NOTHING PERSONAL
Epilogue to: The Young Assassins
September 1974
The leather-encased badge/ID belonging to Dan Williams, and the driver's license of Curt Metzger, were turned repeatedly in the hands of Steve McGarrett. The moment he saw the items, accompanied by the audiocassette tape, he understood all the stunning and horrifying implications of the articles.
A numbing cold stabbed right through to his bones. Heartbeats – erratic and agitated - pounded against his chest while his senses froze. He could not move or think through the chilling shock of realization. Then, in near slow motion, he moved into his office in a kind of trance.
Flinging open the lanai doors behind his desk he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, staring with viewless eyes onto the lawn and trees of the Palace grounds. Reflexively he continued to shuffle the identification items in his hands in an almost nervous compulsion - a cushion of disbelief warring with the terrors of stark reality. There were actions needed to be commenced – necessary investigative procedure. This moment, though, he was mired in shock and despair.
As a cop, he understood he engaged in a war with an invisible enemy. The band of terrorists known as the People's Attack Group randomly executed innocent people in Honolulu for several weeks. 'Nothing personal murders,' dubbed as a catch phrase from the press. He knew when HPD had captured two of the terrorists yesterday that the strange new form of urban warfare would escalate and incite more mindless, motiveless killings. Instead, the PAG had struck back with a terrifying stroke of vengeance that was more effective than they could imagine.
His first miscalculation which might cost him more than he could conceive, more than he could bear.
Again studying the personal effects in his hand his heart constricted anew as the initial shock dissipated and the true grip of anguish clutched him. Curt Metzger, a European expert on terrorism, had become a friend through his many consultations with Five-0. His blunt, traditionalist attacks of the PAG in the newspapers made him an obvious, high publicity target for the group's hate and revenge.
Danno. Danno, of course, represented everything the group hated – a top cop of Hawaii Five-0. It did not get much more establishment and symbolic than that! Metzger happened to be lunching today with the second-in-command of the state police agency. The set up must have been more of a ripe pineapple than the terrorists could forgo. Two prime hostages snatched in one stroke.
For a moment his mind filled with harsh self-recrimination. He should have foreseen Metzger as a focus when the expert wrote incendiary articles about the terrorists and consulted with Five-0. He should have seen his staff as possible targets because of their literal and symbolic position of enforcement and peacekeeping. In reality, he knew he was just searching for a way to cope with his helplessness. He had no control over these mad radicals from the start. Now striking a cutting blow literally and personally to his center, they edged to the tactical high ground. The advantage entirely into their venue.
Right off the mark the foe took the offensive with an incisive, ruthless assault. His only modicum of hope was that the terrorists did not know how deeply this hit him on a personal level.
A blade right to his soul.
'Nothing personal,' he repeated to himself. The wrenching irony brought his anger and pain to the surface. With a clenched fist he threw a punch into the doorframe.
'Dammit, how could I allow this to happen?' He shuffled the ID's in his hands. 'How could you allow Curt and you to be captured, Danno?' He mentally criticized Williams, 'I am counting on you to keep Curt - and you - alive.'
Whom was he kidding? The momentary anger evolved from hurt and frustration, fading into acute angst. There was no defence against faceless, amoral strangers who walked up to victims and executed them without motive except for the senseless show of violence. How could a professor or even a seasoned cop protect themselves against such anonymous terrorism?
Feeling weary and heartsick, McGarrett turned and placed the articles on the desk. He snapped the cassette into the deck and punched play. Feeling his body tremble in anticipation of the message he slumped down into his chair.
At one forty-seven this date the People's Attack Group has captured one chronic liar named Curt Metzger and one storm trooper named Dan Williams. They are being held as prisoners of war and are under sentence of death as enemies of the people. You, however, can save the lives of these criminals. We stand ready to exchange prisoners Metger and Williams for comrades and brothers Victor and Driver. If you don't accept our offer, your Fascist pigs will be executed. And our retribution will not stop there. As long as Victor and Driver remain in chains we will continue to take prisoners of war and execute them. No man, woman, child on the island will be safe from our vengeance.
With an unsteady hand he stopped the tape. He carefully, deliberately, placed the driver's license on the desk. Then he opened the leather case and stared at the ID and badge. Lightly he rubbed his thumb over the cool metal of the gold shield. He forced himself to study these personal possessions. They were tangible links to his friends; their safekeeping, in some symbolic way, would extend to the hostages.
