Chapter 11

It had been two weeks since he talked to Hesse about Rory. Since then, he found himself checking his phone more frequently than before. He still hadn't heard anything from Rory and was beginning to believe Hesse had duped him. Then again, he was in prison; that would no doubt slow down communications.

He could tell his team was becoming concerned with his preoccupation with the case. After finishing up work early, he dismissed his team. While they all went home, Steve stayed in his office, reading over Rory's file again, trying to find any more information about his whereabouts.

When he finally glanced at his watch, he saw it was almost 10 pm. It hadn't seemed that long. Steve decided he should probably head home now. Standing up, he was about to grab his bag when he heard the glass doors leading into the HQ open. He immediately stopped, straining his ears to hear anything. No one should be here at his time. Tip-toeing out of his office, his right hand hovered over his service weapon, ready to draw and fire upon the intruder. The hallway was dark and he wasn't able to see anyone.

"Who's there?" Steve yelled into the darkness.

"Commander McGarrett is that you?" he heard a voice call back to him. "It's Kwan. The cleaning guy. Uhh...do you know where the light switch is?"

Steve sighed, moving his hand away from his service weapon. He forgot that the cleaners sometimes worked during the evening. "Yes, I'll turn it on for you." He walked over and switched the lights on. With the hallway suddenly illuminated, Steve saw Kwan standing by the doors and looking somewhat lost with his cleaning cart outside.

"Thanks!" Kwan said, flashing Steve a thumbs-up.

Steve nodded at the man before walking back into his office. Picking up his bag, he made his way out of the building and to his truck. By the time he drove home, he was exhausted. Remembering that he hadn't had dinner, he felt his stomach rumble but ignored it. He'd just make up for it tomorrow during breakfast. He was too tired to make himself a meal right now.

He was about to head upstairs and go to bed when he noticed something. It was a jacket, a jacket that he didn't recognise, draped over a chair. Someone else was in his house. For the second time tonight, he found his right hand hovering over his firearm. The house was still dark and Steve took his time, carefully tip-toeing around, trying yet again to find an intruder.

"Rory," he gasped. In front of him was Rory, passed out on his couch again. This time he clutched an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand instead of scotch.

Rory must not have been a deep sleep as his eyes fluttered open as soon as Steve said his name. Rory looked up and made eye contact with Steve. "Victor told me ye were lookin' for me." Rory sat up and smiled. He seemed much more sober this time. "I got tired of waitin' for ya so I helped meself to ye liquor again."

"You came." Steve sat down across from Rory.

"I did. Whatcha wanna talk about?"

"Have you changed your mind on my offer?"

"McGarrett, look. What difference will it make if I work for a government versus independently? At the end of the day, my job is still 'ta kill people."

"There's more to being an operative than just killing people. Maybe you won't get to live a normal life. But, if you do choose government work, it at the very least offers you a level of safety and security that independent work doesn't have," Steve paused. He saw the look of uncertainty on Rory's face. "You're here right now. That tells me that at the very least, there's a part of you that's interested."

"McGarrett...I…" Rory stuttered.

"Tell me about yourself," Steve said suddenly, changing the subject of the conversation.

"What?" Rory was taken aback by his statement.

"Tell me about yourself. How did you end up here?" Steve asked. Part of it was to change the subject matter to make Rory more comfortable talking with him. Part of it was curiosity of his background.

"Ye lucky I'm tipsy," Rory responded with a smirk, "You can blame Michael for all of this. Don't ask me what his surname is. I don't even know. He taught me everything I know. Took me in when I was 5...after I ran away from the orphanage. Raised me to be a killer. Michael's dead now so don't bother tryin' to find him."

Steve felt his breath hitch at the information Rory just presented to him. "How old were you when you first killed someone?" he asked.

Rory didn't react to the question any different than he would react to someone asking if he wanted coffee. He took a moment to think. "Eight," he said.

Steve shook his head in disgust. An eight year old shouldn't have been spending his days learning how to kill people. "Where were your parents during all of this?"

Rory shrugged, suddenly looking somber. "Me mam gave me up to the church when I was born. Didn't even have the decency to go inside. Just dropped me off on the doorsteps." He laid down on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, breaking eye contact with Steve. "I'm sorry about ye pa. Horrible way to die."

Steve stiffed when he heard his father being mentioned. He hadn't expected Rory to bring it up.

Rory must have sensed Steve's discomfort by the sudden silence because he quickly got back up to a seating position. "Sorry didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"It's OK," he paused, thinking about what to say next. "Have you ever thought of reaching out to your mother?" he asked

Rory shook his head. "Nah. As a kid I used to daydream about her. I used to always imagine walkin' down the street and hearin' someone yell 'Rory!'; turnin' around and seeing me ma runnin' towards me to give me a hug."

"Why not reach out to her now? I have connections in the UK who can help track her down," Steve suggested.

"Thanks McGarrett but it wouldn't help. There's no records of who me ma is. All I know is that she's probably Catholic since she dropped me off at a Catholic church. That's it. Hell, she might have even been a Protestant who was too ashamed of herself."

Steve heard the pain in his voice. This was his chance. This was his chance to recruit him. "Rory, I'll make you a deal. You accept my offer, use your talents for Uncle Sam, and I'll find your mother."

Rory stiffened up. Leaning forward, he stared directly at Steve. "Don't make promises you can't keep." The coldness in his voice, that same coldness from their first encounter, was back.