Thanks again for all your kind words. I really can´t express how grateful I am for your support.

I´ve decided to sum up the next few months in one chapter instead of just skipping it, and it´s all from Steve´s POV. I should warn you, though - his mind is obviously in a dark and miserable place right now, and this chapter includes a hint of suicidal thoughts. So read at your own risk.

He knew this would come sooner or later. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he didn´t even expect them to give him this much time to recover before requiring him to attend the official debriefings of that damn op he tried so hard to forget.

Wearing his dress blues, which was a lot looser-fitting than the last time he´d worn it, Steve settled down in a chair and hoped this time he was ready for a detailed debriefing. It was noon by the time they started, and in attendance was a very serious group of military personnel, from captains on down. The debriefing went on for a long time as Steve tried to explain details of his actions on and off the battlefield, keeping his doubts about his decisions for himself.

The bodies of Jackson and Lewis hadn´t been located yet. They spent a long time going over satellite photographs for Steve to try and pinpoint the precise place he´d watched Jackson die and be dragged away. He knew about what had happened to Lewis only from Davis´s explanation.

The Navy had quite a lot of data already, but Steve was able to fill in some stuff for them anyway. Like how he had agreed to surrender as they had no means to fight, and it was their only chance at making it out of there alive. Steve recounted how there were way too many of them, with too much firepower, and he and his men were out of ammo. It was either surrender or get shot, and Steve knew it, yet it made him think about the ambush again and wonder if he would decide the same way knowing what would follow. He wasn´t sure he would.

The first debriefing was followed by the next just another day, then another one a couple of days later. It was all the same. Going through the event from the very beginning to the very end. Over and over and over again with different military and intelligence people.

One of the most difficult parts was to keep his answers emotionless and his face stoic when the questions came to his captivity, interrogation, and the failed attempt to call for help.

Steve found it all really difficult, unlike any of his previous debriefs. Just staring down at the photographs, reliving, as no one could ever understand, the place where five of his teammates fell, torturing himself, wondering again if he could´ve saved them. Could he have done more? Could he notice that the CIA agent working with them was digging for another side? The night of the first of these debriefings, Steve heard Lynch scream again, call his name, and begging him to help.

Commander Turner attended the last one of these via video call. "I´m sorry for what happened," he said when they were done. "If I had known about what Fletcher was up to, you wouldn´t have gone, it´s as simple as that." There was no doubt Turner faced his own guilt just like Steve did. They were all his men too after all. Be safe and sound on the base while not knowing what had happened after they lost contact, not having a clue about his people dying until it was too late, must´ve been hard for him too.

The very last part of the intense and difficult week full of reliving the hell was a two-hour-long session with a Navy psychiatrist. It was mandatory, and Steve was determined not to give her a reason to think he was anything but fine. It wasn´t his first rodeo and he knew what to expect, so he braced himself for more than just unpleasant questions.

He knew she would ask him about the worst of it and watch his reaction. He knew she would want to talk about it and analyze each of his words. He knew she would give him a form to fill to determine how much he´d been affected by what had happened. He knew there would be a simple tick test to evaluate the levels of stress.

While filling the tests, he didn´t think twice when he came to the question asking him if he had nightmares. Scribbling a quick tick next to "no" square, he moved to another question. The same went for insomnia, anxiety, and all the other symptoms he certainly didn´t want to talk about to anyone, let alone a shrink. The one that caused him to pause and think was: "Would you go back?" As in would he go back to the war.

He didn´t want to. But of course, he would - out of loyalty, for his comrades, to help others. It was what he´d spend years training to do. He ticked "yes", knowing it would also decrease the chance of being seen as mentally affected.

It took all of Steve´s focus to say the right things during the session and to get a good score on the test. The higher the final score was above ten, the worse the emotional turmoil. He had to bite his tongue and prevent lashing out at the shrink when she told him his score was fifteen despite all his effort to look relaxed and prove her wrong. How did she come to that number, he had no idea.

"You know, it´s not a shame to admit the problem," she said. "After what you went through, it would be understandable and perfectly normal."

Steve nodded, wondering if she saw right through his lies. "Right, but I´m doing fine, really," he said.

"I don´t know how much you´ve heard about PTSD." She glanced down onto her notes before looking back up. "And I can see you´ve dutifully denied all the symptoms in the questionnaire."

