February 4th, Monday

Iolani Palace

1030 Hours

The new week brings in further developments on their ongoing terrorism case. The two men they had identified as being the facilitators of the bomb storage are captured and brought to their rendition facility, to face the wrath of Steve. They end up not adding much to what 5-0 already know, but they manage to get confirmation that Al-Nazri is still trying to get in touch with some seriously unsavoury people on the island, which means he's not done with his revenge plan. That worries 5-0 more than they are willing to admit, since with so little information, it's hard to find clues to investigate.

Steve continues to avoid the ocean and Danny with committed determination. Having managed to get a reprieve from his questions and general worry, he decides to pretend he's getting better from whatever is afflicting him and just get on with work. At some point, in the middle of the afternoon, he decides to finally make the call he's been dreading making – well, at least one of them, he thinks, with annoyance. He'll need solitude and an uninterrupted evening for the other, which is far more delicate. Suddenly, the words 'life', 'future' and 'clarity' pop into his mind. Yes, he definitely needs those. Then, another word creeps up, unexpected and unwanted: 'closure'. Feeling sick, he wills it away quickly, not even wanting to contemplate its full meaning. He's beginning to feel that he won't be able to let go of the idea of Catherine in the near future; perhaps waiting a while for things to settle, and getting on with life would be the best course of action for both of them, but he can tell that he just won't be able to let go, because more than anything, he's very intrigued. He thinks back to the time she had left to go work for the CIA. He hadn't felt like this because the dominant emotion to take hold of him had been anger. Anger and, really, ignorance. He hadn't understood, because she hadn't been able to explain fully, he now knows. Or hadn't wanted to, he still doesn't know. After three years, she still hasn't explained. And he never asked, directly and to her face. The word "COWARD" blinks before his eyes, in neon lights, and he sighs, annoyed at himself. He fears rejection – what man doesn't – but after all the blows life has dealt him, perhaps his fear of it, and consequent will to escape from the feeling, are stronger than in most people. Suddenly, his thoughts turn to Lynn. Had he ever feared rejection from Lynn? He thinks back and concludes that the thought had never entered his mind. In fact, the way she had reacted to their breakup had been a relief in itself. He liked her enough, but the thought of living without her had never caused an iota of pain in his heart. Sure, he'd been with Catherine the longest – but had he, really? 'If you add up all the days you actually spent with each of them, Steve, you might be surprised. So, it's not the time – it's the woman, really. And they're both gone from your life, the difference is that one left without you wanting her to, and unfortunately, that was the one you wanted. Hello, Murphy's Law. You always want what you can't have.'

Feeling a headache coming on, with so many thoughts twirling around in his head, he picks up the phone and dials Dr. Alana's office to make the dreaded appointment. Getting it over and done with seems like a positive tick to put on his daily list of things to do. For now, it'll also allow him to put that subject out of his mind, and that is a definite virtue, he thinks.

He doesn't want to think, right now – he wants, no – he needs – action. Al-Nazri is still out there and despite having been chased off into the mountains of Afghanistan, Steve knows he'll be back, in one way or another. They'll have to be extra-vigilant to foil any domestic terror plot he may be planning. This isn't over.

Steve arrives home, tired, wanting nothing more than to sit on his sofa for a quiet evening and a stupidly cold beer. Eddie comes in from the kitchen, begging for a belly rub and lies down by his side, happy to have his elusive owner home, at last. Nights are always the worst time, for him. When he's left alone with his thoughts and regrets, and she comes to his mind in such a clear way, it makes his heart constrict with sadness. He had hoped that time and distance might help make her absence easier to bear; what he finds is that his loneliness always makes his mind wander into sad and regretful thoughts.

