Pehea wau i ʻike ai i kou makuahine

Based on the characters and stories of Hawaii Five-0.

Hawaii Five-0 is owned by CBS and their respective creators.


Journal #1

North of Kabul, Afghanistan.

I crossed the border into Pakistan through the Hindu Kush mountains and found Najib. He recognized me and I was able to get him out of the camp undetected. Having to leave the other boys behind was a cruel choice to have to make, but I wouldn't have been able to travel with them all. I barely made it out with Najib. The downside is that I was caught re-entering Afghanistan by the CIA. They took both of us into custody. The upside is that I traded them intel on the Taliban camp in the Hindu Kush mountains in exchange for them allowing me to safely return Najib to his family. The other kids should be exfiled soon.

That's where the generosity ended. Seventy-two hours later, I'm finally sitting down to write. My first demand as a CIA operative was a journal. My second demand was a cup of coffee. My third demand was that Agent Coen go fuck himself after interrogating me in a black site for fifty-six hours. I was taken to The Salt Pit. It's an abandoned brick factory turned Middle Eastern Guantanamo. Perks of being former Intel? I know these things even if they won't tell me. (It drives that bastard, Coen, crazy.) Thankfully, now I'm at a safehouse. It's better, but only by a little.

I could hear the pain in Steve's voice when I talked to him after he got home. I had an idea of what Hassan probably did to him, but when Agent Coen made me watch the tape Umar Hassan had made, I couldn't stomach it. He played it over and over until I signed my life away on the dotted line. In that moment, I wanted to do things that would make the writers of the Geneva Convention faint. (Also, I want to treat Coen to some advanced interrogation techniques. Fourteen of those hours at The Salt Pit, I daydreamed about dropping him in Strawberry Fields and letting the inmates do their worst.)

They found Steve's passport and wallet in my bags. They threatened to have him extradited and charged. I knew I should have burned them. I was hoping to be able to mail them back to Steve. God knows the only thing worse than being beaten by the Taliban and almost executed is going to the DMV for a new license.

I miss him. I want to talk to him so bad it's killing me. The last time we texted, I was almost to the Hindu Kush mountains. He probably thinks I'm dead. Being stuck in this room - they told me it's a safehouse, but let's be real- it's worse than a Motel 6. It's driving me batshit crazy. Two more days being confined in this hell hole until they're done setting up my cover. Hopefully after that I'll be able to call him. Tell him I love him. This is the first time I've allowed myself to think about him. About hearing him say I love you. I can't let my guard down. Not until I know they're going to leave him alone.

I don't know where this new path is going to take me, but wherever it is, whatever I'm doing, he's the one I love.


"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir." Steve paced his office as he raked his fingers through his hair. Danny poked his head in and Steve quickly swatted him out and slammed the door in his face before drawing the blinds closed. According to the team, Steve was in a bad mood. That wasn't true. He just wanted to slam doors, prowl around, question every decision, and be a total pain in the ass because he liked it that way.

Steve and Catherine had finally exchanged those three little words. Three words that had been on the tip of his tongue for the better part of a decade. But, it had been over a satellite phone with a poor connection. Catherine didn't deserve that. She deserved roses and sushi and wine. She deserved to hear him say it to her while he held her close - when he could look her in the eye with contrition and adoration. He didn't regret telling her he loved her. He regretted waiting until it was too late.

Now, she was off saving the world one little boy at a time. He hadn't heard from her in two weeks since she said she was heading for the Hindu Kush mountains. Against his better judgement, he didn't hitch a ride of the first transport out of Hickam. He wanted to be her hero, but she had told him not to come after her. If she didn't need a hero, what good was he to her? He loved her. He wanted her to need him. But, if she didn't need him, was love even enough?

That's how he found himself wearing a hole in the floor of his office while he talked to Admiral Rollins.

"Steve." Tom's tone was restrained and terse. "You're telling me that you left my daughter in Afghanistan."

He knew better than to fight it. He deserved every bit of hellfire and brimstone that was coming his way, "Yes, Sir. I, uh, I haven't heard from her in a couple weeks but I'm working with some contacts to get a lock on her location."

"And then what?" Tom snapped. At that moment he wasn't a decorated Navy Admiral. He was a father scared for his baby girl. "What are you going to do with her location?"

Steve sighed, "Track her, Sir. Most likely via satellite. Sir, I want to go after her just as much as you do, but if I cross that border, we risk putting her in more danger."

"What about your mother, Steve? Catherine told us she was CIA."

"I've tried to get in touch with Doris." Steve confirmed. "She's active in The Company. If I can get in touch with her, she'd be able to keep her ear to the ground." He groaned, "Problem is, she's a little hard to reach these days. She can be rather… evasive… when she wants to be."

"Steve, I trusted you with her." Tom stated. His words were frostier than Antarctica in January and it cut Steve to the bone.

"I know." He admitted as he held his hands in his head. "Sir, I'm doing everything I can to get her back."

