Hanging in the Balance

by J.J. Keegan

What happened to Danny Williams during the summer of 1979? Why did he disappear from Five0?

Hanging in the Balance

by

J.J. Keegan

Saturday, July 21, 1979, 2:30 p.m.

Danny Williams grinned as he gathered the scattered balls and bats littering the little league diamond; he really enjoyed coaching these seven- and eight-year-olds. Maybe some day he'd be able to say he knew one of them when… especially that Agbayani kid they'd played against today; he was new to the league this year and man, he could hit the ball! What did they call him? Benny? That was a name he planned to remember; he was sure he'd be hearing it again.

Kyle O'Brien followed Danny around like a loyal little puppy, helping pick up the gear. Also new to the league this year, the eager young boy was working hard to fit in.

"Kyle, I see your aunt and uncle over there talking to Mr. Calvin. Why don't you make sure they know you're helping me?" said Danny.

"Okay, Coach." Kyle scampered across the field toward his relatives, speaking with them excitedly and pointing back to Danny.

Danny retrieved his wallet and keys from where he'd left them on the bench; as he did so the wallet fell open to the few pictures he kept there. One in particular caught his eye, as it always did: Jane, the only woman he had ever loved enough to consider spending the rest of his life with. It had been almost nine years since her death, but the pain of her loss never completely left him. He wasn't really sure why he still kept the picture in his wallet; perhaps it was his way of trying to keep some kind of connection to her. He ran his finger lightly over her face and sighed wistfully. If only he had been with her on that day, maybe he could have prevented her murder.

Kyle reappeared at his side and Danny hastily tucked the wallet away, straightening and fixing the boy with a tolerant smile. "They say okay," Kyle reported breathlessly, his face beaming in adoration. Danny suppressed a small inward cringe. He was acutely uncomfortable with children's hero worship, and was never quite sure how to respond. "Okay, Kyle, grab a bag," he instructed with a grin. "Let's get the car packed up."

Lugging a bag of baseballs that weighed almost half as much as he did, Kyle struggled off valiantly toward the parking lot. Danny smiled as he thought just how much Kyle reminded him of a seven-year-old Danny Williams. In addition to the light brown hair and the blue eyes, Kyle was just a little smaller than the rest of the boys his age. He would have made a prime target for any bully, but he was a scrappy little guy whose cheerful personality usually won over even the most hard-bitten of characters. T.C. Calvin, Danny's assistant coach, was a friend of Kyle's uncle. At the beginning of the season, when T.C. had explained that Kyle was new to the islands and anxious to make friends, Danny had been happy to welcome him to the team and help where he could.

Danny turned the key in the rear lock of his Mustang, lifted the trunk, and bent to pick up a bag of bats. Suddenly, out of nowhere, an enormous, searing pain exploded across the back of his skull. A wave of impossibly bright white light flashed across his field of vision. The whole world tilted crazily. Kyle's face, wide-eyed and terrified, stared down at him. Down at him? How could that be?? Was that pavement pressing against his back? How did he end up on the ground?? Hands grabbed him, pulled him roughly upward. Pain... A distant voice hissed, "Grab the kid." Darkness enveloped him.

*******

Danny came to lying on the floor of a small, dimly lit room. It took him a minute to orient himself and think past his splitting headache. He sat up slowly and began taking stock of his situation. Just a bit of daylight filtered in through a dirt-encrusted window high up near the ceiling. A warehouse of some sort. The musty smell was one of disuse and abandonment, but with a hint of familiarity to it. His head screamed for attention; he touched it gingerly and found dried blood coating an impressive lump. I'm not tied up, that's something.

A small voice from behind startled him. "Coach?"

Kyle! The terrified little boy sat against the wall with his arms wrapped tightly around knees drawn up to his chest. Danny knelt next to him and began to check him for injuries. "Kyle, are you hurt?"

"No, but I couldn't wake you up, and I was afraid you were dead." One big tear made its way down Kyle's cheek.

Danny pushed aside the pain in his head, smiled reassuringly and wiped away the tear. "Whoa, take it easy. You can see I'm not dead. Can you tell me what happened?"

"They hit you on the head, then they grabbed me. We rode in a van for a long time, then they put us in here."

"How long were we in the van, can you remember?"

Kyle shook his head. "I don't know, Coach."

"Do you remember seeing anything out the window?"

"No, they made me get down on the floor, and I couldn't see anything but you. Your head was bleeding a lot. It was scary."

Danny put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "I'm sorry you were scared, but everything will be all right. Tell me what you saw when they took you out of the van."

"I couldn't see anything then, either. They put something over my head."

Danny sighed. This wasn't a very fruitful line of questioning. He looked around to see if he could find a way out of the room. "Wait!" cried Kyle, "The radio was on! Right before we got here, the man said it was time for the three o'clock news."

"Good job Kyle!" Half an hour, thought Danny, We're about half an hour from Honolulu. He drew a circle on a mental map, trying to narrow down their location. There were still an awful lot of possibilities.

Danny continued to gently question Kyle. "How many of them are there?" he asked, nodding toward the closed door.

"There were three in the van, and one more here. And they all have guns."

No surprises there. "Good job, Kyle. Way to go. I know you're scared, but you're still paying attention. That's good. Keep it up. Don't worry, we'll find a way out of here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." Though he had to force it, Danny grinned broadly, "Have I ever let you down?" After all, thought Danny with a touch of dark amusement, I've known you for four months ... nearly a lifetime to a seven-year-old.

Kyle face brightened into a pure, sweet smile of utter faith and trust. "No, Coach, never!" Danny smiled back, but grimly prayed that he would be worthy of that trust.

Danny prowled around the small room, hunting for an escape. Only about eight feet by ten feet, the room had probably been some kind of storage closet at one time. The door was locked. The only window was fifteen feet in the air; too high to lift Kyle through. There were no grates, no vents, no holes. No way out. Whoever was behind this had planned well.

As Danny reached the frustrating conclusion that there was no easy escape, the door opened without warning. He spun around to see a tall, gray-haired, heavy-set man pointing a gun at him. Gut tightening, Danny's face flickered involuntarily in recognition.

The large man smiled tightly. "Oh, good. I see you remember me, cop. It's been a long time."

Danny remained silent, but he certainly did remember him: Richard Sanderson, one of the most vile criminals Five-0 had ever put away. What the hell is he doing out of prison? thought Danny.

"What do you want?"

"What do I want??" Sanderson sneered. His voice thick with malice, he answered his own question, "I want vengeance, plain and simple. I want McGarrett to squirm; I want him to hurt; I want him dead! I've had a long time to think about just how to take my revenge, cop, and I'm going to make you pay for what you did to me."

You brought it upon yourself, you bastard. "McGarrett doesn't deal, you know that," came the even-voiced reply.

"Oh, he'll deal this time." Sanderson's voice was low and oily. "I've got you, his number one boy, and I'm sure he wouldn't want anything to happen to this adorable little child." Sanderson casually placed his hand on Kyle's head and gently smoothed his hair.

The gesture made Danny's stomach lurch. "Leave him alone!!" Ignoring the fact that Sanderson had a gun, that he was a much larger man, that there were surely reinforcements just outside the door, Danny charged him, slammed him backwards against the wall and jammed a forearm against his throat. Pure rage filled Danny's face; he was breathing as hard as if he'd been running. "Don't you touch him!!" he snarled in Sanderson's face.

It took Danny a few seconds to realize that the object pressed hard against his left temple was the muzzle of Sanderson's gun. He froze. Sanderson smiled stiffly. His voice hoarse from the pressure of the smaller man's arm against his throat, he rasped, "You're in no position to tell me what to do, cop. Now back off!!" When Danny hesitated, Sanderson ground the pistol harder into his face. "I said back off. I should blow your fucking head off right now," Sanderson spat, his eyes narrowing. "You and McGarrett sent me to hell."

Which is exactly where you belong, thought Danny, as he reluctantly released his hold on Sanderson and tried to slow his own breathing. He took a step back, carefully positioning himself between Kyle and Sanderson. He decided to try a different approach in an effort to free Kyle. "Look, you've got me, and I don't think you really meant to grab the kid. Why don't you let him go?"

Sanderson's short laugh was low and sinister. "Just how stupid do you think I am??" He backhanded Danny hard across the face with the pistol.

"You try anything like that again, Williams, and I'll kill you. This kid is just as valuable a bargaining chip; I don't need you." Sanderson's face broke into an evil smile as he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Much as Danny wanted to rip Sanderson apart, his blood ran cold as he realized, however well intentioned they had been, his impulsive actions had almost left Kyle alone with this monster.

Danny turned his thoughts to their predicament. He knew it was now late afternoon. While he wouldn't be missed until tomorrow, when he was due to play tennis, he was sure that by now someone would be looking for Kyle.

*******

Fifteen minutes had passed since Kyle had spoken to his aunt and uncle. They were ready to leave and looked toward the parking lot for Kyle. Not seeing anyone there, they wondered aloud where the little boy might have gone. T.C. grinned. "I'll help you look for him. That little guy gets into everything, doesn't he?" All three adults chuckled as they headed toward the parking lot. "I'll bet he's trying to talk Danny into letting him drive that Mustang."