Reaching for his cell phone, he brings it to life, hoping against hope that she may have sent him a text, but finds his inbox barren of anything but work-related stuff. Steve closes his eyes and thinks back to a week before, when they'd given in to their need for each other, every moment so vivid in his mind, he actually feels uncomfortable at the thoughts. The way she had given in to him, loved him, and then, the way she had ripped his heart out, again, and sent him away… had she really been sorry? Or had he merely been another notch on her bedpost? As soon as he thinks it, he regrets the thought; he may be clueless to a lot of things around him, but Catherine's love for him was still there, he's absolutely sure. Everything, that night and morning, had told him so, he has no doubt. She had loved him with such intensity, such abandon, throwing 'tomorrow' to the wind… so, why? Why? Then, his mind turns to the CIA. The hated, odious CIA, who took his mother from him, and consequently him from his father and sister, and Catherine. And continues to do so. Why can't he ever be enough? Why is it that he's never the chosen one, over a heartless ghost of a machine that eats you up and trudges you back in pieces, identity garbled up, memories tainted with all the horrors of war? Angered and slightly drunk, adamant he wants answers to his questions, he unlocks his phone and starts typing out a message. "Catherine…" He lingers, not sure what to say next. "How are you," seems too casual, "Miss you," too intimate, "You never stayed in touch," too reproachful. Fingers poised above the virtual keys, Steve sighs, struggling to make a decision, none of the options palatable to him. He takes another slug of his beer, never taking his eyes away from the screen, until his anger dissipates momentarily and his self-preservation instincts kick in again. Actually turning the phone off doesn't seem punishment enough, right now; he needs to erase every single letter that he's put on that screen, one by one, as if needing to feel the pain of saying goodbye all over again. Elizabeth Rollins never crosses his mind again. Once he's done, despite getting no satisfaction whatsoever from that action, he drags himself up the stairs for another sleepless night.

February 7th, Thursday

Dr. Alana's Office

1830 Hours

The room is the same as so many doctor's offices' waiting rooms; stark, white ceiling lighting, scratched wooden floors, frayed, worn-out sofas and generic, fading art on the walls. Someone is already waiting and as he eyes the newcomer, Steve gets the distinct impression that he feels intimidated by his presence – perhaps he'd like to be anywhere else, but here, and Steve understands the feeling. The mellow ambient music only serves to enhance the awkwardness of the situation, as no amount of music will ever make anyone calm or happy to be where they are. Dentist's appointments come to Steve's mind and he smiles to himself. His degree of 'uncomfortable' in either is very similar; the chair he's sitting on is pretty much the same in both settings.

A few minutes later, he hears a door open, and a woman of about 30 exits, with a slightly cheap look, very red lips and dressed in a skirt that's way too mini for her legs. She eyes Steve appreciatively, smiling broadly, perhaps hoping to find companionship for the night, and says her goodbyes to the man who brought her to the door. Sadly, for her, it's Steve's turn, next, so she sighs audibly and raises her eyebrows and shoulders in regret, hoping she'll be able to catch up with the handsome stranger next time. He smiles sheepishly at her, mildly amused, and enters the office.

Dr. Alana turns on his heels and shakes Steve's hand, and the newest presence in his office seems to wake him from the sad stupor of his endless days, curiosity piqued. Over his white coat, Steve can glimpse a whimsical tie over a blue shirt, which does not match the corduroy pants he completes his ensemble with, one bit. A total mismatch and yet, somehow, all of it seems to compose the man, rather than be a disparaging view.

Steve likes Dr. Alana; if anything, he's never really overanalyzed him but rather always tried to help. Given that being here is also not optional, he may as well get it over and done with. He sits down on the chair pointed to him by the slender, short man who takes the chair opposite, behind the rather large, imposing desk. His eyes never deviate from Steve's, his interested gaze and calm demeanour conveying confidence as he addresses his newest patient.

"Commander, welcome back. I can see, here, that you were due for you yearly Psych Audit very soon, but since you're here ahead of time, which I have to say, is a first amongst law enforcement personnel, I take it you felt the need to come see me?"

"Actually, I'm here because the Governor told me to," Steve says, fidgeting, but deciding to be honest.

"I see…" the shrink says with a smile. "Maybe she is worried about you?"

"So it seems… something about too much work and not enough rest," and he smirks, to disguise his obvious need to defend himself.

"I see. Let's talk a little bit about what's been going on with you since last year. What's been happening at work?"

"You know, the usual," he shrugs. "Criminals, interrogation rooms, crime lab, post mortems, high speed chases, the satisfaction of bringing criminals to justice…" And he smiles, finally.

Dr. Alana smiles an understanding smile. "I see. And how is the work environment?"

"Well, I'm the boss, so…" Both men smile again. "We're Ohana. Real Ohana. So we all get along. It's a great work environment, really. But we work hard."