McGarrett was a realist and even in a time of intimate crisis he could not ignore facts. There was no way he could do anything to release prisoners for an exchange of hostages. He could not recommend it to the Governor and he never would. It would go against every principle of ethics and sense he had as a cop. It would open the door for slaughter here in Hawaii and he could not allow that to happen. It would usher in more murders, more acts of terrorism, here and now and in the future, everywhere in the world.
Once more he ran his thumb over the etched state seal and words on the badge. 'Ua Mau Ke Aa O Ka Aina I Ka Pono. The life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.' An old Hawaiian phrase encompassing the belief that the well-being of the land and people were linked to their respect and love of the land and each other and in a higher power. He had always felt that motto an expression of his mission in life. In a rather arrogant way McGarrett saw himself as a righteous protector of justice in his office as head of Five-0.
However, now the words and meaning blurred into indistinct greys of confusion. Momentarily he questioned the ideals and principles at stake here. The connotation of 'life' had a cherished and profound meaning today. The life of his closest aikane -and a civilian - hung in the balance between life and death.
How right did he have to be this time? Just once couldn't he bend?
'Just once can't you give in?'
It was a snatch of a conversation long ago when Steve was bent on a course of prosecuting the doctor responsible for his nephew's death. Williams asking, probing.
'Just once can't you give in?'
Dan's version of reverse psychology, a ploy he often used so the boss could think through motivations and reasoning.
A not-too-deeply buried different hostage situation resurfaced. Danno wounded and held captive in a hospital. There had been consideration beyond the threat to his friend's life on that day, too. Steve forced to surrender to extraneous factors. Luckily, it had all worked out with Danno safely rescued.
This occasion would not be so easy. Proven killers without ethics or identities held two men labelled 'enemies' as captives. The two hostages were victims the terrorists had handpicked from animosity as well as political consideration.
He thought over the ultimatum to release the HPD prisoners in trade for the captives. An impossible request coupled with a deadly threat. It pressed him with a profound despair.
'How those animals must hate you, Danno,' he thought with a frightful chill. 'You are everything they find contemptible and threatening. Please be careful.'
He tried to imagine the treatment of the hostages and found the possibilities too morbid to explore. Curt's frank, tactless approach to the truth became a liability in this circumstance. Danno. McGarrett's lip twitched with a ghost of a grin, Danno could be smug, even cocky when confronted with scums who represented a threat. This time he hoped his aikane was very, very cautious. The assessment of his officer's personality caused him grave concern. The Five-0 detective would never be meek or compromising in any way for the captors. Not endearing traits to insecure terrorists who liked to do their speaking with bullets.
"Please just keep your head, Danno," he whispered aloud. He closed the leather case and turned it over in his hands. 'Curt's a civilian. You're the expert here, Danno. I'm counting on you to take care of Curt,' he thought in a silent, mental transmission he wished could be telepathically received by his friend. 'You must take care of yourself, my friend.'
The thought brought a new, even more fearful angle to the dilemma. Dan would certainly never knuckle under to any concessions the terrorists might try. If there was any negotiation? He would have to be so akamai – extremely clever – to flip the odds.
When the arrested terrorists were not released? He pushed away the instinctively obvious conclusion. No, he would not accept a bloodbath! Somehow Five-0 – he - would have to find the hostages before the shooting started.
When the bullets started to fly, who would be the first to fall? A frightening question. At the end of this long list of terrors he hardly expected a new one, but it rocked Steve to the soul to realize he might be able to save only one of his friends. He placed the leather case on the desk next to Curt's license and studied the two ID's. His eyes were automatically drawn to the badge.
Because of who he was and what he represented, Dan would seem the most vulnerable target for the assassins. Who better to use as an example, as a symbolic strike against the system than a state cop?
A new wave of cold fear swept through his nerves. It was a chill anguish of recognition - there was almost nothing he could do to save the prisoners - Danno.
'Focus! You have to save Danno - them!'
The cold pall of dread began to thaw mingled with the bubbling heat of anger. A fervor that promised to be a long lasting burn, culminating in some final eruption at the end of this ordeal. The anonymous radicalism had suddenly altered to be exceedingly personal. Somewhere, sometime there would be a reckoning. The pain and vulnerability he felt would be vindicated through justice, and he hoped, more importantly, through the safe return of his friend.