As they approached Danny's car, T.C. could see that something was wrong. Ball and bat bags had been dropped haphazardly beside the car, along with two baseball gloves. The car's trunk was open, a set of keys abandoned in the lock. T.C.'s throat closed with dread as he fingered the thick liquid spattered on the pavement beside the gloves. "Oh, my God," he whispered incredulously, taking off for the pay phones at a dead run.

*******

Steve welcomed a distressed young couple into his office. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. and Mrs. Kanaha. I know this must be difficult for you, but I have a few questions I have to ask. Please, have a seat." The couple sat stiffly in the chairs in front of Steve as he perched on the front edge of his desk.

In the hour since Duke had pulled him off the golf course, Steve had tried and failed to develop a list of likely suspects or motives in Danny's disappearance. He also had no idea whether the target of this apparent kidnapping was Danny or the boy, Kyle. Although it was never exactly quiet at Five-0, there had been no recent cases likely to lead to kidnapping.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Kyle? Have there been any threats against your family?"

"No, no one, and no threats. We don't have any enemies, Mr. McGarrett," replied a bewildered David Kanaha.

"You're his aunt and uncle. Are there any other family members who might have had any reason to take him somewhere?" Steve asked gently.

Martha Kanaha paled visibly. Her voice barely under control, she answered, "No, Mr. McGarrett, we're Kyle's only family. My brother and his wife, Kyle's parents, were killed in a traffic accident near their home outside Boston last winter. Kyle was hurt and was unconscious for two days. The police said..." her voice faltered. She took a deep breath and continued. "The police said it looked as though Kyle was trying to help my brother before he passed out, even though my brother and his wife were killed on impact." She paused and swallowed hard. "We brought Kyle here to Hawaii to live with us shortly after the accident." Another pause. "Why would anyone want to hurt him?!"

Steve winced inwardly. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Kanaha, I didn't know. We're not sure that anyone would want to hurt Kyle. He may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Have there been any arguments in the neighborhood or at work? Can you think of anyone at all who might be angry with your family?"

They shook their heads. "No, Mr. McGarrett, nothing," replied David.

"Okay..." said Steve, rapping his knuckles lightly on his desktop, "I want you to go home; someone may call. I've had a tap put on your phone." A young HPD officer dressed in plain clothes stepped forward. "This is Officer Kekaula.  He'll be staying with you, and we'll be in touch as soon as we know anything."

The Kanahas rose from their seats. "Mr. McGarrett, please find him!" pleaded Martha.

"We're doing our best. I know this is difficult, but please try not to worry," he added inadequately, patting her arm. He couldn't help but think how hard it was to take his own advice, knowing that the man he thought of almost as a brother was also missing.

As the door closed behind them, McGarrett turned to the men in the office. "Okay, gentlemen, what have we got?" He walked to his corkboard and tacked up a picture of Danny, then one of Kyle. "Danno and a seven-year-old boy snatched at a Little League game. Someone injured. The relatives have no enemies. It doesn't add up."

"Unless Danny was the target," observed Duke.

"Yeah, Duke, it's sure looking that way, isn't it? We get any notifications on prison releases?"

"Nothing since last month," Duke replied. "Billings and Lester, and they've been behaving themselves. No jail breaks either; we checked."

Steve turned to the last two men in the room. "Kevin, Truck, anything turn up at the park?" Kevin Wilson and Truck Kealoha were HPD officers who had assisted Five-0 on several recent cases. "Nothing yet, Steve. HPD is still out there," answered Truck.

Steve was about to send the three men out on assignment when the intercom buzzed. 

"Yes, Jenny?"

"Steve, there's a man on the phone who insists on talking to you.  He doesn't sound very nice."

"Put him through."  McGarrett glanced at Duke and pressed 'record' on the cassette player sitting on his desk as the phone began to ring shrilly.  McGarrett flipped the switch on a speaker attached to the phone and then picked up.

"McGarrett," he snapped.

"McGarrett, after all this time. So nice to hear your voice..." oozed a sinister, vaguely familiar voice.

"Who is this?" Keep him talking so we can get a trace. I know this voice... Steve screwed up his face and concentrated hard. It was a voice from the past; a voice that gave him chills.

"You disappoint me, McGarrett. I didn't think you'd ever forget me. I've got them, your boy and his little pal. I love kids, you know, McGarrett."

Steve felt a violent shudder run down his spine and a surge of adrenaline wash over him as recognition finally dawned. "Sanderson..." he confirmed flatly.

"Ah, you do remember. I'm touched."

Oh, you're touched all right ... in the head! thought Steve. "Let me talk to Williams!"

"Time's up, McGarrett. If they amuse me, I'll keep them alive, for now."  Sanderson paused.  "Oh, one more thing.  I don't wanna hear that bitch's voice again.  I wanna hear your voice, and only your voice, when I call back, or I'll kill them."

The phone clicked dead.

"Not enough time for a trace, Steve."

"I know, Duke. My God ... Sanderson. How did he get out???" Steve looked stricken.

Duke felt equally appalled. In his worst nightmare, he could not imagine Richard Sanderson back on the street.

"Duke, pull the Sanderson file from the archives. Kevin, get over to HPD. Put out an APB on Sanderson, have HPD put the Hostage Rescue and SWAT teams on standby, and ask them for any extra help they can pull in. Find the guy who turned state's evidence against Sanderson. What was his name? Hayes. Dennis Hayes. Bring him in. Maybe he knows something. Truck, get these pictures of Danno and Kyle distributed. Dig up Sanderson's photo, too. Then hit the streets. You've got relatives everywhere; use 'em." Steve paused for a moment. "Kevin, Truck, I know you weren't around yet when we put Sanderson away. There isn't time to explain right now; suffice it to say that we're dealing with a dangerous, vicious psychopath." Kevin and Truck nodded.

As the men left the office, Steve grabbed his coffee, took a long swallow and stared out the lanai door. Sanderson... There had been no jailbreaks; there was only one other possible explanation. Duke returned with the file to see Steve stabbing numbers on his phone and waiting impatiently for it to ring on the other end. Steve still had the speaker turned up so Duke could listen.

Steve launched into a tirade as soon as the object of his wrath picked up the phone. "John? What the hell is Richard Sanderson doing out of prison??? And why doesn't anyone in my office know anything about it??"

John Manicote cringed. No one told Five-0?? "The parole board released him on Thursday, Steve. I thought you had been notified."

"Damn it, John, no!! We had no idea. And now Sanderson has taken Dan Williams and a seven-year-old boy hostage!! What the hell did the parole board think it was doing?? You know Five-0's recommendation: keep him locked up!!"

"Steve, his doctor convinced the parole board that he had been rehabilitated ... cured." Manicote hadn't been pleased with the handling of this entire situation, and now was in the unenviable position of trying to defend the parole board's actions to an enraged Steve McGarrett.

Steve was incredulous. "John, you've got to be kidding!! Do they have any idea what they've done??!!" Steve's voice continued to rise. "They believed some doctor's mumbo jumbo and let a monster loose!! Now there are at least two lives in jeopardy! What's that doctor's name?"

Manicote hesitated. "Steve..."

Steve exploded. "The doctor's name, John, NOW! I'm conducting a kidnapping investigation. Either you can give me the name or I can spend a couple of hours digging it up. You decide. Do Danny and that boy have a couple of hours to spare?"

The cutting sarcasm was not lost on the District Attorney. "His name is Dr. Robert Jasper. You can probably find him out on the course at Waialae Country Club about now."

"Thanks, John," replied Steve in a more neutral tone. "You'd better get to your office, I'm about to notify the governor."

McGarrett hung up the phone and turned to Duke. "Find that doctor. Get him in here." Duke nodded his head and all but flew out the door.

Steve punched an intercom number on the phone. "Kenny? Got a tape up here for you to take a look at. Anything on the blood yet?" He listened for a moment, then shouted into the phone, "What do you mean, 'not yet'?! I need answers, Kenny, and I need them quickly. Keep on it." He hung up the phone without listening any further. Che Fong would have had answers by now, came the involuntary thought. Steve knew it was unfair to Kenny, who was a brand new weekend fill-in at the lab, to hold him to Che's standards. Not for the first time in recent memory, he dearly wished Che were still with Five-0.

Steve thought for a moment, then dialed another number. "Hi, Steve, what are you doing in the office on such a beautiful day?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

McGarrett was momentarily taken aback. The voice chuckled. "We get some pretty interesting toys to play with here at the FBI lab. I'm sure you'll be hearing more about something called 'Caller Identification'. What can I do for you?"

"Hello, Che. As you've already guessed, this isn't a social call, unfortunately. I know I promised never to pressure you into coming back to Five-0 ... God knows the FBI pays better ... but I need your help. I've got a brand new kid in the lab this weekend, and Richard Sanderson has kidnapped Danno and a little boy. I can't afford for someone to cut his teeth on this one. Can you help us out?"

Che whistled. "I'll be right over!"

"Thanks, Che, see you soon."

Steve hung up the phone and stood behind his desk for a long minute, staring at the Sanderson file. He finally swallowed his revulsion, opened the file, and began to try to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

*******

As the door clicked shut behind Sanderson, Danny turned to Kyle, who was standing stock still, staring at him. "Why does that man want to hurt you and Mr. McGarrett?"