"I haven´t…"

"Let me finish, Commander," she interrupted. "I´ve been doing my job for twenty years and you´re not the first person I´m going to tell this to. What you´ve ticked off might or might not be true, but if you do experience these, now or later on, you should know that PTSD is not a disease. It´s a syndrome, a natural emotional reaction to deeply shocking and life-threatening events like the one you´ve survived. It can and it does affect anyone, and there is nothing unmanly about experiencing it. It´s entirely possible to live with it as long as it´s addressed and not ignored."

To Steve, what she said sounded like it would have been admitting weakness. And weakness equaled failure. He didn´t want to be a broken toy. "I know," he said just to make her stop talking, fidgeting in his seat. "But as I´ve said before, I am fine. Not experiencing any of that. I´d tell you if I did."

It wasn´t hard to tell she didn´t believe him, but Steve couldn´t figure out if it was because of something he said or she was just suspicious. Either way, it didn´t matter. She gave him her card and asked him to call if anything changes and then the session was over and he didn´t have to come back to that anymore. Ever. He didn´t need a shrink. He just needed some time to figure things out on his own as always.

But as it turned out, time didn´t help either.

Quite the opposite. It felt like he was spiraling down and sometimes he didn´t even recognize himself anymore. The days weren´t always bad. Some days he even felt like his old self, almost. He would joke and laugh, bitch about not being able to run and swim yet, spend time with his ohana. He even had some good times with them and it was fun. But something was always lurking around every corner waiting for the opportunity to fuck up everything good in his life.

As the hours blended into days, days into weeks, and weeks into months, Steve still didn´t see the light in the darkness that had surrounded him.

His wounds were obviously much worse than he had originally thought. Recovery was slow and despite the fact he could actually walk again, it was evident his legs would never be the same.

It was the beginning of August - three months since he´d taken his first wobbly steps after months of intense physical therapy, and he was grateful for the ability to walk again, but that wasn´t enough for him. His legs were the worst of it all, as he´d expected, but his wrist and shoulder were stiff and sore too even after all this time. He still had to take medication to keep the pain at a manageable level and also had to attend his PT session with Thomas once a week, but he was losing hope it would get any better.

"The Redskins are really killing it," he heard Danny say.

"Huh?" Steve snapped back to the present. "Oh, yeah. They´re good."

"Wow, you´re really out there." Danny studied him, a smile on his face but concern in his eyes. "It´s not even NFL season yet, in case you haven´t noticed."

Steve frowned and zeroed in on the game - which was obviously a rerun and his team was definitely not playing. His frown morphed into a scowl, and he felt a flare of anger surging up. Damn, he had to get a grip. At any hour of the day, he could get irrationally angry for no reason.

"This is actually one of the reasons I wanted you to come over today," Danny said. "Something´s up, Steve. You keep doing this. You shut down and space out."

Steve knew, but he didn´t know how to stop doing that. He made a face and adjusted in his seat. "I have it under control," he lied.

"No, you don´t."

Steve´s shoulders tensed up, and he got defensive, more anger spiking. "How about you take care of your own damn issues, huh?" He shook his head and stood up. "Never mind. I have to go."

Steve didn´t give Danny a chance to react before he left, not yet sure where. He just knew he needed to get out somewhere he wouldn´t be watched and judged. Somewhere no one would study his every move and word and ask him if he was all right. Or somewhere where he could punch something.

He knew he was being a coward, running away like that, but he couldn´t deal with it right now. He started the engine and drove off, driving absently through the streets of Honolulu for a long time. Before he realized it, he was out of the city. He stopped at one of his favorite lookouts free of tourists and got out of the car to suck in the salty air and enjoy the calming view.

But his mind wandered back to Danny. This wasn´t the first time his friend pointed out something wasn´t right. He noticed the changes in Steve´s behavior which Steve refused to acknowledge. The blonde detective had obviously dug into some research. He also dared to voice his suspicion of Steve´s PTSD out loud, which always pissed Steve off to no ends.

He was shocked to hear Danny say such a thing for the first time. After the debriefings, he had been warned about all the signs. He listened to the shrink and her warnings, hearing her but knowing inside there was no reason to worry. He figured he was able to handle anything.

So when Danny suggested Steve needed psychiatric help, Steve was appalled. He told him he was wrong, that everything was okay and he could handle whatever had happened. But as much as he hated to admit it, maybe Danny and the shrink were both right and Steve had been lying to himself this whole time.