The anger helped close up the most exposed wounds in his psyche and steel himself for the coming battle. He snatched up the tape. He would take this to the Governor and District Attorney and apprise them on the situation. They would agree with his assessment that there could be no compromise and share his hope of finding the hostages before the deadline. They could not share in his guilt or anxiety for his friends. He did not want any such compromise. The responsibility for Danno's life was HIS! It had been for years. Nearly since they had first met.
'I will not fail you, aikane.'
Almost as an afterthought he grabbed the ID's and slipped them into his pocket. The belongings would serve as a constant reminder that he was taking this attack personally and would emphasize that to the terrorists when he met the miscreants face to face!
"Are you suggesting we should give in?" John Manicote had asked.
"John, I think you know me better than that. Never! Never! Never! I say we draw the line right here and now and not give an inch, not one inch. We can not deal with people like them. You know - you know what Danno's life means to me."
McGarrett leaned against the cold metal of the dank, stale-aired bunker and fought for breath.
"Now - your cop dies now!" Army's last transmission, last threat, last words.
The death sentence echoed in Steve's head since the pronouncement came over the radio.
On the other side of the locked, metal door he had heard gunshots. The police were discovered! Firefight!
NO! He was not inside yet! Too soon!
What would the snivelling, scum of a terrorist do to his cop captive?
Only one cowardly, vengeful recourse! Rather than surrender the remaining hostage alive, Army would choose to kill Danno in revenge of his imminent capture!
NO!
Once the metal hatch opened McGarrett slammed into the first fanatic!
"Where's Williams!" He had the coward by the throat, the .38 at the young man's head! "Where's Williams!"
"The powder magazine."
He ran to the deep reaches of the bunker. The terrorist shouted a warning to the leader! Now alerted, murderer would certainly assassinate the Five-0 detective! The crash of a metal door echoed around in the walls of the concrete bunker. Had the scum Army just killed his friend?
'NO! I can't be too late!'
Slamming into the terrorist leader, the chief of Five-0 attacked without mercy! Pummelling the animal! Knuckles bloodied from the physical release of his anger and pain, he was seconds - inches - lifetimes - away from killing this murdering creature with his bare hands. Army, the pathetic, huddled, beaten leader of the terrorists quivered on the chill concrete floor.
He wanted nothing more than to continue to thrash the life out of this wretch, but that would bring him down to Army's level.
'Murderer of my closest friend,' he silently accused in anguish. 'Danno!'
Just putting the possibility into thoughts sent a crushing pain through his chest. There was no reason to hope Danno was still alive.
Steve had been moments too late! He could hardly breathe, hardly stand from the wave of anguish. From the inner weeping. How could he step away and search the catacombs for his executed friend?
Staring down at the pathetic, huddled criminal, he felt a wave of sick revulsion: at Army, at himself. No, Steve McGarrett could not bend, could not finish this miserable beast who had murdered - robbed him of his aikane. Just as Steve McGarrett the resolute haole hao -ironman of Five-0 - could not give in to terrorists - not ever- not this one time. And it cost him the dearest life of all.
'Just once can't you give in?'
'You know - you know what Danno's life means to me.'
Not even for Danno could he sink that low, but the desire for vengeance was so great, he wanted to give in to the emotions. Not even for his closest friend could he change his rules and negotiate, or bend enough to compromise with the terrorists.
McGarrett's revered principles were intact. Just his heart was broken.
Exhausted in spirit, in body, in mind, in soul, he leaned against the cold concrete. Summoning the strength, the courage, to move. To make that dreaded, long journey down into darkness to find his friend's body.
A scraping noise behind him filtered through his devastation and grief. A blur of white caught in the corner of his eye as he turned. A bedraggled, dirty, battered, Dan Williams stood at the furthest edge of light in the dark cavern.
Too stunned to react, McGarrett slowly straightened and stared at his very much alive friend!
Shocked, the relief took a few moments to filter through his astounded mind. Not dead.
DANNO NOT DEAD! ALIVE!
Danno. Bloody but unbowed. Standing here. Reflecting the relief and joy that bubbled inside Steve.
Two friends, expecting a vastly different horrific end stared at each other in gradually dawning reprieve. Almost painful in its succor as the trauma had been in the opposing anguish.
"How is it, Danno?" Inane. Ridiculous!
"Close."
Dazed. To be alive?
He shuddered at the possibilities. "Yeah. Too close."
Finally able to move, Steve stepped to his friend and placed an arm around him in a tight grip. The familial touch would say more than he could verbalize. All the relief and ebbing of ache transferred into the bonding, habitual connection.