Tom sighed, "Let me know what I can do from my end. I'll trust that you're making the right call... For now."

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, "I'll call you and Evelyn as soon as I hear something."


"Rollins. Briefing room. Ten minutes." The man who was built like a refrigerator barked as he dropped her personal effects on the floor of her room. "No outside contact until you've been read in on the assignment."

Catherine grabbed the two camouflage bags as Fridge exited the room. The bags had been searched. That much she knew. She did a quick inventory and noted that nothing had been taken. She checked the battery on her satellite phone and felt a rush of relief when it wasn't dead. Even Steve's passport and wallet had been returned. She made a mental note to ship them out as soon as she got the chance. Gingerly, she pulled out the two most precious things she had hidden in the lining of her bag: the polaroid and Steve's dog tags with one of hers on the chain.

Carefully, she repacked the final remnants of her life with Steve and stowed them in the corner of the tiny room. Might as well be a jail cell, she thought. Catherine looped the dog tags around her neck and tucked them underneath her shirt. The polaroid went in the zippered pocket of her fitted jeans. They were almost cargo pants. Steve would be proud.

She left her prison for the first time in days and stalked down the hall until she found what she assumed to be the briefing room. "Rollins. Nice of you to join us." Agent Coen sneered. The weasley, little man eyed her with complete and utter disdain.

"Andrew." Catherine knew that nothing drove ladder-climbing operatives more insane than being addressed by their first name. Rather than sitting, she opted for standing at the end of the conference table with her arms folded. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked around at the other agents in the room. The problem with the CIA, she noted, was the lack of uniforms. She had always felt a sense of comfort at seeing someone's rank on their uniform and immediately knowing how she was supposed to proceed. The attire in the room ranged from suits and ties to sweat stained t-shirts and gym shorts. Her cargo-jeans and bomber jacket put her somewhere in the middle and being in the middle meant she could blend in… if she wanted to. Right then, she didn't want to fit the mold they were trying to squeeze her in, "Can we get this show on the road? I've got places to be."

"Can someone tell the bitch from the boat to sit down?" Coen spat as he lazily thumbed through his notes, making an obvious dig at her Navy background. Not looking at Catherine proved to be a mistake. Before he even realized what was happening, Catherine had crossed the small briefing room and had him pinned against the projector screen. The steel grip of her hand clamped around his throat as her fist smashed into his face. "FUCKING SHIT." He howled as she released his neck and let him crumple to the ground.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" She responded with a sickening sweetness. She returned to her firm stance at the back of the room and raised an eyebrow, silently willing anyone else to cross her.

The Fridge cleared his throat, "Let's, uh, let's just get this op read." By Catherine's estimate, He loomed somewhere between six foot three and six foot five with at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle.. The folding chair he had crammed into looked ridiculously uncomfortable for a man of his size.

Good.

"Lieutenant Rollins," A woman in a trim pantsuit addressed her this time. There was an air of hesitancy in her voice. Coen was still in a pile on the floor. Two observations, she noted, that worked in her favor. The first, was that Fridge and Pantsuit seemed to be the amenable peacekeepers of the group. The second being that no one had helped Coen up. That thought made Catherine smirk. Apparently everyone else thought he got what he deserved and looked at her like she was karma incarnate. Pantsuit gave Coen a pitying look as he stumbled out of the room clutching his hand to his bloody eye. With a little sigh, she picked up his notes and added, "Let's begin."


Alone at last in her new living quarters, Catherine opened the dossier she had been given and began to review her cover. She would be going village to village teaching English to school kids. Her fluency in Pashto made her invaluable. When it came to foreigners, people suspected CIA agents to look like Fridge. They didn't expect undercover operatives to be a selfless brunette teaching proper conjugations and living off meager donations from stateside supporters. The CIA suspected there to be a group of Taliban sympathizers in the area. Following the Kabul Serena Hotel attack months earlier, whispers of another planned attack had everyone on edge. Her job was to embed herself into the community and get any intel she could to prevent further violence.

A quiet knocking interrupted her thoughts. "What." She snapped.

Fridge cracked the door open and peered inside. His blond hair was buzzed short on the sides, but longer and wavier on top. His moss green eyes surveyed the situation before he eased in the room. "Brought you this." He handed her a sleek, black phone. "Company issue. Company business only." Fridge glanced over his shoulder before adding on, "I'd keep your sat phone charged up. This one's monitored, so, uh, no three AM calls with your boyfriend on it unless you want the whole house knowing just how you like it in bed." He grinned, flashing the whitest teeth she had ever seen.

"Thanks." She replied flatly as she reached out and took the phone from him.

Fridge let out a bellowing laugh, "I should be thanking you. We've all been wanting to deck Coen for years. You broke his eye socket."

She extended her hand to him and introduced herself with a curt smile, "Catherine Rollins, purveyor of karma."

Abandoning the doorway, he stepped inside her room and shook her hand with his sausage fingers, "Jude Beckett, your new best friend."