Danny wiped a trickle of blood from his throbbing lip and answered, "He did some bad things, Kyle. We caught him and put him in prison a long time ago."

"Why did they let him out?" asked Kyle, his voice quavering. "He's scary." He resumed his position, sitting against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest.

Danny took a seat beside Kyle. "I'm not sure why they let him out." I thought the parole board was set to deny him parole. Steve will not be happy about this.

Danny's thoughts shifted to Richard Sanderson. Had the parole board lost its collective mind? Sanderson had served only 15 years of a 30-year sentence. And why hadn't Five-0 been informed of his release?? Someone had really screwed up this time.

Danny had been a young HPD officer when he was assigned to work undercover with Five-0 to infiltrate a child pornography ring. It remained to this day one of his most disturbing assignments. He still felt vaguely ill, even after all this time, at the things he had seen and at the feigned interest in young children he had been forced to display in order to infiltrate and break the ring. Testifying at the trial had sickened him all over again. Sanderson, the ring's leader, had promised revenge. Danny had gone undercover many times since that episode, sometimes posing as distasteful characters, but no other assignment had ever affected him so deeply and permanently.

Danny shook himself out of his disturbing reverie. An entirely unpleasant task lay ahead: there were things he had to say to Kyle that might be difficult for the boy to hear. "Kyle," he began, "we have to talk about something important, okay?"

"Okay, Coach," the frightened boy responded.

Danny shifted his position so he sat looking directly at Kyle. "If you can get away, you run, get out of here, get to a road, or a house, and find an adult to help you call the police. Understand?"

"Coach, I can't leave you!"

Danny grasped Kyle's forearm and spoke firmly. "Yes, you can, Kyle. You have to, if you get the chance. You'll be more likely to escape than I will, so you run, if you can. This is really important, Kyle. You've got to do exactly what I tell you."

Kyle nodded slowly, clearly unhappy with the idea of leaving his coach behind.

"Good. Now, one other thing. Have you ever seen on TV, when the police go after the bad guys, sometimes there's a lot of shooting?"

"Yeah, I've seen that on TV a bunch of times."

"All right," continued Danny, "if that happens here, you lie flat on the floor. Don't move or run, or you could get hurt. Understand?"

Kyle nodded again, his eyes big and scared.

"Good." Danny decided it was time to divert Kyle's attention from their predicament, so he continued in a much more congenial voice, "Well, looks like we have some time on our hands. Let's talk baseball. What's your favorite team?"

The boy relaxed his stiff, fearful posture a little, grinned, and exclaimed, "The Red Sox, Coach, you know that!"

Danny smiled. Yes, anyone who spent five minutes with Kyle knew that. If someone by odd chance missed Kyle's thick Boston accent, his rabid love of the Red Sox was a clear indicator of his home of origin. "Okay, then, who's your favorite player?"

"That's easy, too, Coach," answered Kyle eagerly, "Carlton Fisk. He's wicked good; the best. I wanna be just like him. Did you know that he hit a famous home run in the World Series in 1975? I have a picture of that on my wall in my bedroom. My dad gave it to me. He thought Carlton Fisk was one of the best players, ever. Well, except for maybe Carl Yastrzemski or Ted Williams. Did you know that I can spell Yastrzemski? My dad told me how when he was a kid he used to go and watch Ted Williams play." Then, his eyes widening, Kyle continued breathlessly, "Coach, are you related to him??"

Danny chuckled aloud. "To Ted Williams? No, I don't think so, sorry to say." Although Kyle was an engaging little boy, he didn't talk a lot. In fact, Danny didn't think he had ever heard him put together three consecutive sentences, but get him started on baseball and he didn't seem to want to come up for air. At least the conversation seemed to be taking Kyle's mind off their circumstances.

"Know what? I'm named after Carlton Fisk," Kyle announced proudly.

Danny looked puzzled. "You are?" How do you get Kyle from Carlton?

"Yup," Kyle continued conspiratorially, "my whole name is Kyle Fisk O'Brien. My first name is Kyle because my mom thought Carlton sounded like an old man's name, so my dad agreed on Kyle. But me and my dad, we know the truth." His voice lowered to a whisper, "Don't tell Carlton Fisk that, okay?"

"Your secret is safe with me," replied Danny, grinning as he ruffled Kyle's hair.

"I remember my mom used to call my dad a baseball fanatic. I think she meant it in a nice way, 'cause she was always smiling when she said it. What does fanatic mean?" asked Kyle.

"It means your dad loved baseball," replied Danny, with a sad smile.

"My dad thought the Red Sox might win the World Series this year, but I don't think so. They're not doin' so good. They almost won last year, y'know. My dad was sooo mad that the Yankees won the playoff game. We watched it together. That was right before…" Kyle's voice trailed off and his face fell.

"Right before the accident," Danny finished gently.

"Yeah."

Kyle continued softly, "My uncle never used to care much about baseball until I came. He likes football. He doesn't know as much as my dad did. My dad was teaching me everything about baseball. He was going to take me to Fenway Park this summer to see the Red Sox. He was seven when his dad took him there. He said that every boy should go to Fenway Park when he's seven. We never got to go there..." The little boy hung his head sadly and curled up against Danny. "I miss my dad..."

Danny swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. This poor kid had been through so much in the past year... "Everything will be okay Kyle," he said huskily, putting an arm around the boy and hugging him tightly. Danny hoped the next few hours wouldn't make a liar out of him.

*******

Steve's office door burst open to admit a short, wiry man with dark brown hair and a small face dominated by a large nose. "McGarrett, what is the meaning of this??!!" the new arrival demanded, stalking angrily across the room to stand in front of Steve's desk with his hands on his hips.

"Dr. Robert Jasper, I assume?" It was more a statement than a question.

The man ignored the question and continued his tirade. "You interrupted my golf game, McGarrett. Just who the hell do you think you are??"

Even from the far side of the room, Duke could see McGarrett's eyes take on a distinctly dangerous glint. Steve stood up, walked slowly and deliberately around the desk, and stood towering over the other man. "A golf game, Doctor?" he asked in a strained voice. "A GOLF GAME??!!" he thundered. "Richard Sanderson has taken two hostages. One is Dan Williams, one of my officers, and the other is a seven-year-old boy!" Steve punctuated his words by slamming his right fist into his open left hand, lowering his voice to a tight, dangerous tone. "And you're worried about your golf game?? Sit down."

Though he had paled under Steve's onslaught, the doctor hesitated.

"I said sit DOWN, Doctor." McGarrett was clearly not a man to cross.

As the doctor slowly sank into a chair, Steve returned to the other side of his desk, where he stood leaning forward with his hands resting on its surface. "I don't suppose you'd like to enlighten us as to why you recommended this animal be paroled?" he asked, his eyes boring into Jasper.

"In my professional opinion, McGarrett, he was rehabilitated and ready to be released," Jasper replied haughtily.

"Does he sound rehabilitated to you, Doctor?" demanded Steve.

"Fifteen years is a very long time to be in prison, Mr. McGarrett. A man can change."

"Yes, it is. A long time to stew, a long time to plan. This man hasn't changed; you let a monster loose. Did you ever read his case file?"

"No, Mr. McGarrett. I prefer to evaluate my patients on their current condition, rather than dwell on the past. I didn't see any need..."

Steve cut him off. "Read it," he spat, tossing the case file across the desk to land in front of Jasper.

"I really see no need..."

Steve cut him off once again. "Read it, Doctor, right now!!" Each clipped word was precisely enunciated.

Jasper picked up the file tentatively, glanced warily at Steve, and opened the cover. He immediately turned white and quickly closed the file.

"Every word," Steve reiterated, his jaw muscles rippling as he clenched his teeth.

The doctor slowly opened the file and read through it. With each passing moment, his complexion blanched further, until he finally looked at Steve and almost begged, "Restroom?"

"Out there," Steve replied, pointing to the door. "Show him, Duke."

As Jasper ran gagging from the room, Duke directed him to the small washroom in the outer office, not far from Lani's desk. Steve tried not to take too much satisfaction in the violent retching sounds he could hear emanating from the room.

After several minutes, Jasper made his way shakily back to Steve's office. Steve fixed him with a steely-eyed stare. "Do you still feel the same way about Sanderson? Still think a guy who is capable of what you just saw in that file could ever be rehabilitated?"

"I didn't know, McGarrett," Jasper pleaded, helplessly.

"You didn't try to find out, either, did you? Just made your own best guess. Well, you were wrong," Steve snapped. "You're going to help me find him. You're going to help me figure out where he is, so that maybe, just maybe, we can save a couple of lives. Lives that wouldn't be in jeopardy right now if you were anywhere near competent." Steve shook a clenched fist in front of him. "For your own sake, you better pray we find them in time."

"Is that a threat, Mr. McGarrett?" asked Jasper, recovering just a bit of his bravado.

"No, Doctor, it's a promise!! Now, let's get to work."

*******

Kevin and Truck hurried into HPD headquarters and stopped to speak with one of the detectives.

"Hi, Yoshi," greeted Kevin. "Got a minute?"