"I can imagine the job to be physically demanding?"

"Very," Steve smiles at the understatement. "I've been shot at and stabbed more times than I can remember, even got a new liver and radiation poisoning for my troubles. We work long hours and shifts, too, which doesn't help. But, it's all in a day's work. We knew the risks when we started, and the good people of O'ahu deserve it."

"And at home? How are things? How have you been sleeping?"

Steve sighs, looking away, trying to think of what to say that won't sound too alarming. "Not so good. I've been having insomnia, can't sleep through the night."

Dr. Alana frowns, jotting down some notes on his pad. "That is a concern, Commander. Sleep is paramount. How long has this been going on?"

Steve is surprised by the question, and takes a few seconds to answer, trying to think back. "Little over a week."

"You feel you need something to help you sleep?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not really a fan of drugs."

"Sleeping pills are not to be taken long term, Commander. They're merely an aid to get you back on track. But let's leave that conversation for the end, shall we? So, according to you, then, work is not the main reason why you came to see me, today?"

"Excuse me?" Steve is caught off guard with such an accurate assumption. It's too late to hide his surprise, anyway.

"Commander, like I said, I deal with Law Enforcement every day. Most times, we almost have to threaten staff with sanctions or dismissal for them to come to their appointments," Dr. Alana exaggerates, amused. "You've been no different, over the years," he says, looking down at his notes. "But this time… an anomaly. So, I am very interested in what made you come ahead of time, of your own volition. And please, Commander," he says, holding out his open hand, "do me the courtesy of not trying to pull wool over my eyes. I've been doing this for a long time and it wouldn't be productive for either of us."

Stubbornness is strong in this one, he's actually proud of it. "I came because the Governor told me to. Apparently, it was time for my next Psych Audit." Ah, the sweet sound of denial. It ain't just a river in Egypt, like they say.

"Commander…" Dr. Alana pauses meaningfully, looking at him as you would a child. He says no more, instead waiting for Steve to cede.

Steve sighs, looking down, defeated, caught. He debates, for a moment, if the department shrink is really the person he wants to pour his heart out to, but figures he could do a lot worse. A trained professional, neutral, detached, with whom he has no personal relation. He'll do. "OK, fine. You're right. Something did happen that unbalanced me, I've been off my game ever since." But he doesn't add any more, instead looks away, thinking how hard it is to open up – to anyone. He wonders, for a fleeting second, if his dad ever had department-sanctioned shrink sessions?

The man opposite him senses his difficulty. "I can tell it's something that's making you very uncomfortable, Commander. I would imagine not a lot of things make you feel like that, so it must've been big. If not work, then… family life?"

A pause. Seconds go by where he struggles to put words together and make sentences. To constrict his throat and talk. "Actually, it started with work. 5-0 was first on the scene of the bombings, a few weeks ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry you had to go through that…"

"Yeah, it was tough. So many people dead, and all because of what? An angry terrorist with a revenge wish?" His eyes drift to a far-away spot outside, as he remembers the horror.

"It's rarely just that, the hatred is deep seated and often rooted in childhood traumas or family events… unless they're total psychopaths and were born that way."

"Yeah, well, I hated him too. So I decided to go after him. With the Governor's approval, of course." That's the official narrative and he's sticking to it.

Dr. Alana really doesn't seem interested in those details. "OK. And I'm guessing, what? A war scenario?"

"Afghanistan, yes." He doesn't add any more, thinking back to what his time there had entailed.

"But, you're a SEAL. You must've seen a lot and dealt with a lot. Why was this different?"

Steve hesitates, now quite sure how to word 'Catherine'. He bows his head sideways, sighing. "When I was in Afghanistan, I came across an ex-."

"Girlfriend?"

Steve shrugs. "Yeah, I guess you could call her that."

The doctor looks attentively at Steve for a few seconds, quiet, not exactly sure what to make of his patient's reply. She's either much more than that or almost nothing at all, he can't tell, but he's intrigued. Leaning back in his chair, he waits for Steve to continue. When he doesn't, he adds, "go on."

"She was there, for work, too. We've hardly seen each other for the past three years, and it surprised me, that's all." The word 'coward' shines brightly again in his mind, but he's starting to feel uncomfortable at the therapist's eyes boring into his.