"Come on, I'll drive you home," McGarrett offered.
For the second or third time during their brief reunion he patted Dan on the shoulder and held the grasp. Steve retained the hold as they walked out of the murky, dank ammunition battery and into the bright Hawaiian morning sunlight.
The warmth baked Williams and he savored the heat after spending so long in the marrow-chilling bunker of cold concrete.
Steve nodded at the gash on Dan's forehead. "You all right?"
Williams touched the wound, his fingers coming away with a smear of blood. It did not seem serious, and he was entirely too numb in mind and body to be aware of the slight injury. Steve was just being a little too over protective. That was enough warmth to subdue some of the inner-ice. Seeing Steve there over Army's body . . .
Safe. Just as Dan had hoped. As he had imagined a rescue many times over in the last two days. He never doubted Steve would come for him.
"Yeah, fine," he returned flatly.
He couldn't say more. His insides twisted in residual disturbance. Steve would want a report. Later. His boss seemed reticent to ask. Maybe he didn't want to know. At some point Dan would have to give over details. He flinched just thinking about having to confess he could not save Curt.
"Maybe we should get you checked out by Doc."
"No, I'm fine, really," he insisted.
They paused, and Dan blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden contrast from darkness to light. 'An analogy which applied in more ways than one,' he reasoned.
Slowly, he walked up the concrete steps and drew in deep lungs-full of fresh, sea-kissed air, savoring the cleanliness. It was as if the stale, rank mouldiness of the bunker was pushed out of his system to be replaced with bracing, renewed life. Again, a fitting analogy. As he stood on his native soil he felt as if this was his second chance, emerging from the shade of death, the literal pit of a tomb, to the luster of life.
Just moments ago he had cheated his captor/terrorist out of an execution. In the struggle he had been knocked down and left for dead, or perhaps just left behind in favor of Army's sense of self-preservation. He was not ready to analyze it all now. The point was he had expected to die and now he was alive and still trying to comprehend it all. After seeing Curt Metzger – standing right next to him - executed point-blank, after spending the afternoon and night under the imminent threat of death, he had a lot of emotions to sort through.
"Everything's okay now, Danno." Steve assured quietly, his face creased with anxiety.
Dan offered a slight nod. "Yeah."
The word was an uncertain lie, accentuated by the slight trembling of his shoulders. He made a conscious effort to calm his nerves.
McGarrett's grip tightened. With a heartfelt tone of relief he urged, "Let's get out of here."
Steve steered him out of the courtyard of Harlow Battery to a knoll where HPD squad cars were parked. An officer was just driving up with McGarrett's sedan. Chin, Ben and Duke rushed over to give him welcoming embraces. Gratified at the reunion, he was happy the boss cut short the welcome. Dan slumped on the passenger side and leaned his head back on the seat. After pausing to issue instructions to the staff Steve slid behind the wheel of the Mercury and they sped away.
As they coursed through the crater of the extinct volcano of Diamond Head, Williams glanced over at his companion. In the rush of the rescue only abstractly had he noted McGarrett's unusually dishevelled appearance. Now it was beginning to register: Steve's normally perfect hair ruffled, tie and suit dirty, knuckles scraped and bleeding. When he had first seen Steve in the bunker all that registered was the joy he had come to the rescue! Now absorbing the scene - the head of Five-0 leaning over Army's inert form. The clues finally clicked. McGarrett had beat the hell out of Army! Despite the serious aftermath of the kidnapping experience, Dan couldn't help but smile.
"I guess Army resisted arrest, huh?"
The quip did not elicit a smile from McGarrett. Instead, the boss's set jaw seemed to constrict. For the first time, Dan noticed how tightly Steve's hands clenched the wheel. And Steve – Steve was trembling!
Dan sat up straighter, a little frightened, a little awed by the implications. When the shooting had started Army (Dan had never known the real name) had come to kill him. Dan had rushed him in offensive desperation, unwilling to go down without a fight. He had been hit on the head, knocked aside, and Army had fled.
Steve's arrival must have been the distraction that saved his life. When confronting the terrorist/murderer, the boss had hit - head on – violently! Unleashing all the frustration, anger and anxiety within! Curt Metzger had been executed yesterday. Steve had come into that bunker probably expecting to find HIM with a bullet in his head. Army never had a chance.
'Army was lucky to live,' was Dan's ironic, grudgingly pleased reaction to the retribution.
