AN: Wow I'm finally done! First actual multi-chapter story I've finished. I was procrastinating writing the epilogue for the past year or so (sorry!). Finally sat down this weekend and typed it all out. I hope you enjoyed this story. It was a blast writing.

Epilogue

Steve stepped off the plane to see the grey, overcast skyline of Dublin. He quickly picked up his singular piece of baggage, a duffle bag, from the luggage carousel. He wasn't sure how long this was going to take so he made sure to bring at least a week's worth of clothing. He chuckled to himself, imagining what Danny would say about him using his Navy-issued duffle bag on a civilian trip.

He called a taxi to Connolly Station. He quickly paid the taxi driver, giving him a sizable tip, and walked into the building. Although the front entrance of the station looked old, the inside was surprisingly modern compared to American train stations. He'd already booked his train ticket to Belfast so he walked straight to his gate.

As the urban city turned into rolling green hills, Steve reflected on the beautiful island. Although he had been to the Republic of Ireland before, this was his first time in Northern Ireland. With all the historic violence he had heard about during the Troubles, combined with everything that had happened with the Hesse brothers, he had made a conscious decision to stay away from the country. This would be his first time here.

The train to Belfast took a little less than two hours. He disembarked, carrying his lone duffle bag with him. He called another taxi, reading out the address he had scrawled on a piece of paper. It was for the headquarters of Catholic orphanages: Northern Ireland Catholic Children's Society.

"I'm looking for the records of a child who was sent to live in one of your children's homes in Northern Ireland shortly after he was born in 1994. He calls himself Rory now but that's likely not the name he was given at birth. He also ran away when he was around 5 years old and never came back."

Steve watched as the older woman behind the desk typed something on the computer. She was kind, with almost a grandmother-like mannerism. She looked surprisingly comfortable with the entire situation - as if this wasn't the first time she had an American asking about the identity of a Northern Irish orphan. Steve wondered how many orphans had passed through here.

"Do you know which county or town this child was in?" she asked.

"Uh Belfast."

"Let me get those records for you," she said.

Steve watched the woman leave her desk and down the stairs to his left. Ten minutes had passed when she appeared, holding a large leather-bound book.

"Here are the records of all youth living in our Belfast home from 1994." She placed the book on the desk and opened it up. Steve watched her scanning the yellowed pages. "Our Belfast home accepted eight new youth, five of them male, that year. You said he came as a newborn?"

"Yes. He was abandoned at the front steps of a local church shortly after he was born."

"A very unfortunate start to a baby's life. Is this the child you are looking for?" She turned the book around and pushed it towards Steve. He took the book with both hands and glanced at the first entry.

Name: Gerard Johnston
Sex: Male
Date of Birth: 4th of October, 1994
Date Baptized: 6th of October, 1994
Parish: Belfast
County: Antrim
Denomination: Roman Catholic
Father: Unknown
Mother: Unknown
Date Accepted: 18th of October, 1994
Home: Belfast

Abandoned at the back entrance of the Parish of Saint John in County Antrim between 1 to 5am on the 4th of October, 1994. Taken in at 7:30am. Estimated no more than 2 days old. Displays no sickness despite duration left outside for. No identifying information. Given the name Gerard to honour Saint Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of abandoned children. Entered the Belfast home on 18th of October, 1994. May the Lord bless this strong child for greatness.

The dates, Gerard's age, the details of his abandonment; it was Rory. It had to be. Gerard Johnston had to be Rory Campbell.

Steve quickly read over the entry again. This time, the last line caught his eye. "May the Lord bless this strong child for greatness…" he mumbled to himself. Steve never considered himself a religious man but he felt that somehow, God had been watching over Rory from the day he was left on the church's doorstep.

"Mr McGarrett? Everything alright?" asked the woman, concern evident on her face.

"Yes...yes I'm fine."

"I take it this is the child you are looking for?"

"Yes...yes I think it is," Steve stumbled.

"Would you like me to provide you his file?"

"Please."

The woman came back a few minutes later carrying a thick manilla folder. She handed it to Steve who eagerly opened it up. The first thing he noticed was a picture of a young toddler, probably no older than 3 or 4 years old. He looked scared in the photo as he clutched what appeared to be a stuffed dog to his chest. He removed the photo and flipped it over. On the back, with blue ink, it read: Gerard Johnston, aged 3 ¾.

He returned the photo to the folder and began looking through the various written entries. Most entries discussed normal day-to-day activities, however, one entry quickly caught his eye.

11th of July, 1996

Fiona Breslin, 22-year old unwed single mother of 2, claims Gerard Johnston was the baby she gave up in the Parish of Saint John in October 1994. She stated Gerard was born out of wedlock and does not know the father. Miss Breslin is unemployed and living with her two other children born out of wedlock to different fathers in her mother's house. She requested to adopt Gerard. Based on Miss Breslin's employment status, moral character, and prior abandonment of Gerard, we denied her request.