Dr. Alana preliminarily sticks with 'more important that he'd like to admit to his conscious self, right now'. Or 'in denial', which might also seem appropriate. "So that's what's really bothering you… making you lose sleep? Why is this woman important, to you?" He's saying it more for Steve's benefit, than asking for professional enlightenment.

"I never said she was." He wants to fight the therapist's assessment with all his might.

Smiling indulgently as if to a child who's being mischievous, Dr. Alana goes on. "Come now, Commander, it's just the two of us, here. You can open up. Don't waste this opportunity. Ever think that it may help with whatever is going on with you?"

Steve sighs, again, uncomfortable but willing to go on, if only for now. "We met in the Navy, I was her C.O. in Naval Intelligence. Eventually, when I was no longer her direct superior, we started dating, shortly before I left to join the SEALS. I say 'dating', but you can imagine how often we saw each other. Then, nine years ago, I came to the island to bury my father and after accepting the Governor's work proposal, she relocated her shore location to O'ahu."

"So, she remained in the Navy?" Dr. Alana asks, surprised.

"Yes. Two and a half years later, she resigned her commission and moved in with me."

"What happened, then?"

"She came to work for 5-0 and stayed for another year and a half. Then, one day, she got a call from a man who had saved her life, in Afghanistan, asking for help to rescue his son, he'd been taken by the Taliban. I went with her and was captured and almost beheaded and because we had gone in without Military clearance, she managed to stay behind to continue looking for the boy, but I was sent back and cautioned never to return, or I'd be court martialed."

"I see." Dr. Alana is starting to realise this will be an interesting story. "And then?"

"She stayed away for a whole year. I hardly ever heard from her." Steve is now talking to himself in a slightly angry, hurt voice, unable to face the other man.

"How did that make you feel, Commander?"

Honesty, Steve. Get something out of this hard-as-hell process. "I missed her like crazy, worried about her safety every single day. I wanted to go after her, but couldn't. My hands were tied." And he looks at his hands, as though limp appendages without function.

"Why did she stay away that long?"

"At first, she was looking for the boy. She only found him a few months after we got there."

"And the rest of the time?"

"I really don't know. Our conversations became less and less frequent…" Dr. Alana can tell this is a very sore spot for the man in front of him.

Time to move the story along. Don't dwell. "Then, what?"

"She showed up, one morning, just as I was coming out of the water, after my morning swim."

"Just like that?"

"It was the wedding of a member of 5-0 that she'd worked with, they're friends."

"So… no heads up, no warning, no explanation? She came for the wedding, not for you?"

"Exactly," Steve says, huffing and smiling sarcastically. He really thought he'd dealt with all this, by now, but the anger still stings.

"Commander, I'm not being judgmental, I'm just asking. That's not my place, here."

"But that's how I felt. Jilted. Unimportant. Not worthy of a simple phone call. She did say she hadn't called because she didn't really know how I would react, but… it was bullshit." He huffs, indignant, feeling angry again in his every pore.

"I see. And then… after the wedding, she left again?"

"Not right away. She stayed for about three weeks. I got her an engagement ring," Steve blurts out.

His confession elicits a surprised look from Dr. Alana. This changes everything from his patient's description of "the ex-", as Commander McGarrett does not seem a man of rash or sudden actions in that department, from what he's just told him and the words neatly scribbled down on his file. Quite the opposite, in fact. Steve, however, hasn't noticed Dr. Alana's surprise, and goes on.

"But on the morning of the proposal, I heard her on the phone, speaking in Pashto with someone and that set all my alarm bells ringing."

Guessing correctly, Dr. Alana winces inwardly. "So… you decided not to propose?"

"Yeah." Obviously!

"And this engagement ring you got… was it because you really wanted to marry her?"

"What do you mean? Of course it was!" Anger flares inside him at the thought that he wasn't doing it for the right reasons.

"I meant, was it an attempt at keeping her around?" Dr. Alana explains.

"I'm not that kind of man. I've lived alone my whole life, I can manage just fine. And she's her own woman, if she wanted to leave she would. I would never dream of pinning her under my boot."