So, the refrigerator had a name and it was Jude. Catherine gave him a stern once-over. He was easily two of Steve and half of Danny crammed into one body. "I'll be the judge of that." She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms.

Jude shrugged, "Suit yourself, Rollins. But, it's you and me in the field, so, uh, just try not to punch me in the face." A quick grin flashed across his face, "Anywhere else is fine. Just not the face." Catherine didn't doubt it. Jude could probably get hit by a truck and it would bounce right off his chest.

"You're gonna be undercover as a teacher?" She raised an eyebrow. There was no way his behemoth frame would blend in anywhere. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

He chuckled, "I won't bother you. You won't even know I'm there. I'm just your babysitter for the time being. Now, if you behave yourself and refrain from physical assault- they'll probably let you off your leash and you can be on your own." Jude glanced at his watch. "You should call home. Check in. McGarrett's probably waking up right about now." He added on, "Just remember your cover and the terms of your contract."

"How do you know about-"

Before she could finish, he simply pointed at himself and said, "Spy."

Catherine rolled her eyes and closed the door as he left. She pulled Steve's bag up onto her bed and tugged out the SEAL hoodie. She shimmied it over her body and inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne. Catherine pulled out the satellite phone and dialed. Heart pounding, she waited until she heard the distinct click of the call connecting. "Hey, Sailor."

Steve exhaled a heavy breath, "Catherine. You alright?" His voice was tense and tired. "God, I've- I've been so fucking worried. I haven't heard from you in two weeks."

"I know." She grimaced. Quickly, she hopped up and locked the door. The last thing she needed was her 'new best friend' barging in and seeing her collapsing like a dying star in a pool of her own tears. "I'm okay. I'm alright."

Static filled the line as Steve scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. "Where are you? Did you find Najib?"

"I got him. He's safe. He's home."

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. She heard the squeak of the bed as he flopped back. "Do you need exfil? What's the plan? How are you getting out?"

Tears slid down her cheeks as she stared at the folder marked CLASSIFIED that lay in front of her. "I'm not."

"What!?" He hissed, "What do you mean? Not getting out? What the hell, Cath? What- what are you talking about?"

She took a cleansing breath and recalled the cover she had been assigned. "I'm staying." She swallowed the sand in her throat and did her best to soldier on, "I'm worried the Taliban are gonna come back for him. For the rest of the kids. So, I'm staying. I, um… I'm gonna teach in the school here in the village and make sure they stay safe."

Catherine could practically see his reaction. He would be sitting up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He probably had 'aneurysm face', as Danny called it. "Catherine…" He sighed, "I love you."

Her teardrops had turned into a torrential downpour. "I love you too. But I have to do this."

For you.

"You promise me you're being careful." He choked out. "You promise me. Promise that you'll call or text me as much as you can."

"I promise." She whimpered. "Steve, I mean it. I love you. And this is the hardest choice I've ever made, but I can't walk away from this. Not yet." Visions of the recording of his near-death experience in a Taliban camp clouded her memory. She couldn't walk away. Not if the CIA was threatening to go after him. She had promised to have his six and anyone who got in her way would have hell to pay. She sniffed and wiped her red-rimmed eyes, "I, um, I need to call my folks… I probably have some explaining to do."

"I've already talked to your dad."

"Oh, God." She cupped her hand over her mouth, "He's gonna kill me, isn't he?"

Steve chuckled dryly, "More like he wants to kill me for leaving you over there by yourself." He let out a slow breath, "Just call them and tell them you're okay."

"I'll talk to you soon."

Steve gritted his teeth, willing himself not to cry. "Aloha, Cath."


"Doing some reading?" Catherine rested her chin on his shoulder and peered at the journal in his hand.

Steve leaned his head back and looked at her. Closing the journal and setting it aside, he mumbled, "C'mere." He opened his arms and turned in the office chair to ease her onto his lap. "You know I love you, right?"

Catherine nodded and pecked his lips playfully. "I love you too."

"I don't think I ever thanked you for what you did. Joining up with The Company to keep me out of their sights." He chuckled, "I yelled at you a lot about it on the way to Rabat, but, uh, I never said thank you. And I should have."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on him. "You would've done the same for me." She chewed on her lip before admitting, "SERE doesn't prepare us for what to do when someone you love is on the line."

His thumb brushed against the soft skin of her cheek. He drew her lips to his and kissed her so tenderly that she thought her heart was going to spontaneously combust. He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, "Half the night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after the delight of early skies; In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the meeting of the 'morrow."

"You memorized Tennyson?"

Steve chuckled as his thumb pressed against the pout of her lower lip, "Had to do something while I was pining over you."

Catherine smiled and brought her mouth back to his, "Fortune cookie me later. I wanna kiss you."


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Oh, you guys- I've been so excited to start writing this new era of their story! I finally have the creative freedom to write outside of the lines of the show! Prepare yourself to meet a host of new characters! I can't wait to see what you thought! Leave it in the reviews, loves!

Happy Friday!

XO,

-Mags-


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