Fiona Breslin. Rory's mother.

He closed the manilla folder, handing it back to the woman. "Thank you. You have been a tremendous help." Steve smiled at the lady, then turned around and left the building. As he walked outside, he pulled out his mobile phone and dialed a familiar number. "Miller. This is McGarrett. I need another favour."

McGarrett awkwardly trailed behind Miller as he strode down the street. They were in the heart of the Falls Road, a Catholic neighbourhood in West Belfast. This all used to be a no-go area for the Brits, Miller had explained.

Steve remained silent as Miller knocked on the door to the townhouse. He heard commotion from the other side. Soon, the door was opened and a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties appeared. The first thing Steve noticed were her eyes. They were dull, almost lifeless but they were the same as Rory's.

"Hello, Miss Fiona Breslin?" Miller asked.

"Yeah that's me," the woman responded. "Who are you?"

"I'm Special Agent Martin Miller with Interpol." Miller pointed to Steve standing behind him. "This is my friend Detective Steve McGarrett of the Hawaii Five-0 State Police."

"What do you two want?" Fiona asked, slightly annoyed. "I'm busy. And, I haven't even been to Hawaii before." She was especially eyeing Steve with extreme suspicion.

Steve stepped forward. "We're here to talk to you about your son," he paused, examining the lady in front of him. There was a spark of happiness in her dull tired eyes. "Gerard."

Fiona stepped back in shock. Steve saw the tears forming in her eyes. "Gerard...Gerard...is he OK? The nuns said he ran away. They told me he would come back. But he never did. They told me Gerard was probably dead and to forget he ever existed." Fiona couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Steve reached out to Fiona and stood there as she cried into his shoulder.

They stood like that for what felt like an hour; Fiona sobbing as Steve rubbed her back to comfort her. As Fiona began to regain her composure, she invited the two men into her house.

"Please, grab a seat," she said, gesturing to the chairs surrounding her small dining table.

Both men took a seat. Steve looked around at the small townhouse. The walls were barren with the exception of a small crucifix that hung on the wall across from him. The kitchen looked straight out of a 1970's appliance catalogue. It was clear that Fiona hadn't upgraded her kitchen in the past 40 years. The stove had clearly been white when it was first purchased but it had since turned an ugly shade of yellow. The fridge was covered in papers, stuck on with small magnets. She was clearly not the most well-off.

Fiona appeared and sat across from Steve. "Gerard...is he alive?" she asked. Her eyes were still red from sobbing. It pained Steve to see her this way. She clearly loved Rory. However, for the past 16 years, she wouldn't have known if Rory was dead or alive. She was a distraught mother, desperate to reconnect with her son. There's no pain like that of a mother losing her son, Steve thought to himself.

He nodded. "Gerard...Gerard changed his name to Rory Campbell and...and he's been doing well for himself." It felt weird calling Rory by his birth name. Gerard didn't suit him.

"Does...does he know about me? Where is he now? Is he still in Northern Ireland?" The questions came tumbling out of Fiona.

"Rory spent some time in Northern Ireland. He's been working around Europe and North America for the past few years. He works for the US government now," Steve explained.

"What does he do?"

Steve sighed. "I can't say. Rory's work is highly classified."

"Oh…" Fiona responded, looking down at the table, clearly saddened by Steve's response.

"Fiona," Steve said. She looked up at Steve. "Rory is an incredible young man. You should be proud to call him your son. His work is classified but you should know that what he does helps save the lives of Americans every day."

Fiona smiled. For the first time since he met her, she truly looked happy.

Steve just wanted a cold beer. Today had been incredibly taxing. He had chased a perp through downtown Honolulu, only to lose him in the crowd of mainland tourists. 10 minutes later, he spotted the perp trying to sneak his way out of the crowd. Steve immediately gave chase. He was able to apprehend him but only after a 3 km parkour chase through the more crime-ridden parts of downtown.

He was exhausted.

He walked to his fridge, pulling out a beer. As he made his way to his living room, he grabbed the stack of mail he had left on the kitchen counter.

As he combed through his mail, he saw a small envelope. It was addressed to him. Whoever the sender was, they hadn't bothered writing out his first name. All it said was S. McGarrett followed by his address. He looked at the corner of the envelope and frowned when he saw the kangaroo. He didn't know anyone from Australia. Or at least, no one who would send him a letter.

Cutting the envelope open, a single photo fell out.

He picked it up. It was a picture of five people; two men, two women, and a young girl who appeared to be around 5 or 6 years old. The same age when Rory ran away from the orphanage and began living with Michael. They were all smiling, posed in front of the Sydney Opera House. Steve recognised the two people in the centre. It was Rory and his mother, Fiona. Rory had his arm draped around Fiona. In his other hand, he held the young girl who was resting her head on Rory's shoulder. The other people in the photo looked to be around the same age as Rory but Steve didn't recognise them.

He flipped the photo around. Written in blue-ink, it read:

The Breslin Family, 2011