Lieutenant Yoshi Tanaka looked up from the file he was studying. "Hi guys, what's on your mind?" he asked. As if I don't already know, he thought, same thing that's on everyone's mind today. Dressed in his customary aloha shirt, khaki slacks and sloppy beach hat, the middle-aged, Oriental man looked more like a rumpled tourist than an HPD detective.

"Weren't you involved in the Sanderson bust when it went down?" asked Kevin.

"Yup," responded Tanaka. He shook his head slowly. "Ugly business."

Yoshi always did have a gift for understatement, thought Kevin. "What can you tell us about Dennis Hayes? Any idea what he's been up to lately?"

Tanaka pointed to the open file on his desk. "Funny you should ask... After he turned state's evidence and helped Five-0 put Sanderson away, he turned his life around. Spent some time on probation, then kept out of trouble. Runs a little landscaping service. Hasn't been seen since Friday morning, though."

"That don't sound so good," muttered Truck.

Kevin took a deep breath, "Yoshi, I got another question. We know about Sanderson, but not the details. Didn't seem like the time to ask Steve questions. Can you fill us in? Kinda before our time."

Tanaka leaned back in his chair and knitted his brow. In another situation, the faraway look his beady eyes took on might have appeared almost sinister. "Danny was my partner. He was still a rookie; been with the department less than a year. Five-0 needed a young guy to infiltrate a child porn ring, so I recommended Danny. It was really tough on him. I thought for a while afterwards that he might even leave HPD and give up on being a cop. Sanderson was pretty vicious after the trial. Said he was gonna get anyone who had anything to do with putting him away. That guy is an animal ... if you'd seen what he did to those kids..." Tanaka closed his eyes and shuddered, as though trying to physically rid himself of the memory. "I still can't believe the parole board let him out. I just don't get it. We work too hard putting scum like him away, then some board just turns them loose." Tanaka flung a hand in the air and shook his head angrily.

Watching Yoshi's reaction, Kevin and Truck had begun to wonder if they really wanted to hear the intimate the details of the case, after all.

"Yeah," said Truck, trying to divert the conversation. "Almost makes you wanna bust some heads yourself. Hard to keep from doing that sometimes, huh?"

"You know it," responded Tanaka, his face twisting into a scowl.

Tanaka's phone rang, breaking the tension. "'Scuse me a minute, fellas," he said, lifting the receiver. "Tanaka." As he listened to the caller, his scowl deepened. "Okay," he said after a few moments. "Thanks."

Tanaka hung up the phone and slowly looked back at Kevin and Truck. "Dennis Hayes isn't missing any more. His body's at the morgue. Has been since this morning, when it was found in an alley. He'd been shot, and beaten so badly that they had to ID him through fingerprints. Looks like Sanderson meant what he said about revenge." Tanaka's eyes darkened and took on a weary, pained look. His voice low and ragged, he said, "I lost a partner once, you know. Something you never forget..." his voice trailed away as he stared into the distance.

Kevin and Truck had been unaware that Tanaka had suffered such a tremendous loss. "I'm sorry, Yoshi," Truck offered softly.

Tanaka looked at them with hollow eyes and whispered hoarsely, "Danny's chances aren't looking so good..."

Kevin and Truck glanced at each other, neither having any idea what to say. Finally, Kevin placed his hand on Tanaka's shoulder and said quietly, "We'll find him, Yoshi." He paused for a moment, "Mind if I use your phone?" Tanaka gestured silently in the affirmative.

Kevin dialed and waited for a moment. "Steve, HPD found Hayes..."

*******

Steve looked around at the men gathered in his office, then glanced involuntarily at the table near the window, knowing even as he did so that the man he was so used to seeing inhabit the spot during an investigation was conspicuously absent.

"Okay gentlemen, Sanderson couldn't have set this up by himself in two days. He had help. Whadda we got?"

"A whole lot of nothing so far, Steve," replied a frustrated Duke. "Jasper spent two hours looking at mug shots. He came up with one name, Bobby Huang. Huang's been visiting Sanderson pretty regularly over the last few weeks, but he's disappeared; no one's seen or heard from him in over a week. Sanderson vanished as soon as he was released."

"Sanderson hasn't even been seen on Hotel Street?" asked Steve.

"Not even there."

Steve turned to Truck, "Anything?"

"We got HPD all over the island with pictures of Danny, Kyle, and Sanderson. Nothin'. Went back to the park. Found a kid who said he saw a white van parked beside Danny's Mustang; remembers it 'cause he was lookin' at Danny's car. Kid didn't see the plate, and didn't see anyone around the van. That's all from the park. No one else saw a thing. Everyone on the streets clammed up, too; guy musta scared 'em pretty good."

"Kevin?" Steve grated.

"Doc says Hayes would have died from the beating, but it was the gunshot wound that killed him. Hayes went to work Friday morning and never came home. No indications before Friday of anything wrong. His truck was found abandoned just outside the gate of an estate out on Kalanianiole Highway, where he serviced an account twice a week. The owner of the place checks out; a writer who lives off the island most of the time. The caretaker who reported Hayes missing checks out okay, too."

Steve couldn't help a small, dark, inward chuckle, despite the ominous situation. He doubted that the president of the Anglo-Hawaiian Historical Society would take kindly to being referred to as the "caretaker" of one of the more lavish estates on the island. He made a quick mental note to do a better job of keeping his people up to speed on the who's-who of Hawaiian society, then returned to the unhappy task at hand.

"Che, anything to add?"

"The blood at the park matches Danny's blood type. As for Hayes, looks like he was killed someplace else and his body dumped in the alley, where we'd be sure to find it. Not enough blood at the scene to be consistent with his injuries."

Steve's face darkened. "That's it? That's all we've got?? Not good enough, gentlemen, not good enough!" he fumed.

Suddenly, the jangle of the telephone cut off all conversation. Steve waited one ring to give Che a chance to activate his equipment, then answered. "McGarrett," he barked.

*******

Danny sat propped against the wall with one arm protectively wrapped around a soundly sleeping Kyle, and was struck once again by the similarities between his younger self and Kyle. Both a bit smaller than average, both orphaned as youngsters. He felt a particular connection to this boy, much more so than with most of his young charges on the Little League team. Even if it cost him his life, he wasn't going to let Sanderson hurt this child.

The door opened to admit two of Sanderson's men, one of whom held a gun. "Let's go, cop."

Danny didn't budge. "Go where?" Kyle sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, Joey, the little guy here thinks he's a comedian. Think he's gonna be laughing when the boss gets done with him?" the larger of the two men asked the other. He grabbed Danny by the upper arm, jerked him to his feet, and propelled him out the door, growling, "I said 'Let's go', asshole." When Kyle tried to follow, the other man shoved him backwards hard enough to make him stumble and fall. "Just him, kid. Believe me, you'd rather stay here," he said, smiling to himself as he shut the door. Kyle curled up against the wall and tried not to cry, wondering if Danny was ever coming back.

Sanderson stood waiting on the other side of the door. Danny quickly examined the room. Yes, they were definitely in a warehouse, though it looked deserted. This was a much bigger room. A few crates and broken bits of pallets were scattered around the dirty floor. There was an oversized door about ten feet away and a smaller door on the opposite wall that appeared to lead to another part of the building. A small table and a handful of chairs stood nearby. Danny was pretty sure he knew where they were. This looked like an old abandoned sugar mill, probably somewhere near Ewa. The familiar smell was sugarcane, which he recognized from playing in this area as a child. Kyle had been correct; they were about an hour from Honolulu.

One of the men moved behind Danny and pinned his arms back. Danny put up a token struggle, but saw no point in wasting energy. Each of the men was over six feet tall and each outweighed him by at least 50 pounds. His stomach knotted and a trickle of cold sweat slid down his back as Sanderson slowing and deliberately slipped on brass knuckles.

"Don't be a fool, Sanderson, you'll never get away with this!" Danny knew it probably wouldn't do any good to try to reason with him, but it was worth a shot.

Sanderson's smile was one of pure evil. "I've been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time, cop. You have no idea how much effort I've put into this. How I thought of you and McGarrett every day. How I dreamed of this very moment." Sanderson's voice dripped with venom. He no longer sounded sane, and there was a distinctly demented gleam in his eye. "I'm gonna make you scream, Williams. I'm gonna make you cry like a baby. I'm gonna break you into a million pieces and make you beg for mercy."

Not if I can help it, Danny resolved grimly, despite the cold fear that now spread through his gut. He had seen the depths of depravity to which Sanderson could descend; human dignity and human life meant nothing to him. Danny renewed his struggle to break loose, but the huge man behind him just laughed and tightened his grip.

"You don't want to do this, Sanderson," warned Danny, the tendons of his neck standing out as he strained against the brute force holding him immobile, "McGarrett will hunt you down like a dog."

Sanderson leaned in close to Danny's face. Almost involuntarily, Danny turned his head slightly to one side in revulsion. The larger man whispered in Danny's ear. "I know he will. I'm counting on it." Danny's flesh crawled. What was this madman up to?

