lazy and greedy, and Khalfani had always been cunning. He'd learned over the years that time and patience were the keys to getting what you wanted. And it was his time now.
His thoughts were annoyingly interrupted by the arrival of Chief Inspector Jumah. Jumah stood in his full uniform, a sheen of sweat from the heat covering his forehead. "We have a problem, sir."
"Problems are just a challenge waiting to happen," Khalfani said in a calm manner.
"The plane crash."
"What about it?"
"Our rebels found it. In the middle of dense bush."
"So? It's too late to save them now." Khalfani threw back his head and laughed.
Jumah cleared his throat.
When it was obvious Jumah hadn't told his boss everything he'd wanted to say, Khalfani snapped, "Get on with it."
"When the plane went down, it stayed almost intact. The bodies were still inside, strapped into the seats."
"And why do I care about this?" Khalfani was bored with this conversation already.
"Because there were only two passengers and a pilot on the plane,"
Khalfani looked up at Jumah sharply, frowning. "What?"
"The American man. McGarrett. He was not on the plane."
"That's not possible!" Khalfani shot out of his chair and stood face-to-face with Jumah. "You saw him get on that plane, didn't you?"
Jumah swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
"So…" Khalfani was thinking. "Maybe a predator took his remains. Leopard or lion."
Jumah shook his head. "There was no trace of him. No trace of his bones, and other bodies are still there. And there was no sign of his luggage. He wasn't on the plane."
Khalfani's eyes bulged from his head. "So where the hell did he go?"
Jumah swallowed nervously. "I don't know."
"Well, find out! We cannot risk this coming out. Not now, not when I'm so close. Do you understand?" His usually calm face began to crack. Everything he'd worked towards, every goal he'd head, could be ruined if they didn't find Steve McGarrett.
*to be continued*
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