Dr. Alana can tell his patient is dead serious. "So, did you ask her about the call?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I figured if she was acting behind my back, there was no way I was going to expose my feelings and be left in a vulnerable position."

Dr. Alana sits back, finally enlightened. "I see. Did you ever ask her about what she'd been doing for the past few months, in Afghanistan?"

"No. If she didn't want to tell me about them…"

"How well did the two of you communicate?" A pivotal question that needs answering before they can proceed.

Steve winces, annoyed at Dr. Alana's insightfulness and ability to get to the heart of the matter. But he's not going to let go of this easily. "The usual between couples."

"I see… so, that's how you see it?"

"What do you mean, Doc?"

"I would imagine that, as head of 5-0, you have a very hectic life, no? Always on the go, lots of work, not a lot of time to wind down and relax?"

"You could say that. Ever since I got to this island, I hit the ground running and never looked back."

"And you don't think that having that kind of job had anything to do with your ex-girlfriend's departure?"

"Look, I'm not an idiot, OK? I know my personal life is a mess. I know that not many women would put up with a lot of stuff that Catherine did. I just thought… that it wasn't forever, and that she would find a way to deal with it."

"Because love is enough? Without words?" Dr. Alana smiles. Ah, youth's vision of the world…

Steve is surprised at his question and darts his eyes to the therapist, lost in thought. Maybe the man is right. "I hoped so. I sure loved her…"

"Not enough to talk to her about your fears, though…"

"No, it's exactly because of my love for her that I couldn't open up… I was afraid. Very afraid. You know, my partner once told me that I'd rather chew cyanide than talk about my feelings, so… I wasn't raised in a house with a supportive family, encouraging me to share my feelings. McGarrett men are a different breed… to them, showing emotion is like showing weakness. It's stupid, but it's just the way it is. The only person I've ever opened up to, for real, since coming to the island, has been my partner, Detective Danny Williams. He's sarcastic as hell, and basically my opposite when it comes to sharing feelings, so… it's always fun." He smiles again, thinking about Danny.

"It's a good thing you are aware of your shortcomings in that department, Commander. However, at some point, we adults have to shed the ways of the past and modify behaviours, if we want different results…"

"It's been too many years of being like this, I'm too set in my ways… after my dad sent me away, at 16, there was the Military… I guess the whole 'you'll be court martialed if you date a colleague' and the 'don't ask, don't tell' mentality was really ingrained in our minds."

"Meaning?"

Steve sighs deeply, this time, wondering if he's not crazy for sharing all this with a stranger. Or with anyone. Voicing it out loud is crazy. "We never defined anything in our relationship. When she moved to the island, for shore leave, she had her own place, so we weren't even living together, at that time. I guess I still saw us as 'ships passing in the night' who got together, when the occasion allowed."

"So… she wasn't your girlfriend, at that time, is that what you're saying?"

Steve huffs. "How ironic, Doc. You have a knack for summarizing all the bad stuff about our relationship and presenting it to me in Cliff notes. Put like that, it sounds horrible, callous and heartless. But it wasn't like that. Time just passed, life happened."

"Again, Commander, I'm not judging. We all have our history. I'm just trying to make you look at yours from another perspective, OK? Maybe you can arrive at other conclusions and change your actions, from now on. Or not. It's up to you."

"Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate it."

"OK, I think that's all we have time for, today. I'll see you next week, same time?"

Taken by surprise at the suggestion, Steve hears the voice in his head scream 'NO!' "Next week? Really? You think there's a need?"

"It's entirely up to you, Commander, your mandated session is over and you're OK to return to the field. But you know what they say about planting a healthy fruit tree?" Steve raises his eyebrows, curious. "Before you get the juicy, sweet fruits, you need to revolve the earth and plant a healthy root system, with plenty of fertilizer. And that takes effort and time, it's hard. Some things, you can't rush." With that, he gets up and shakes Steve's hand. "Hope to see you here next week, Commander, same time." He scribbles something on his notepad. "Here, something to help you sleep. Take as prescribed."

"Thank you, Doctor." He takes the prescription and hesitates. "I'll… I'll try to come, if the job allows." Coward. Even if it's to help yourself?

"Goodbye, Commander."

By the time he reaches the street, it's already dark and Steve gives thanks for that. The darkness offers him some cover to process his emotions freely and without guard.