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.
Catherine moved quickly down the narrow alleyway. The frigid air sliced against her skin, burning her cheeks and nose. Her long hair was tucked into the fur lined hood of her parka. Sure, it obscured her peripheral vision, but certain sacrifices had to be made when it came to not freezing to death.
She shouldn't have been walking alone. Coen was supposed to be with her, but Basayev had looked at her one too many times and she was dangerously close to being made. They had to split up.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as an eerie sensation lit up her nerves. Catherine picked up her pace and shoved her hands deep into her pockets, fingering the switchblade she kept inside. Two blocks until she was back at the safehouse. She could make it there.
She exhaled sharply and watched as her breath clouded in front of her face before fading into the grayness.
Hands flew out of nowhere and closed around her arms before throwing her against the unforgiving brick wall of the alley. She reacted without thinking, operating on muscle memory.
Her elbow connected with someone's nose with a satisfying crunch. She didn't celebrate. Her hand immediately shot out and pummeled into another assailant's throat. He stumbled back before hitting the sidewalk, gasping for breath. She turned and reared back to face off with the third attacker, but he was faster and a hell of a lot bigger.
And he had a gun aimed at her head.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other two men slowly getting back to their feet. It was now or never. She couldn't take on three grown men when there was a gun involved. The odds weren't on her side.
Catherine could see the safehouse from where she stood. All she needed was a little luck and just the right opening.
And there it was.
Everything faded away. It was just her and Steve on the mat in the gym aboard the Enterprise. His sure, steady voice giving her instructions. Facing off against multiple attackers demands strategy over brute force.
The switchblade opened with a deadly click and in a split second, it was out of her hands. Spinning, hurling towards the gunman. The blade hit its mark, and the man went down. Blood seeped out of his gut as he ripped the blade out of his stomach.
Rookie mistake. Should have left it in. He'd bleed out in minutes.
Catherine kicked the gun out of his hand. She couldn't very well roam the streets of Grozny without a weapon. She grabbed the gun and took off in a sprint.
The big guy wasn't going down without a fight. She heard the thunderous stomps of his boots closing in behind her. Catherine took a chance and glanced behind her. Big was catching up to her with each long stride. Blood oozed out of the knife wound and left a spotted trail behind him. She pulled on the slide of the gun and loaded a round into the chamber. Big's meaty hand grabbed the hood of her parka and yanked.
A bullet exploded out of the barrel of the gun as a flash of silver caught her eye. Her shoulder sang as the dagger ripped through her layers and sliced through her skin. She swore brightly as she squeezed off another round and put Big on the ground.
The other two goons caught up with their leader and dragged him away as she bolted towards the safe house.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Coen spat. "You were supposed to be back a hour ago."
Catherine leveled him a look so cold it made Chechnya look like Tahiti. "Fuck off."
"And why the hell are you bleeding?" He yelled as she rammed her good shoulder into his chest as stormed to the bathroom.
"I got jumped." Catherine snapped as she shed her torn parka and long sleeved thermals. "Not that it's any of your concern, but I'm fine, thank you very much."
She let out a sigh of relief when he sulked away and returned to whatever ring of hell he occupied. She hissed as she peeled the last layer off of her bloodied skin. Truth be told, she had gotten lucky. Sure, she'd need twenty or thirty stitches that she couldn't exactly get at the moment, but a big ass slice in her shoulder was preferable to being mugged and left for dead on the street.
Catherine hissed as she poured peroxide into the wound. Forty years old and she was still disgusted by the sight of the bubbling chemical as it cleansed the gauge. She giggled to herself, sure, that grossed her out but it was a hell of a lot better than her mother dousing her in Bactine "to get the gunk out" when she would scrape her knees or get banged up being the rough and tumble child she had been.
Wistfulness panged in her gut, and without even realizing it, her hand drifted to her stomach and pressed against it. How different would things have been if she'd never lost the baby?
What if she had never left? What if she had never gone after Najib?
"What" and "if" are two tiny, unassuming little words that have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life.
She stared in the mirror as the peroxide slowly stopped fizzling. The stab wound was long, starting at the top of her shoulder and curving down around her scapula. Even if she could muster the courage to sew her own stitches, the awkward angle of the laceration made it impossible. Butterfly bandages would have to do. Catherine ripped into the first aid bag and began to close the wound. A sigh of relief escaped when the last Steri-strip was on. She tore a long strip of medical tape off the roll with her teeth and secured a large piece of gauze over her shoulder.