His thoughts sobered to the serious implications of the suspicion. Obviously, Steve had released a whole lot of ferocity onto Army. The physical pummeling was a way for Steve to discharge the pent-up anguish built up during the crisis. Typical reaction from his mentor when he was in danger. Along with the warmth of knowing his friend would do everything possible to save him, he was cognizant of the protecting guardian – or avenging – warrior sitting beside him.
Dan had given sombre thought to the agony Steve was going through, having two friends, Metzger and himself, held hostage by terrorists. His mentor had suffered through the situation. No doubt taking responsibility for their safe return. The knowledge of what Steve had gone through had added to Dan's anger and fear over the last two days. Evidence showed how deep that pain had been.
Obviously, from their perspectives, they had been through a lot. It would take some time for both of them to resolve the anxieties.
Years before, Kono and Chin reported how frantic the 'spontaneous-combustion' McGarrett had been when Dan had been wounded and held hostage. Steve practically tore down the hospital trying to get to him. At that time he had been more seriously wounded than now, and had not been faced with immediately dealing in the aftermath of terror.
This situation was different. His spent nerves and energy were raw. They both had to cope. Between them, the inner turmoil from the crisis was too intense to ignore. There was such a mass of tangled feelings he did not know where to start to unravel them all.
"As prisoners of war you have no rights except those granted you by the People's Attack Group. If you cooperate you will have the right to eat, sleep and breathe."
The melodramatic rhetoric spoken in an opening statement had at first seemed ludicrous. Yet the words would echo in his nightmares for some time, Dan reflected.
Even with his eyes open, riding down a sunny Honolulu street, he recalled that black, nauseating moment when Army had entered the cell, pointed the .45 toward him. Then Curt. Then pulled the trigger and shot Curt in the chest! Instinctively, Dan had tried to overcome the gunman but the thugs had beat him back while they removed Curt's body.
With the memory came a slimy sweat to his palms and a sickening twist of remnant fear to his stomach. Followed instantly by the grief and anger he had experienced after the murder.
Unconsciously he wiped at the red splatters on his shirtsleeve.
Tears formed in his eyes. Embarrassing! He roughly wiped away the wetness before Steve could notice. He had not been consciously afraid of the chance of senseless execution at first. Captured, blindfolded, he and Curt openly discussed the probability they would be killed.
'They have no reason to keep us alive,' Curt had said.
Dan had pushed aside the warning. It did not penetrate to a level of real horror until he had seen Curt executed. He still quavered at the memory. Before that it had been a confrontation of his stubborn resolve against the terrorists. Inwardly, he had been belligerent, even arrogant in his dismissal of them, yet outwardly objective for Curt's sake. After Curt was executed, standing just inches from him, Dan had sobered to the reckoning of his mortality.
"I'm sorry about Curt," Dan apologized in a broken whisper. He should say more but buried rage and sorrow were warring to surface. Bubbling too near where his friend – who had suffered far too much already – could hear and see his weakness.
The mention of the deceased man's name brought flashbacks slamming into his mind. The vision of the murder wouldn't stop! He bit his trembling lip to cease more utterance. Stared at the rolling blue waves dancing in the brilliant, golden Hawaiian sun along the highway to stay the release of emotion. Once the wretched memories exploded into the atmosphere he was afraid to be overwhelmed.
"Curt's death was a tragedy," McGarrett replied, his voice raw and tight. "It was tough on Elizabeth." The words quavered with suppressed grief.
Williams glanced across at his friend. He wondered which of them McGarrett was trying to be steely and resolute for - Dan or himself. Most people never saw the cracks in the haole hao, the man of iron, known as Steve McGarrett. Dan saw those vulnerable chinks more than anyone else. Especially in moments like this. It was heart rending to watch his friend suffer. When Steve hurt he withdrew deeply into painful isolation and resisted interference from even his closest friend.
"Tough on you, too," Williams observed, his voice choked with remorse.
Mingled with shock, he had been through a kind of mourning for Curt, but with the anticipation of his own imminent execution, he had not properly dealt with the murder. Obviously, neither had Steve, who would have been consumed with rage – channelled and controlled through focused determination to get his second-in-command back alive. Dan knew that. Standard reaction for McGarrett when Williams was in danger.
Now, the aftermath, the mourning would commence.
Dan did not expect an elaboration, although he wanted McGarrett to discuss his side of the ordeal. There was a desire to talk, get the nightmare out in the open. Discussion - dialog - not a monologue - would help both of them. Dan needed to hear how Steve had felt.