Sanderson smiled, clearly relishing the moment. "Time to pay for your sins, cop," he pronounced malevolently. With that, he swung a vicious right at Danny's face. Danny heard the crunch of metal on bone as his cheek split open, his head slammed back, and light exploded behind his eyes. He was still reeling from the pain of the first blow when whump, the next one cracked a rib and knocked the wind out of him.

Sanderson brutalized Danny's face, each punch increasing in ferocity as he became more and more enraged. "Do you know what happens to a guy like me in prison?" Crack. "I wasn't real popular." Crunch. "They beat the shit out of me." Thud. "Every day." Thwack. Blood and sweat flew from Danny's face as his head snapped helplessly to one side, then the other, as Sanderson connected again and again. With each damaging blow, Danny's grip on reality slipped a little further.

When Sanderson had beaten Danny's face to a bloody pulp, he stepped back, satisfied to let his henchmen finish the job. Now unable to stand on his own, Danny was held upright by one man while the other two methodically pounded his chest and belly. Their brass knuckles cut through Danny's shirt and split his skin as the men worked their way up and down his torso. With obscene clarity, Danny heard his own grunts of pain and the sickening thumps of fists and metal colliding with flesh as the men took deranged delight in their work. Danny felt at least two more ribs break under the assault. Despite the torment, he clung desperately to what little restraint he had left and refused to cry out. I'm not going to give this animal the satisfaction of making me yell.

Sanderson finally held up a hand and nodded to the brute holding Danny. The big man slammed Danny face first into the wall, delivered two tremendous blows to his kidneys, and let him fall. Danny left a bloody smear behind on the dingy wall as he slid helplessly to the floor, where he lay on his side, dazed and disoriented.

Sanderson, still breathing heavily from exertion, reached toward a phone that had been sitting unnoticed on the nearby table and turned up the volume on the speaker. "Did you catch all that, McGarrett?" he asked giddily. "Just a little exercise I needed."

"Sanderson!!" Steve snarled. "You bastard! You'll pay for this, I promise you!"

"Calm down, McGarrett, I didn't kill him…yet. But I will, unless you hurry." With that, Sanderson kicked Danny viciously in the stomach, and again in the ribs. There was the audible snap of another bone breaking.

"It's you I want, McGarrett. Come and get me, if you can," Sanderson taunted, turning with a satisfied smile and quietly hanging up the phone.

*******

Steve stood in shocked silence as the connection was severed. His white-knuckled grip on the phone threatened to crush the instrument. The pain-filled grunts and groans he had heard were a good indication that Danno was still alive. It was a scant reassurance, but at least it was something. He slammed the phone into its cradle. His rage boiling over, he leapt from his chair, leaned his hands on his desk and roared at Che. "That must have been traceable. Where is he?! I want to know where!!"

Che was just hanging up the other phone. "He's good, Steve," he reported, pursing his lips and shaking his head with grudging admiration. "He set up some kind of a domino-effect tie line that chased us all over the island and then made it look as though the call originated here, in this office. We can't trace it."

"Don't tell me 'can't'! I don't want to hear 'can't'! Danno's in trouble ... I want answers!!" Steve bellowed, slamming a hand down on his desk. After a moment, he shook his head and rapped his knuckles on the desk much less forcefully. "I'm sorry, Che," he sighed, "I know you're just as worried about them as I am. Keep on it."

Che nodded. "Sure, Steve."

Steve pursed his lips and addressed the others, "All right, hit the streets." He jabbed an index finger toward the door. "I don't care what it costs, I want information. Every snitch, every prostitute, every single pimp and pusher ... lean on 'em hard, every one of 'em! Someone out there has the answer! I want every inch of this island searched. Turn this rock upside down and get me something!! Call it in if you find anything, otherwise regroup here in, say, six hours, at 0300."

*******

Kyle jumped as the door opened. He'd heard muffled noises through the door, but had been unable to tell what was happening. The same two men entered the room, dragging a battered Danny Williams between them. As they dumped him on the floor, one of the men snorted at Kyle, "See, kid, told you that you didn't want to come along with him." They left, locking the door once more behind them.

Kyle was terrified; there was blood everywhere. Danny lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed. The top of his tattered blue and white baseball shirt was saturated with blood still flowing from wide-open gashes on his face; the rest of the shirt was heavily mottled with red stains.

"Coach?" Kyle whispered fearfully, shaking Danny's shoulder. "Are you okay?" Kyle used his hands to try to clean some of the blood off Danny's face, but only succeeded in spreading it around. He pulled his own shirt over his head and used it to wipe at the blood, this time with more success. As his small hands dabbed pitifully at Danny's face, terror overtook him. "Please wake up, Coach, please," Kyle sobbed, "I couldn't wake my dad up, when our car got hit. He looked just like you, all cut up. You gotta wake up, please..."

Danny slowly gathered his wits about him and realized that Kyle was beside him. "It's okay, Kyle, I'm here," he whispered. He reached up and gripped Kyle's arm reassuringly. "Shhh, it's okay." Danny rolled onto his side, grunting painfully as his broken ribs shifted. "Help me sit up." Trying not to lean too heavily on the boy, Danny pushed himself to a sitting position and settled back against the wall. His head spun, his stomach rolled with nausea; he was in bad shape, and he knew it. He badly wanted to lie back down, but he didn't want to scare Kyle any more than he already had.

Kyle's sobs quieted to persistent sniffles. He wiped at the tears on his face, smearing Danny's blood across his own cheeks in the process. Danny winced at the sight. "C'mere." He motioned for the boy to come within reach. Danny gently wiped the red streaks from Kyle's face and hands with an unsoiled section of Kyle's shirt.

Danny dropped the shirt, put his hands firmly on Kyle's shoulders, and stared hard at the boy. His strained voice took on a solemn tone. "Kyle, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I know this doesn't look very good right now, but I'm going to get you out of here. Everything's going to be okay. We're going to be okay. No matter what happens, I'll never leave you. I promise." Danny paused. "Trust me?" Kyle nodded and managed a small smile, but the innocence that had been evident in his youthful face just a few hours before was now gone.

"Good," said Danny, briefly tightening his grip on Kyle's shoulders. "Tell you what. It's way past your bedtime, how about if we get some sleep?" In reality, Danny knew that he was going to pass out, and was desperately trying to figure out a graceful way to lie down without alarming Kyle any further. "Your shirt's a mess, but you'll get cold without it. Can you put it back on?" Kyle nodded and pulled on the bloodstained shirt. Danny noted gratefully that most of the blood was on the back of the shirt, where Kyle couldn't see it.

Danny slowing and painfully lowered himself onto his right side, gasping softly as his broken ribs shifted again. He motioned for Kyle to lie beside him. The protective hand Danny rested on Kyle's shoulder was meant more to alert him if anyone tried to move Kyle than to reassure the boy, but it had the added benefit of relaxing Kyle and his eyes drooped sleepily. "We'll be okay," Danny murmured. His head spun and darkness enveloped him.

*******

Steve rubbed a weary hand over his forehead and looked across his desk at Che. "Any luck unraveling his phone setup?"

"Not yet, Steve. Pretty sophisticated scheme. I need another call to get any further. The longer you can keep him talking, the better chance we'll have."

"Okay, how about the tape, did you get anything from it?"

"Nothing definitive, but I can tell you what's not on there: ocean or traffic noises. And no sound of wind. It's really blowing out there tonight, so they've got to be somewhere isolated, away from the coast, probably not on the windward side."

Well, thought Steve bitterly, that eliminates at least a quarter of the island ... big help there.

"One other thing, Steve. There's an engine running somewhere. Sounds like it might be a generator."

"A generator," repeated Steve thoughtfully. "Now, why would they need a generator, unless they're far from power lines, or in some place where the power has been shut off? Maybe someplace that's been abandoned. But the phone lines are connected." Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. None of this made sense. "Unless..." He snapped his fingers. "Unless..." Two more snaps. "What if he's not using a phone?!"

Che could see Steve was on to something, but he wasn't following the boss's line of reasoning. "How could he not be using a phone, Steve?" puzzled Che, glancing at the handset on Steve's desk.

Steve stood up and barreled ahead with an animated explanation as he paced back and forth across the office. "You said there were multiple hops on that tie line. What if the first hop..." Suddenly Che was smiling and nodding. Steve hesitated and raised an eyebrow, as Che finished the sentence, "...was from a short wave radio?! Could be, Steve! I'll go over the tape again." Che hurried out.

Steve grabbed a microphone from the table and requested a patch through to Duke Lukela and Kevin Wilson. After explaining his theory, Steve ordered, "Get over to the marine radiotelephone operator's office. I want to know the details on every call for the last twelve hours."

"On it, Steve," responded Duke.

*******

An hour and a half later, Kevin Wilson stood back in Steve's office referring to a small notepad. "There were fifteen calls, Steve. Thirteen were strictly legit - we've talked to the captains who made the calls. The fourteenth is probably okay. Although we haven't been able to contact the boat by radio, it's registered to a Mr. Howard Brown; the call was made to his residence."

"I know Howard Brown," said Steve. "He takes his boat out every weekend. What about the last call?"

"No boat registered in the name used. The call went to an apartment in Honolulu." Kevin looked at Duke.