Catherine stalked into her room and slammed the door. Sure, it was a petulant reaction to the day's events, but she wasn't exactly feeling like being mature. Here she was, in cold ass Chechnya with Coen. The assignment had been going terribly and Langley was breathing down their necks to get the intel they needed to send in a team of special operators and wrap things up.
It wasn't the new country or the change of pace. After all, despite the odds being against her, she had excelled in Kiev. It was being alone. Humans were pack creatures. It wasn't healthy to be alone. To be isolated.
When you're alone on an op, you start to second guess yourself. You start to blur the lines between right and wrong. You make decisions you otherwise wouldn't.
Catherine knew she shouldn't be alone on an op, but Coen was leaving in the morning to get Doris settled in Mexico. That on its own was cause to celebrate.
Things seemed to go so well when she was working the op by herself. When he came around, things always fell apart at the eleventh hour. She'd lose the target she was tailing. The intel they'd pass on about deals and weapons sales would be wrong. And then today, Basayev had made her. She was sure of it.
If the men in the alley had been answering to him, she'd already be dead. They were sloppy, untrained. They had been opportunistic and pegged her as an easy target. Just an ordinary girl who made the mistake of walking alone.
Catherine wasn't like most girls and they had learned their lesson.
She stretched out on the bed and pulled the threadbare blanket over her body. Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath, and for a fleeting second, allowed herself to think about Steve.
Steve sat outside in the weathered beach chairs and closed his eyes. The evening breeze danced across the beach as the tide came in. Fireflies lit up and snuffed out, working out their own kind of Morse code in the humid night air. The crickets and tree frogs were competing with each other in a raucous celebration.
It was the kind of night that he and Catherine used to love. The winter had melted away into a lively spring and now, the spring was quickly making way for summer.
None of it made him feel better.
He hadn't heard from Catherine for months and February felt farther away than when she had made her promise to him in Taiwan.
Eddie eased up beside his chair and plopped his furry behind into the sand. He gave his human's hand a friendly lick, silently begging for a good scratch behind the ear. Steve complied and roughed up his fur.
Nothing felt right anymore. Jerry was in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound. Steve should have been in that hospital bed. Not Jerry. The bullet had been meant for him.
Catherine had told him she'd be going dark for a while, but he needed desperately to hear her voice. Almost begrudgingly, Steve slid his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
Her pleasant voice filled his ear as she sing-songed her way through the voicemail message. "You've reached Catherine Rollins. Please leave a message after the beep!"
That would have to do for now. Hearing those eleven words would have to be enough.
"Hey, Cath. It's, uh, it's me. I was just callin' to check on you. I, uh… I hope you're doing okay…. Miss you. Stay safe out there, wherever you are."
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and closed his eyes. He'd been shot before. More times than he could remember, if he was being honest. When he went through airport security, he lit up the scanners like a Christmas tree until he handed the TSA agents the letter from his doctor at Tripler explaining all the shrapnel he carried inside his body.
Shrapnel and bullets weren't the only things he carried around permanently.
Guilt. Fear. Regret. They all lived rent-free in his mind.
When was the last time he had felt a shred of peace?
Montana, he thought. Having Catherine on his side. In his bed. Having someone like her look out for him. He was lucky as hell to have friends like Danny, Grover, and Junior. They were irreplaceable- especially Danny. He'd die for them and vice versa. It wasn't even a question in his mind. But Catherine? She was the one he wanted to come home to every day. She was the one he wanted to wake up to. She was the one who kept his head above water when he felt like he was drowning. The one person he had always felt safe enough to let his guard down around. She gave him peace.
She was his peace.
Journal #16
Grozny, Chechnya
It's official. I can only do cold-weather ops now. This fucking stab wound on my shoulder is going to scar and basically become a billboard that screams "I'M A COVERT OPERATIVE. SHOOT ME." Good thing Chechnya is cold all the time.
Or maybe that's just me.
Coen's been gone a lot and for that I give thanks. The last time he was here I asked him what's been going on in Mexico, but anytime I bring it up, he gets jumpy. Something doesn't sit right with me about it. I can't put my finger on it, but I trust my instincts- something's gone sideways with Doris's op. I can feel it.
At least with him gone, things have been going surprisingly well for me. My intel has been good, the brass is happy, and the op is coming along nicely.