Perhaps so McGarrett could tell him it was not his fault, that he did not condemn Dan for Curt's death? Steve's blame haunted him in those lonely hours when he sat in the dark staleness of the bunker and awaited his execution.
McGarrett pulled to the curb in front of Dan's apartment. Neither made a move to exit the car.
"It must have been a rough," came Williams' coarse whisper.
Steve stared ahead, his face slightly contorted with agitation. It was the tip of the iceberg: The beginning of a deep anguish starting to seep through the cracks of the granite resolve.
"Not as rough as yours," McGarrett countered, wrestling with the reactions struggling to emerge. With a catch in his throat he asked, "Were you with Curt when - he was killed?"
Trembling fingers brushed again at the bloodstains on the once white shirt. Williams looked from the red and smudged-white to the view through the windshield. The quiet residential neighborhood on Kalakaua Avenue, Diamond Head of Kapiolani Park, was still and peaceful.
Like being flipped into a negative, the bright day was blocked with stuffy darkness. He flinched; so clearly did he recollect the deafening echo of the blast as the bullet was fired. Again, he felt the nausea of powerlessly witnessing an execution. The useless, inadequate, failed attempt to fight back.
Then isolation. Alone with numb anger, then shock. Helpless, livid regret! He was the cop. He was the protector! He should have saved Curt! Or died trying? Steve would have expected him to save the civilian! Do his job! Act like a Five-0 officer should at the last! Steve would never forgive him!
Finally, came guilt. He had lived and Curt had not. There but for the grace of God…
"I was standing right next to him." Not until he opened his mouth and a salty tear dripped onto his lips did he realize he was crying. The powerful recollection was so staggering. The grief and fear and guilt had been right there under his skin waiting to explode. "After that I expected to die any time." With a quavering hand he wiped the tears from his face. In semi-control of his tumultuous agitation he looked at McGarrett. "I don't know why he killed Curt instead of me. Maybe the fear. Curt didn't show any fear until Army raised the pistol at us. I was standing closer to Army - Curt backed away in panic. He must have seemed more vulnerable, maybe. I don't know, really." He paused for breath. The silence was pressing against him. "I was the one in front. I don't know why I'm alive. I couldn't do anything to save him. I'm so sorry, Steve. I failed. I let you down."
Without looking in Dan's direction McGarrett reached over and gripped onto his shoulder with numbing force. Steve blinked several times, but the blue eyes still pooled with moisture.
"When I got the report that Curt had been killed," he sighed, his voice shaking as much as his hand. "God help me, Danno, I was relieved it wasn't you."
Dan felt a chill slither through his body. The divulgence exposed the tortured spirit of Steve McGarrett. The capture, the murder, had not touched him nearly as deeply as this profound confession. This admission rocked the stalwart top cop.
Placing his mentor on a pedestal most of the time, their friendship mingled with a certain amount of respect bordering on adulation. It was staggering to know through emotions and not just words how much he was valued in return.
'God help ME,' Dan mentally refuted. He cleared his dry throat and replied meaningfully, "I didn't save him, Steve. I should have –"
"Danno," he gripped tighter to the shoulder he never released, "Don't ever, ever apologize for coming out of anything alive!" His brusque reprimand was both rough and affectionate. "I know you. I – I feared –" He drew in a sharp breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh. "I was terrified you would go above and beyond to protect Curt. Or fight back. Or any number of nightmares to risk yourself."
Nodding, he admitted, "I'm sorry about Curt, but I've never been so glad to be alive."
With brotherly affection Steve pulled him into an embrace. "It was too close this time, Danno. I couldn't save you. There was nothing I could do. When we had the chance to move - I was too late." The voice was condemning, bitter and pained.
"You did everything you could," Dan automatically defended, even though he had not been with McGarrett on the other side. To Williams, he did not have to be an eyewitness. On faith, he knew McGarrett had gone the limit, as he did every time his Five-0 officers – he - was in trouble. "I knew you couldn't give in, Steve. Curt knew that, too. We never expected –" He cleared away the knot in his throat. "We knew you would do whatever you could, but we didn't really expect to live." Slowly he shook his head. "Even though I knew you were trying your best to save me."