"Rented last week in a phony name; paid cash for two months in advance. Landlord ID'ed Bobby Huang as the guy who rented it. It's empty except for the telephone set up," interjected Duke.

Kevin continued, "The operator's office will try to trace any more calls that come in tonight and will give us anything they come up with."

"Okay, now maybe we're getting somewhere. Good work ... good work."

"One more thing, Steve," added Kevin, "the fake boat's call sign...? 'Child's Play'."

Steve closed his eyes and ground his teeth together, rage simmering just below his carefully controlled mask. "Sadistic bastard," he growled angrily.

*******

Danny thought it must be well after midnight, though he'd been fading in and out of consciousness for several hours. His upper abdomen was rigid and painful; he suspected the beating had caused some significant internal injuries. If so, he could easily bleed to death without medical attention. Steve had to be looking for them, but there were so many isolated places out here that would take time to check... Sanderson surely had hidden his tracks well.

As Danny was trying to summon the energy to move, Sanderson and his men returned to the room. Pain surged through him as he was hauled roughly to his feet. Unable to stand, he concentrated on remaining conscious as they dragged him back to the outer room. A third man towed Kyle along and tossed him into a chair, ordering him not to move. Sanderson leered in Danny's face. "McGarrett must not think a whole lot of you - he hasn't made much of an effort to find you."

Danny managed to lift his head and croak, "I told you, he won't deal." He winced and his chin dropped back down to his chest.

"Well," Sanderson retorted, "maybe I just haven't given him the right motivation." He glanced at Kyle and smiled. "I wonder what I could do with him…"

Danny's head snapped back up. "No!" he rasped.

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to be more creative with you," he threatened, almost carelessly. At their leader's signal, two men quickly tied Danny's hands together in front of him and dragged him to the middle of the room, where Sanderson stood holding a large hook attached to a rope. Danny's mind was too foggy to grasp exactly what was happening, but the look on the big man's face was enough to cause a ball of black fear to form in his gut. Sanderson waved the hook in front of Danny's eyes, smiled sadistically, then slipped it between Danny's forearms and around the ropes holding his wrists.

Without warning, the rope attached to the hook snapped tight, pulling Danny's arms high over his head and yanking him off the floor. Fresh waves of white-hot pain ripped through him, threatening to tear him apart. Every nerve was on fire. His weight strained against the torn flesh and muscle in his chest; the broken pieces of his ribs ground sickeningly together. His body involuntarily twitched and shuddered at the excruciating assault; his face contorted in unbearable pain. His breath came in short, sobbing gasps. Nausea rolled over him. What happened?? My feet are dangling. Oh, God, I'm hanging... Help me, someone, please... I've never felt pain like this... Finally, driven beyond his limits and no longer able to control himself, Dan Williams was powerless to stop the long, tortured scream of pure agony that erupted from the very bottom of his soul.

*******

As the long night wore on, Steve struggled to maintain his objectivity. Danny had been held hostage before, but this time seemed different. The relative lack of clues and leads was disturbing in and of itself, but something more was contributing to Steve's sense of extreme apprehension. He had never put any stock in "bad vibes." Hunches, yes, but those were usually based on some fact, some piece of hard evidence. He preferred to deal in facts, and relegated "vibes" to the realm of psychological nonsense. But tonight he simply could not shake an irrational feeling of impending doom. He had been through the files on all of Sanderson's associates, then had read through Sanderson's file for a third time, trying to unearth some new piece of information that might help them find Danny. The quiet in the office was broken only by the police radio's soft, infrequent crackle. Everyone but Dr. Jasper was still out on the street, trying to dig up anything useful. Though Jasper had been unable to provide any additional information or advice, Steve wanted him available, so he lay asleep on the office couch.

Frustrated, Steve stood up, grabbed his coffee cup and turned to stare out over the lanai. The night seemed serene, peaceful. It struck him just how deceiving appearances could be.

Suddenly, the echo of a man's scream filled the office.

Steve whirled around, automatically ducking and reaching for his gun, realizing even as he did so that his shoulder holster was hanging several feet away on the hat tree. He lunged for the holster, lost his balance, and sent the hat tree clattering to the floor.

Duke and Truck crashed through the office door, guns drawn, both panting from the rush up the stairs. Duke quickly scanned the office, ready to fire at the slightest provocation.

Steve was crouched near his desk, eyes wide, trying to retrieve something from the floor. It took Duke just another second to determine the source of the scream. Jasper sat on the couch, panting and sweating, his bulging eyes still focused on some horrifying imaginary scene.

Heart thumping as he slowly regained his composure, Steve walked over to the couch and shook Jasper's shoulder. The doctor gasped and recoiled, still spellbound by whatever monsters had invaded his dreams. No one needed to ask the source of his nightmares. With a wild look in his eye, Jasper launched himself off the couch and out the door to the nearby men's room.

Though he tried to hide it, Steve's feelings of distress deepened. He took a deep breath, ran a hand over his mouth and chin, then stepped into the small private bath adjacent to his office, intending to splash some water on his face and see if he could get his hands to stop shaking.

As both holstered their guns, Truck turned to Duke and said softly, "The boss is rattled, bad. I never seen him this jumpy before. You?"

Duke stared at the bathroom door and shook his head. "No," he said, his face creased with worry. "Never."

*******

As the sound died away, a part of Danny wondered who had been shrieking, but he knew, to his anguish and humiliation, that it had been his own voice he had heard. Utter silence followed the scream, broken only by Danny's sobbing gasps for air and the creak of rope as he swayed slowly back and forth.

All at once, a small form flew across the room. Kyle launched himself at Sanderson, howling and pummeling the man with his tiny fists.

"No!" Danny tried to yell, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. "Kyle, no!"

Sanderson hurled Kyle against the wall; he hit hard and slid to the floor in an unconscious heap. "Tie the brat up. I'll deal with him later," he sneered, turning back to Danny and admiring his handiwork.

It was impossible to breathe. Each attempt brought fresh jolts of further agony. Even if uninjured, it would have been have been difficult to endure hanging as he was. Thin lines of blood trickled down his arms where the ropes had bitten into his flesh, adding to his torment. A deep groan escaped, but managed to hold back another scream. For the first time since the ordeal began, Danny felt complete and utter hopeless despair. Until this moment, he had thought that he would, somehow, get himself and Kyle out of this predicament; it was now brutally clear that he would fail in that endeavor. Finally, mercifully, his body couldn't take any more punishment. As he slid into unconsciousness and his head sagged forward, his last sight was Kyle, sprawled unconscious on the floor, and his last coherent thought was one of crushing finality: They're going to kill me, and they're not going to leave any witnesses...

Sanderson picked up a large knife from the table and stood tapping the flat of the blade against the palm of his hand, contemplating his captives. He smirked and sliced away Danny's sweat- and blood-soaked shirt, exposing his livid injuries. Sanderson grabbed a Polaroid camera and snapped pictures of Danny and of Kyle's inert and crumpled form. Minutes later, when the pictures were dry, he tucked them in a manila envelope along with a cassette he retrieved from a tape recorder on the table. He handed the envelope to one of his men. "Drop this with McGarrett," he directed. With an evil, satisfied smile he pictured McGarrett's reaction.

*******

Steve, Duke, Kevin, and Truck had spent the previous frustrating hour trying to piece together some kind of coherent picture based on the few meager clues they had been able to scare up on the street. As they reviewed each bit of information again, a young HPD officer barreled breathlessly through Steve's door and over to the desk.

"A little kid on Hotel Street handed this to me ten minutes ago." The officer passed Steve a manila envelope marked 'McGarrett, Five-0, Eyes Only'. "Kid took off, ran like the devil was chasing him. Couldn't have been more than ten."

Steve cautiously examined the manila envelope. There were no obvious wires or stains, though there was an object of some sort enclosed. "We don't have time to wait for the bomb squad, we're just going to have to risk it." With infinite care, he slid a letter opener under the flap and slowly slit the top. Everyone in the room started breathing again as the envelope fell harmlessly open.

Steve looked at the pictures he pulled from the envelope and staggered against his desk as though he'd been physically assaulted. The pictures nearly fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers as bile rose in his throat.

"Steve, what is it?" asked Duke in alarm.

Steve looked at Duke with haunted eyes and handed over the hideous evidence.

There were three pictures. Two showed Danny, shirtless, with his arms extended over his head. In the first, his head hung down, his chin on his chest. In the next, someone held his head upright by a handful of hair; his eyes were closed ... he was either unconscious or dead. The third photo showed Kyle lying in a heap ... either unconscious or dead.

Kyle didn't have any visible injuries, but Danny was another story. Steve had seen many beating victims, but this was one of the worst. Virtually every square inch of Danny's exposed torso and face appeared to be damaged. Livid cuts and deep bruises stood out in stark relief against his pale skin. His face was grossly swollen, bearing grim witness to the savagery of the beating. Blood covered his face and streamed down his neck and upper body. His chest looked distorted, suggesting badly broken ribs.

"Oh, my God..." stammered Duke, "you think they're still alive?"

"I don't know," Steve replied raggedly, his jaw muscles standing out on his tight-lipped face. He punched the intercom. "Che, get up here."

