Part One

Chapter One

Steve leaned forward bracing his hand on the shower wall, letting the warm water wash over him. He stared at the drain at his feet as the clear liquid turned brown from the dirt with traces of red from Stuart's blood. He closed his eyes unable to watch the gruesome site, questioning his skills and actions over the past seven hours.

"Lieutenant McGarrett," he heard his Commanding Officer shout out from the door to the barrack showers.

"Sir?" he responded obediently but didn't bother turning, knowing the man was not in his line of sight.

"Debriefing in my tent in ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir," he responded again but with less obedience. He didn't want the meeting. He just wanted to stand there for as long as it took to hopefully wash away the memories of the day. He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut; trying to ward off the look on Stuart's face and the last words his friend had ever spoken. They were directed to him and not the other three that huddled close by, offering their support but knowing there was really nothing they could do. Stuart was going to die right there in Steve's arms.

He waited for as long as he could before slamming his hand against the nozzle and shutting off the water, but his position remained the same as the water dripped off his body while he stared at the floor.

"Hey," he heard a familiar voice behind him and turned, catching the towel before it hit him in the chest.

"We have a debriefing in about five minutes, get dressed."

"I know," he replied to Mackey, the other squad leader that had been on patrol with him when their teams had been ambushed.

He turned to leave when he stopped and spoke over his shoulder to Steve. "Just so you know," he added meaningfully, "I would have done the same thing."

Steve didn't respond, not sure if that were true or not. He wiped his face off and let the rest dry naturally as he wrapped the towel around his waist and made his way back to his room.

…

The temperature, even at 10:30 at night was still uncomfortably warm, but the tension he felt in the tent made it seem like a five hundred degree oven, and he was the one that was going to get roasted, assured a demotion was in line. He should have kept his team together and not separated. 'Arrogance,' he thought regretfully. 'You were too confident and it cost Stuart his life.'

"Sir!" Mackey said as he rose to his feet, standing perfectly erect with his hand on his temple, saluting his Commanding Officer as he entered the tent. Steve was right next to him holding the same military stance.

"At ease gentlemen," Commander Allen instructed as he stopped at a table and poured three generous shots of bourbon from an unmarked decanter into three paper cups. He picked up his and the other two with his thumb and index finger. He walked over and extended them out to Steve and Mackey. It wasn't an offer but an order and they both accepted without any hesitation or thankful response.

He held up his cup, looking back and forth between his two squad leaders as he spoke, "To Chief Petty Officer Stuart Riley. His bravery and dedication was exemplified up to the very end. He will be missed, but never forgotten." He raised his cup higher, "To Stuart."

"To Stuart," they both replied and all three drank the strong liquid, but not one made a reaction over the harsh taste.

Steve could feel it slide down his parched throat and hit his stomach. A wave of nausea swept over him, but it wasn't from the bourbon, it was from the toast, wishing it were Stuart standing there toasting him instead.

"Sit down gentlemen," Allen ordered as he went behind his desk that was nothing more than a table with a two-drawer filing cabinet on either side. His chair was a fold up, the same that Steve and Mackey were siting on in front of him.

He spoke to both men but his main focus was on Steve.

"It's a bad day when we lose a man. However," he quickly pointed out, "neither one of you could have foreseen the ambush you walked in to. The area was tagged as a non-military zone after the sweep last month. Losing Stuart was as tragic as they come, but I also need to commend you on a job well done getting the others out alive. The odds were against you but you pulled through with commendable results."

"Thank you, Sir," Mackey replied, as Steve remained silent. He didn't want, nor did he feel he was warranted an approval on his efforts. He had lost a man by a bad decision that he had made.

"Steve," Allen said with a heavy sigh. "I saw the body cams. You made a quick decision while under heavy fire. That's what the United States Government trained you to do. Sometimes those decisions don't go the way that we anticipate, but in the heat of the moment we expect you to make the most comprehensive ones necessary, and you did. I commend you on your bravery for not only leading the path to safety but also clearing it for your men during the ordeal. You gave an order and they followed you without hesitation. That is the sign of a true leader. Sometimes your victorious but sometimes there are expenses that cannot be helped or predicted. This is one of those times."