The lesson of complete faith in the tenacity and dedication of Steve had been taught to the younger cop on several occasions. When his own faith in himself slipped, Steve was always there to pick him up again. As the time he was framed for shooting a kid and publicly resigned from Five-0. Dan had hurt his mentor tremendously and felt defeated. Steve countered - as his solid-as-Diamond-Head-stalwart.
'You better not give up on me!' the leader had demanded. And had won – for both of them.
McGarrett sighed with dissatisfaction. "Too close, this time, Danno."
Dan turned at the intent gravity of the tone. He looked into discerning blue eyes that were almost clairvoyant in their perceptiveness. Steve had already read too much in Dan's voice, in his expression.
The reply was a shaky whisper. "Yeah." He would not elaborate now. Not after seeing how Steve was rocked to the very soul over this tribulation.
A reluctant acceptance seemed to pass across McGarrett's face. His eyes were brimming with sincere relief. "It's over. I'm grateful you're alive."
With a weary nod Dan agreed. "Yeah."
"Come on."
They exited the car and entered the apartment building. For the first time in days there was something less complex than life and death to ponder.
"I'll be grateful just to take a shower," was Dan's sincere comment. "And brush my teeth. And sleep in my bed."
The quip broke the sombre tension and both were smiling when they arrived at his door. For a moment they stood there until Williams remembered the terrorists confiscated all possessions, including keys. Obviously it was going to take a few days to get back into the groove of everyday living.
"I have your stuff at the office. I'll bring it by tomorrow," McGarrett related as he opened the door with his key.
He suggested, in the form of a command, Dan take a day off for R&R. Without protest, Williams agreed. At least a bit of time for him to sort through the adversity, but not too long. Following in the footsteps of his mentor, work was the mainstay of his life and he would never be far from the stable satisfaction found within the Five-0 structure.
As Steve swung the door open, a voice called from the lift.
"I thought you two would avoid a hospital visit!"
Both turned to see Doctor Bergman coming toward them. The fifty-ish, greying physician carried a black medical bag in one hand and a bulging take-away food bag in the other.
"Doc!" Williams sighed in dismay.
"Let's get in," Bergman practically pushed them. "I don't want it general knowledge that I make house calls."
"I don't think anyone would invite the Coroner for a house call," Dan quipped.
"I see your humor has not improved, Danny. Now sit on the sofa and let me take look at you."
The physician handed the boss the food. "Dora insisted you be fed! My wife spoils you two! Sweet and sour and those little chocolate chip coconut cookies in pineapple shapes that you love!"
"And I thought those were your favorites, Doc," Williams flung back unenthusiastically as he flopped on the sofa.
Steve did a quick stow away of the goods from Mrs. Bergman before sitting on the couch next to his officer.
As Bergman completed a cursory examine for a concussion, he explained he had worried there would be some medical issues resulting from captivity. Relieved the scalp wound was minor – no concussion. A few scrapes – he casually asked more probing inquiries. How was Dan coping? How did he feel about Curt's murder?
All of which Williams glossed over with truthful shallowness. He told the physician he had already talked things through with Steve. He was feeling all right. Happy to be alive and back. Grateful for Steve's diligence.
Moving to treat McGarrett's scraped knuckles, the physician questioned conversationally with little success beyond what had already been stated. He admitted no surprise that the two too-much-alike officers had closed ranks.
"As long as you can talk it out to each other I won't bother you about counselling." After packing his gear he gave a pat on the young officer's arm. "Wonderful to have you back, Danny. It was a terrible ordeal, I'm sure. Now please, any after affects at all come by the office!"
"I will."
By way of warning, he revealed the Five-0 wives were preparing some food to bring by over the next few days. To fatten up the young detective the staff seemed to dote over. Mrs. Bergman, Lukela, Kelly, and Kokua insisted on pampering Danny.
"And you should stay home for a few days. Please." He glared at the boss. "I know it's a ridiculous idea, but some people claim rest is a good cure for a traumatic event! Not in the Five-0 codebook, I know. You two should try it sometime."
Without amusement, McGarrett muttered a few comments about Bergman and his sarcasm. Noting his friend was leaning his head back in fatigue, he hurried to wrap up the visit. He guided the older man to the door.
"Danno's okay, right, Doc?"
"Better than we –" the sombre tone, the tender gaze momentarily gave way to a shuttered sigh. Clearing his throat, Bergman gruffed, "Yes. He'll be fine. If you feel like talking –" He glanced at Dan, then McGarrett, then shook his head. "I know you've got a good sounding board already. Both of you." He winked at the senior detective, patting him on the shoulder. "Thanks for saving our boy, Steve."