Steve removed the last item from the envelope. An audiocassette tape. He turned it over in his hand, regarding it as he would a poisonous insect. Slowly, with dread gripping his soul, he placed it in the machine on his desk and pressed 'Play'...

There was the sound of a door opening, then Sanderson's voice. "McGarrett must not think a whole lot of you - he hasn't made much of an effort to find you."

Danny's voice sounded thick with pain as he answered, "I told you, he won't deal."

Sanderson again, "Well, maybe I just haven't given him the right motivation. I wonder what I could do with him…"

No, thought Steve with horror, not the boy ... please...

Danny's voice rasped, "No!"

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to be more creative with you."

The voices ceased. After a moment a series of unidentifiable scraping and creaking noises could be heard, followed by a man's tortured, sobbing gasps. Abruptly, a long, agonized scream split the air. There was an audible click as the tape cut off.

Every man in the room stood in open-mouthed shock. They stared wordlessly at each other for several long moments, trying to absorb the horrendous details of what they had just seen and heard.

Duke recovered first. "What the hell was that??!!"

Steve thought he might be physically ill. What had happened to Danno?! His hands were over his head in the pictures. Could he be hanging?! Despite the cold fist of fear that had gripped him deep within his chest, Steve got hold of himself quickly, then started demanding answers and snapping orders. His face was set in stone.

Some time in the last few terrible minutes, Che had entered the office. Steve handed him the appalling evidence and as Che winced, Steve asked, "If he's still alive, how long can he last?"

Che gritted his teeth, wishing he didn't have to answer that question. "Injured like he is?" Che shook his head slowly, looked Steve in the eye, and continued, "Probably no more than two or three hours, then he'll suffocate."

"All right, Che, the full treatment, the works, as fast as you can." Che hurriedly gathered the pictures, envelope and tape and headed for the lab.

Steve spoke sharply, "This is one sick bastard, and we're out of time. You heard Che, the clock is really ticking." Steve slammed his fist down on the desk. "Damn it! The answer's right here in front of us! He wants us to find him. What are we missing?? Let's get back out there and keep looking!"

But before anyone could move...

*******

Danny's breathing was growing increasingly labored, his chest heaving sharply as his lungs struggled to function under the strain of his unnatural posture. "Wake up, Williams," Sanderson growled, as he prodded Danny back into agonized consciousness. Danny had lost all sense of time; he had no idea how long he had been hanging. His universe had contracted until it was completely dominated by the searing pain now enveloping him.

Danny managed to glance at Kyle. He was conscious, sitting propped up against the wall with his hands tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth, his terrified eyes as round as saucers.

Their captor continued, "I'm gonna dial this phone, and you're gonna talk to McGarrett, because he's gonna want proof that you're alive." Sanderson leaned in so close to Danny that their noses almost touched and threatened, "You're gonna help me get him out here, or I'm gonna kill you."

You're gonna kill me anyway ... damned if I'll help you get Steve, too. Danny realized that Sanderson had momentarily blocked his view of Kyle. Knowing that Kyle couldn't see him, or hear him if he spoke softly enough, Danny glared into Sanderson's eyes and hissed the words he'd been aching to shout for the last twelve hours, "Fuck you!"

Sanderson chuckled gruesomely, moved to Danny's side, and whispered hideously in his ear, "You talk to McGarrett, or I'll make you watch while I do unimaginable things to that boy over there."

Danny's eyes widened in horror and flicked involuntarily to Kyle. He'd seen what Sanderson could do to children; he knew he was beaten. There were no choices left; he could only hope that Steve would see the trap. He lowered his eyes in defeat and nodded slowly.

"Good call, cop. No tricks." Sanderson nodded to his men; one held a gun to Kyle's head.

Sanderson dialed the phone, asked to be connected to another number, and waited for a moment. "McGarrett, did you get the presents I sent?"

"God help you when I get my hands on you, Sanderson!!" Steve raged. "Let me talk to Williams. He'd better be alive!"

"McGarrett, McGarrett, you've got half of that laughable excuse for a police department out looking for me, you haven't been able to find me, and your cop is paying for your incompetence. He's alive, barely, no thanks to you."

"Prove it! He'd better be able to talk to me!!"

"Just a minute, McGarrett, I'll put him on," taunted Sanderson with an evil smile.

Sanderson held the phone to Danny's face. Danny hesitated. Sanderson squinted at Danny, looked pointedly over his shoulder at Kyle, and then back. He raised an eyebrow and gestured with the phone. "Last chance."

"Steve…" Danny whispered into the phone.

"Danno! Hold on!!"

Danny was devastated. He had been unable to protect Kyle, and now had been forced to betray Steve; his own death would truly serve no purpose. No, he thought, suddenly changing his mind, don't want ... meaningless death... He tried to yell, "Steve, no!!" Better that he and Kyle should die now, quickly, than face the horrors that certainly lay ahead at Sanderson's hands. But it was too late, his voice was too weak for Steve to hear him, and the effort made him pass out again.

"I'm waiting, McGarrett," Sanderson virtually cackled into the phone. "Your cop is getting very blue. Lack of oxygen, I think. Time's running out; you'd better hurry."

"Where the hell are you??" roared McGarrett.

"Tsk, tsk, McGarrett. It's like déjà vu all over again. I've given you so many clues. If you can't find me, that's your problem. Oh, and your boy's," he added, glancing in Danny's direction. The line clicked dead as Sanderson hung up.

"Hey, Boss," the man named Joey said to Sanderson, "why you keep tellin' McGarrett there are clues? We were careful, man, we didn't leave no clues!"

"I know, Joey," gloated Sanderson, "but it will make McGarrett crazy thinking that he's missing something. When he finally does track us down, Williams here will have been dead for a long time. McGarrett will blame himself for Williams' death, because he couldn't find us. We'll kill McGarrett and the cops he brings with him, then we'll use the kid to get out of this rat hole and off the island."

Joey didn't think that sounded like the best plan he'd ever heard, but he wasn't in charge, and the boss usually seemed to know what he was doing.

*******

Clues? What clues?? thought Steve in utter frustration. He just could not imagine what they were missing!

Sanderson was right, damn him, half of HPD had been beating the bushes for almost twelve hours, without success. But at least they had a chance; they knew that Danny was still alive.

Steve snapped his fingers several times in succession. "He wants us to find him. The answer has got to be right in front of us. Déjà vu ... he said déjà vu..." Steve turned to the doctor. "Jasper? Opinions?"

Jasper thought for a moment, "He wants you to find him, yes, but on his terms, his turf. Find his turf, you'll find him."

The radio on the table crackled. "Central, calling McGarrett."

He grabbed the microphone. "McGarrett."

"Mr. McGarrett, this is Keoni Burke at the RT operator's office. Best we could do on that last call was a single line of bearing: 280 degrees true from our office in Honolulu. Not enough time to triangulate for a better fix."

"Okay, Keoni, thanks."

Duke walked to the map, picked up a protractor, measured the desired angle, and drew a line from Honolulu west-northwest across Oahu.

Che burst into the office. Steve looked up expectantly.

"Steve, there was residue all over that envelope. Raw, unrefined sugar," Che reported ecstatically.

"Sugar...?" Steve ran his finger along the line of bearing that Duke had just drawn and stabbed his finger at the map as he reached a spot some distance from Honolulu. The answer flooded in like the jolt of an electric shock. "An abandoned sugar mill! Probably somewhere near Ewa. Truck, call HPD, get that SWAT team rolling. Duke, you know the area, what's out there?"

Duke looked at the map. "There are two abandoned mills close enough to that line to consider. Here," he pointed to the map, "and here."

"We're out of time," chafed Steve, "we're going to have to pick one. Can't use the chopper for eyes or he'll know we're on to him. Okay, gentlemen, which one makes more sense? They could have reached either by the time of the first phone call. Any houses near either one?"

"No," responded Duke, "there's nothing out there but the mills."

"Wait a minute," Steve rapped his knuckles gently on the desk. "Déjà vu. His turf. There must be something to that!" Something nagged at him; Steve felt an answer hovering just out of reach. He looked down, pressed two fingers to his forehead, and squeezed his eyes shut. He snapped his fingers, over and over. "Déjà vu," he muttered, "Something from the past. Something about how or where we caught him? Something about those mills?" His eyes flew open and his head jerked up. He grabbed Sanderson's file and ripped through it, looking for a particular page. "That's it! Sanderson's grandfather was Joseph Mitchell. He owned this mill!" Steve pointed at the farther of the two properties on the map. "Charged with child molestation, but never convicted. One of his alleged victims..." he paused and narrowed his eyes, "...his grandson ... Richie. Mitchell died while Sanderson was in prison." Steve grabbed his shoulder holster from the hat tree. "That's where they are. Let's go!"

*******

"Williams," sneered Sanderson, grabbing Danny's hair, lifting his head up, slapping him sharply in the face. When he got no response, Sanderson smacked his hand against Danny's side, jarring his broken ribs. "Let's go, cop. Don't want you to miss the show. Didn't think you'd still be around, but McGarrett found us quicker than I expected."

Pain wrenched Danny into consciousness once again. Show? Now what? Doesn't matter ... can't take any more. He was now rasping horribly, his breathing reduced to nothing more than a series of rapid, shallow hiccups. He struggled to pull in more oxygen, but his lungs were already full of carbon dioxide that he was unable to exhale.