I have to stop myself from looking at the calendar. From counting down the days. I can't let myself get sidetracked by daydreaming about being out. Sometimes when I fall asleep I think about sitting on the beach with Steve in those old chairs that he has on the shoreline.
It's crazy to me how long we really have been in each other's lives. When I first met his dad, John had just put a fresh coat of paint on them the day before we got on the island. The last time I was there, they looked decrepit. I think it's the charm, though. The reminder that there are some things that stand the test of time.
When I'm feeling really lonely, I think about the day I officially resigned my commission and retired from the Navy. I had gotten up early and went out and sat in one of the chairs to watch the sunrise. Steve came down a little while later and for a minute, just stood there, leaning on the back of the chair like he was watching my six. And I loved it. In that moment, it felt like he would be the one place in the world that I would always call home.
Catherine had kissed and been kissed before, but with Steve, everything was always new. He was a constant surprise to her. Was it because he was so blatantly male? So physically appealing? Was it because of those hurricane eyes? The peaceful blue flecked with gray and hazel?
Maybe it was how he was such a bulldozer around everyone else but with her, he held her like she was a thing to be treasured and guarded. He knew that she didn't need to be protected, but he wanted to anyway.
The balance of strength and vulnerability in Steve was undeniably attractive and undeniably him.
He slid his hands across the flat planes of her shoulders, smoothed them up the side of her neck, and into her hair, tilting her head up, up, up. Their eyes locked, breath mingled, heartbeats matched. Using his thumb, Steve nudged her chin up just a little higher. Whisper-soft, his lips brushed hers. Once, then twice, before finally landing lightly.
Catherine sighed into him and melted as the slow kiss changed. He was still gentle, still cautious, but now he was tasting her. Thoroughly savoring every breath, every sigh, every little moan that escaped her mouth.
Her eyes grew heavy with the sensation of his mouth on hers. It was decadent.
The kiss stretched on and on. Her hands splaying across his broad chest, her body pitching forward into him. And still, Steve kissed her.
It wasn't an appetizer, she realized. The kiss was the main course and she wanted to savor every little flavor.
After an eternity, Steve eased back ever so slightly, "I will never, ever take for granted being able to kiss you whenever I want." He said quietly.
His lips were still just a hair away from hers. Their breath, heavy and hot, mingled in the tight confines of their bed. He threaded his fingers through her hair, combing it back and sending a delectable shiver up her spine. Steve pulled her in for one more searing kiss. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too." Catherine sighed happily as she rolled over and wiggled back into him.
Steve wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against the scar that curved along her shoulder blade. "You gonna miss them?"
Catherine nodded. "Yeah. I worry about them being in the field." Caroline and Decker had left the island at the end of their R and R to prepare for their next assignment. "But I think it meant a lot to Jude that they came out here." She closed her eyes as he traced the line of disfigured skin. "You read about it, didn't you?"
Steve noticed all her scars and made a point to kiss them regularly. They didn't scare him. He knew where each one was located and the stories behind them all. The one on her shoulder though, it was the biggest. The most prominent. The one she never talked about. Proper stitches and medical attention probably would have left her with a hairline scar at most, but they hadn't always been privileged with that luxury in the field. "The mugging in Chechnya? Yeah, I, uh, I did."
"Attempted mugging." She clarified as he placed another loving kiss on the scar. Each time he did that, it took a little more of the pain away. The physical pain had healed years ago, but the emotional scars ran deep. "I held my own, thank you very much."
He chuckled, "Of that I have no doubt." Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back against his chest. "They decided to take you on with only three men?" He scoffed, "Amateurs."
Catherine giggled. "Go to sleep." She craned her head back and pecked his lips one more time. "Night, Commander."
"Night, Lieutenant."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Leave your thoughts and comments in the reviews, loves!
I'm going to level with you guys. We're really close to the end of this thing and the realization of that has me constantly alternating between "HALLELUJAH, IT'S ALMOST OVER" to sobbing and saying, "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S ALMOST OVER!" So, yeah. I'm a little bit of a hot mess at the moment.
I love you guys so much. Getting to know all of you and learning about you has been the absolute best part of writing this. When I sign off on my author's notes and say that you're wonderful, amazing people, I truly believe that.
We've still got a few twists and turns before the end, but I feel like until then, I'll be constantly enamored with how absolutely grateful I am for every single one of you.
XO,
-Mags-
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