He gave a nod to his friend. "Of course." To the physician he quietly added, "Mahalo for watching out for us, Doc."
"My pleasure. Just nothing so scary in the future, please, fellas."
Steve groaned. "From your mouth to God's ear."
As the door closed behind the physician the boss exchanged a concerned glance with his friend. The fatigue of safety and security must be slamming into the nerves wrought with fear for days. Danno was wiped out. Time for the over-protective boss to exit. Staring at his friend – alive – here – within reach – leaving was the last thing he wanted.
"You're done in, Danno. Do you want to eat before you get some rest?"
His friend must be famished! Knowing first-hand the twisted phobia and taut horror of captivity, Steve knew safe food not tampered by the enemy, consumed within reliable, steady surroundings were priceless luxuries.
Slowly raising his head Dan took a moment to think. "If you don't mind I'd like to shower first." He brushed at the grimy shirtsleeve dotted with blood and smeared with dirt. "Food sounds great." Concern shaded his expression. "Can you – do you have time to stay?"
Time to remain in this bubble? Where everything he feared lost was restored? Could he spend some indefinable space of minutes and hours with the person most important in his life? The aikane restored to him after the stark dread of murder?
"I didn't know if you'd want to be alone." McGarrett responded neutrally, giving his friend an out.
"I've logged a lot of solitary lately," was Dan's unsubtle hint.
McGarrett surrendered a weary, heartfelt smile. "I've missed these quality lunches with my aikane. I'll get things set up." He held out a hand and helped Dan stand. Then another tight embrace to his friend. "Anytime you want just kick me out."
Relieved, Dan smiled. "For sure not till after you fix the food."
"Lunch on the lanai it is then."
Almost normal. Slipping into routine. Cherished, mundane, everyday actions. They served to push the terrors farther away. Imprinting a better reality to replace the anguish.
After showering, shaving and dressing in casual shorts and aloha shirt,Williams wandered the apartment while Steve finalized prepping the Chinese food Bergman had brought.
He retrieved a beer from the fridge, strolled out to watch the surf from the lanai and listlessly ambled through the rooms a few times. Although fading with weariness he was unsettled and too nervous to rest. He finally slumped into a lanai chair to watch the ocean's undulating, calming waves.
Without realizing it, he slipped into a light doze. In his dreams he heard a comforting, repeated litany, in Steve's voice, echoing in his mind. 'I'm grateful you're alive.' The rote lulled him to a restful, contented snooze.
A sound yanked him from sleep. Startled, Williams jumped. A gentle hand on his shoulder eased him back against the cushion. Wordlessly, McGarrett slipped into the seat next to him.
Williams' nose twitched, the aromatic odor of Chinese food wafting on the breeze. Plates of steaming chow mein, rice, sweet and sour pineapple chicken and cookies were set out on the lanai table. A mug of coffee and a bottle of beer were at their places.
"I hoped you'd want company today," McGarrett quietly confessed.
"I hoped you'd want to hang out for a while."
Emotions only tenuously under control, Dan wanted to say so much more. So many of the terrors and regrets harbored for days. The imminent threat of death. The things he could rarely reveal to this incredible friend who was his brother. Maybe when he could sort out all the jumbled feelings he could speak them aloud. For now he had to settle for his most sincere admission.
"Mahalo. For never giving up on me. Again. Still. For being here. For –" he shrugged. "For everything, Steve. Mahalo nui loa" The words encompassed the thoughtfulness and the companionship and all he could think of now.
McGarrett gave a slight nod of affection. "Always, Danno." He placed an opened black ID case across the table. He had it in his pocket since the kidnapping. "I kept this for you." The afternoon sun shone off the shiny gold metal of the Five-0 shield. It's good to have you back."
Taking possession of the Five-0 badge, the younger officer gave a grateful nod. "Mahalo," he whispered.
There were no words to express how much this symbol, this rescue, this support meant. Everything, he decided was the best phrase.
Williams' stomach loudly growled in response.
They both laughed.
He had not eaten since lunch, just before his capture. The aroma of the good food, the security of McGarrett's companionship, made him realize how hungry he was - for the food and the friendship.
This personal touch after the 'nothing personal' violence was what life was all about! What they had mutually feared would never be appreciated again. As they did in so many aspects, Steve mirrored him and did not want to spend the day, thinking, alone, either.
PAU