Steve's face was expressionless as he sat there and listened, but not one word of it alleviated the fact that Stuart was dead and it was he who had given the order for him to fall back. "Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir," was his standard reply but neither man in the room with him believed he felt exonerated from his own guilt. They had both been in his position before and knew very well what demons were currently tag teaming him. Time was going to be his only friend, and getting him back out in the field as soon as possible was the Navy's cure.

….

Steve sat up on the edge of his cot and reached over for the Nike water bottle that sat on the floor next to him. He bent his head forward, emptying it over the back of his neck.

"Fucking heat," he mumbled, but it wasn't so much the temperature that had caused his lack of sleep.

The final words from Stuart were the culprit that kept him awake. They weren't words of fear or regret that a man who knows he's dying proclaims or confesses. His last words were a service that he not only asked of Steve once before, but also demanded a reply now that it would be carried out, knowing if Steve promised it would be done then he could die in peace, knowing that it would be.

"Shit," he whispered. The despair in his voice spoke of the magnitude of the dying man's wish. How was he supposed to fulfill that request? He was half a world away from the place that he needed to be and even if it were possible to obtain, he hadn't the faintest clue of how he would accomplish it. He couldn't just barge into a person's life and become their guardian.

'Watch over my little sister.'

Steve lay back on the cot as he spun those words over and over in his head seeing the plea in Stuart's eyes, knowing how important it was that someone has her back now that he would be gone.

He knew their family story only because Stuart was not only his subordinate, but he was a friend. Steve had moved up through the ranks quickly in his military career and Stuart was following in his footsteps only three years behind. They not only respected each other immensely, they shared the same hometown, which only strengthened the bond. Being tucked away in the desert thousands of miles away from any normal way of life that either knew resulted in many hours of down time being spent tossing the football, or playing a game of baseball with the other men, or just hanging out and drinking an occasional beer when available, reminiscing about home.

On a couple of occasions when the liquor was flowing freely they talked more openly about life back in Hawaii. It was like talking face to face with a buddy on a Saturday night at the local pub in downtown Waikiki.

On one particular night Stuart crossed over to the dark side, sharing details of a childhood that made Steve feel like he grew up in Disneyland, despite his own dysfunctional youth. In the end they made a drunken promise to one another that they would watch over each other's little sister if the other couldn't. It was a promise made in haste to Steve, actually commenting that Mary was not one that needed watching over, nor would she cater to such an outlandish plot, but Stuart on the other hand was not only grateful for the pact, but was relying heavily upon it if the worse came to be.

The request was taken seriously by Stuart and forgotten by Steve once the beer ran out and the hangover wore off, never spoken of again until just moments before Stuart's death, a little over a week before.

Steve tried to write off Stuart's dying request as something said to him under duress, but the more he digested it the more he began to realize it wasn't something he could walk away from.

He tried to find a comfortable position on the cot as he lay there sweating, wearing nothing more than his skivvy's. He finally rolled and over sat up again, cussing under his breath.

"Damn it Stuart," he muttered quietly, knowing how thin the walls were in his barracks. It wasn't spoken in anger over the request but wishing now he had more details of girl that he'd become the devoted keeper of. All he did know from conversations was that she was three years younger than Stuart and was basically alone in the world now without him. She was currently attending her first year at the University of Hawaii, and living in the dorms. He couldn't be there when she'd be getting the devastating news of her brother's death, feeling sorry for the young girl that he could scarcely visualize, having seen her photo only a couple of times on Stuart's nightstand, and in it she was maybe fifteen years old.

He couldn't be there for her now, but could let her know of his presence and his willingness to help her if the time ever came to be that she needed someone in Stuart's absence. It dawned on him then that perhaps she wouldn't even want his help.

He had to decide and make a commitment then and there how far he would go to fulfill the duty he had promised. He'd never backed away from a challenge, no matter how big. He had a feeling though that this one was going to be his most challenging responsibility yet.

It was unpredictable and he had no details, only a name, 'Nikki'.

He grabbed his laptop and sat back on the cot with his back against the wall, computer on his lap and began to sketch out the draft of an email to an current undetermined address of who he was, what Stuart was to him and what now this unexpected young girl was to him. He'd see what kind of response he got, which would lead him in the direction he would go from there.