Even months after his return, he lived with a lot of ghosts. Although his nightmares had subsided after some time, they were now returning, even stranger and more frequently. In his sleep, he could hear mothers, wives, and children wailing over the bodies of dead sons, husbands, and fathers, who happened to be his brothers-in-arms. He´d wake up in cold sweat, panicked and not knowing where he was, ready to flee, or to fight.

He was depressed. Drowning in guilt. He would lash out for minor reasons. Most times he had no idea what had triggered the response, he would just suddenly be angry. He would snap at people for no reason, and unfortunately, Danny was the most convenient person on which to vent his frustrations. The worst part was that he felt such grinding guilt about surviving that he often thought he should correct what luck had dealt him and end it himself. That thought would always make him feel ashamed for even letting it cross his mind, but it was coming back more and more frequently recently.

But he wasn´t the only one affected. He kept ruining the lives of the ones he cared about, and one particular day from about two months ago he felt really terrible about. It was the day he´d made Charlie cry.

He loved Danny´s kids as his own. Considered them family. He would die for them if it came to it. But ever since his return, it was hard to connect to anyone. Especially to a four-year-old who had different ideas about what was fun than Steve did. When Danny brought Charlie in, excited to spend time with his beloved uncle, the kid wanted to play, talk, and go places in public. But Steve didn´t like going places where there were a lot of people around. Not anymore. He made a lot of excuses as to why he couldn´t go at that moment, or he suggested that they should do something else. He just wasn´t good at fun anymore.

Charlie and Grace were spending a weekend with Danny and they all came to Steve´s place for the afternoon that day. Charlie´s running around and loud games made Steve anxious, but he was grateful for their presence anyway.

The problem was he had no control over his anger anymore. In fact, it seemed like he was always angry. So Charlie leaving way too many toys out and Steve stepping on one of them set Steve off and he flew into a rage that was all out of proportion. Before he could realize what he´d done, tears were streaming down Charlie´s face and he ran off to his father, who desperately tried to find an excuse for Steve.

Later that day, Steve overheard Charlie´s question. "Danno, why is uncle Steve sad all the time?" Charlie asked. Steve was shocked and saddened and couldn´t help the feeling of guilt that swept over him. Hearing the innocent question and bringing the little boy to the point of tears made Steve realize how confused Charlie and Grace must have been and how much his emotional swings were affecting them and everyone else.

It was the day he´d seen Charlie and Grace the last time. Not that they didn´t keep asking for him. They did. And Steve did want to see them very much, but he was afraid of hurting them even more by letting them watch how low he had sunk.

It was also the day Danny brought up the idea of talking to a specialist once again. The suggestion triggered an angry response for the second time that day, and led to a heated argument which ended up with Steve slamming the door shut and drinking himself to sleep.

The next morning, after Steve settled down, he felt even worse about himself. It kept happening over and over again. His friends would try to help. He would get angry. They would fight. He would say he was sorry. And it led to a vicious cycle of anger following by shame. Every time he thought it was getting better and he began feeling like his old self, something came up and the sadness, guilt, and anger inside him were stronger than his mind screaming at him not to hurt the people who loved him.

The time didn´t mean anything as he stood there, thinking and watching over the island and the ocean washing its shores in the distance. He ignored the buzzing of the phone in his pocket, thinking it was Danny, but not ready to face him and apologize after another angry outburst. But when the phone vibrated again, he checked the called ID. The fact it was hidden piqued his interest immediately.

"McGarrett," he answered the call.

"Good afternoon, Commander," an unfamiliar voice said. "This is Lieutenant Adams. Commander Turner tasked me to inform you about the latest news."

"What news?"

"We´ve been able to locate and retrieve the bodies of Special Warfare Operator Liam Jackson and Petty Officer Ethan Lewis and we´ll be transporting them to the States soon," Adams said. "Commander Turner thought you might want to know."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, processing the information. "Yeah, thanks for letting me know," he mumbled after a moment and disconnected the call. Unsure how he felt about the call, he reminded himself it was a good thing. At least their families would be finally able to get some closure and say one last goodbye to them.

And maybe he could do so as well. After all, he´d missed the funerals of the other four men, as he´d still been in a hospital back then. He wouldn´t miss it this time, though.

*to be continued*

As always, I´d be grateful if you shared your opinion. Thanks for reading.