"Got little surprise for your cop friends. They should be here any minute now," he licked his lips and chortled crazily. "Told you McGarrett would come. Told you I'd kill him with your help." Sanderson paced back and forth in front of Danny, wild-eyed and babbling. "Dead McGarrett. Dead Williams. Dead Hayes. Oh, yeah, missed that one, huh, cop?"

Sanderson let out one last insane cackle as he watched his men take up positions behind various crates positioned around the warehouse.

"Here they are, cop. See?" Sanderson pointed to a television monitor before hurrying to his own hiding place. In the gray predawn light, Danny could see police officers in SWAT gear surrounding the warehouse. Cameras, he thought. Got cameras ... outside. SWAT team ... get slaughtered ... I set them up... The pain in Danny's body could not begin to match the anguish in his soul.

The front and back entrances to the warehouse imploded simultaneously as the SWAT team crashed through. Kyle stretched out flat on the floor, just as he'd been had taught, however Danny himself was left hanging in the middle of the room, helpless and exposed. He tried to shout a warning, "Ambush!" but the barely audible whisper was cut short by an unexpected sledgehammer blow to his back. His body flew forward until it was jerked up short at the end of the rope, gyrating wildly. What hit me?? I can't breathe... He felt a warm wetness spread down his back while the chaos around him faded to a distant roar.

From their well-concealed hiding places, Sanderson's men opened fire with automatic weapons. The first HPD officer through the door was hit in the chest and went down hard. The second spotted Kyle, crawled on his belly toward him, and covered the boy with his body. Officers located Sanderson's men within a few seconds and laid down withering cover fire, allowing two officers to take up positions behind pillars a few feet inside the front door. The officers entering through the rear of the building also had some success, inserting two men.

As McGarrett plunged through the front door, crouching low and heading left to take cover behind a nearby crate, a harsh, maniacal shout filled the air. "McGarrett!" Sanderson stepped from his hiding place in the shadows, not five feet away, and aimed a MAC-10 at Steve.

Sanderson hadn't fired since shooting Danny; the officers had missed him. Steve swung toward the man, but he was caught off guard, with his gun pointed in the opposite direction. Steve could see that he was never going to be able to bring his weapon around in time. Sanderson had him cold, pointing a fully automatic cannon at him from point blank range. McGarrett knew he was a dead man. "Goodbye, cop!" The criminal's face lit with a smile of deranged triumph as his finger tightened on the trigger.

There was a sudden explosion of sound. Sanderson's arm sailed skyward, bullets pocking a track up the wall and into the ceiling. With a vaguely surprised look, McGarrett's would-be assassin toppled backward, red splotches already spreading over the middle of his chest. The officer protecting Kyle had seen Sanderson step from the gloom, and had just enough time to squeeze off two shots. Steve recovered quickly from his surprise at still being alive, grabbed the fallen criminal's gun and quickly rolled behind a crate for cover.

One of Sanderson's men peered over the top of a barricade to see what had happened to his boss. His head snapped back lifelessly as a single round pierced the middle of his forehead.

The SWAT team advanced quickly on the remaining men. Though ordered to drop their weapons, they continued to fire. Another sharpshooter's round found its mark. The remaining man threw his hands in the air, shouting, "All right! Enough! Don't shoot!" He was roughly subdued and dragged away.

"Danno?" Steve called out. The dimly lit room was hazy with blue smoke from the short gun battle; it took McGarrett a few seconds to realize that the thing dangling from the ceiling was a human being, and a few more seconds to realize it was the man he'd come to save. The mutilated apparition looked more like a side of beef than a man. "Cut him down, NOW!" he bellowed, running over to the unmoving figure. "And get that medical team over here!" Steve reached out to support Danny, but momentarily jerked his hands back. There was nowhere he could touch him that wouldn't hurt.

Through a red haze of pain, Danny felt hands cut him free and gently lower him to the floor. It felt good to have the weight off his wrists and arms, but his partially dislocated shoulders screamed as they rotated back into place. He felt himself momentarily slip from his rescuers' grasp as their hands slid on the blood and sweat covering him. He grunted painfully as they caught him. "Easy…easy," barked a familiar voice. Steve. You're here. You found us.

Steve sank to the floor and carefully cradled Danny's broken body in his arms. Danny was covered in blood. He seemed barely conscious, though his eyes were closed. Blood ran freely from the fresh bullet wound in his back, and livid cuts and deep bruises covered his face and torso. As sickening as the pictures had been, they had not begun to do justice to the damage. Danny coughed painfully, bringing up a gush of frothy blood that streamed from the corner of his mouth. His ashen face twisted in pain and he moaned, once, softly.

"Danno, can you hear me? Look at me," Steve called insistently.

Danny's eyes flickered open. They were unfocused and full of pain. How could anyone do this to another human being?? agonized Steve, beginning to shake with fury. Danny blinked hard and focused on Steve's face. Though the room was warm, he shivered with cold and shock, his battered body continuing to shudder and twitch. Glancing weakly in the direction of the small room that had been their prison, Danny whispered, "K-Kyle?"

"Kyle's fine," Steve reassured him. Danny relaxed. He'd done his job; he'd kept Kyle safe until help arrived. "You'll be fine, too. Just hold on."

Duke materialized beside Steve, stripping off his police windbreaker and tucking it around Danny. "Hang in there," he murmured. Even as the words left his mouth, Duke realized what he'd said. With a sick feeling in the stomach, he glanced involuntarily upward at the hook still swaying overhead, and shuddered...

As Steve applied pressure to the gunshot wound in Danny's back, he felt broken ribs shift under his hand. Danny writhed in agony, deep groans escaping his lips. His eyes glazed with pain, then clamped shut, his breath now coming in shallow, hitching gasps.

Oh, God. Steve's heart twisted. "I'm sorry, Danno, I know it hurts. Take it easy ... c'mon, stay with me ... help's on the way." If we'd gotten here sooner... Damn his inability to find this place. "Where the hell is that ambulance??" he yelled to no one in particular.

Danny opened his eyes, concentrated once again on Steve's face, and saw horror reflected in his eyes. Danny tried to speak, but his mouth moved soundlessly. Sorry Steve. Tried ... hard. Almost made it ... couldn't hold on.

"Don't try to talk, Danno, don't try to talk. Everything'll be okay." Where did all this blood come from?? Steve had never seen this much blood in a situation where the victim survived. And the odor in here... The smell of the place was overwhelming; a fetid, cloying stench of blood, sweat, and fear that was enough to sicken even the strongest of stomachs.

Danny's world was turning gray and spiraling in on him; he'd fought hard to survive, but he was losing. As the edges of his vision blurred, he locked his eyes on his friend's face. Steve looked awful, ragged. He's blaming himself. "Not ... your fault..." Danny squeezed out. You ... here in time ... not strong enough ... let you down.

Steve felt a knife in his heart. It sure as hell is my fault it took so long to get here, Danno. "Hold on, Danno... Fight! We've got a lot to do yet ... you can't go anywhere."

A strange numbness had begun to overtake Danny. While pain still claimed his torso, his arms and legs had stopped moving and had become leaden, heavy, almost as though they were no longer a part of him. This is it…I'm dying. He was surprised at how clinical and unemotional a thought it was. He felt a brief flare of anger and regret that his life should be so abbreviated. There was so much more he had wanted to accomplish. There was nothing he could do now except to try and make his own death easier on his friend. Summoning all the energy left in him, Danny riveted his gaze on Steve. Glad you're here. Didn't want to die alone... "Thanks..."

Thanks? thought Steve with a shudder. Thanks for what? "Stay with me, Danno. Don't let go. We'll get you to the hospital; everything will be okay."

Danny's vision grayed completely. Can't see. Oh, no… His eyes darted around wildly. His breathing became even more shallow and erratic, his chest now barely fluttering. "Steve?" he gasped. Where are you?

"I'm right here. Stay with me! Don't you quit on me, Danno! Look at me!" Steve commanded, panic creeping into his voice.

Danny looked toward the sound of his friend's voice. His eyes cleared for just a moment, locked tight on Steve's eyes, and pleaded for absolution. Never wanted ... hurt you. "Sorry..." Just a puff of breath formed the word.

Danny offered one last, convulsive groan, then he sagged, limp in Steve's arms, his chest still, his breathing stopped. Steve watched, horrified and unbelieving, as the light faded from Danny's pain-clouded blue eyes until they stared vacantly into oblivion... Danny Williams was gone...

"Danno? Danno!!" First an incredulous whisper, then a hoarse shout. Raw emotion surged through Steve. Excruciating pain, rage, abject terror… No! Nooo!! Dear God, please, no! We can't be too late! We worked too hard to find him in time!! "Danno! No!! Don't you give up!" Time slowed, then froze. Steve saw the stark evidence with crystal clarity: the white face, the sightless eyes, the blue lips, the unmoving chest. The altogether horrifying vision burned itself permanently into his memory. But the shocking reality before him simply didn't register. As if in slow motion, Steve shook Danny hard, but got no response. Danny's limp body flopped back and forth like a broken doll, blood from his flaccid mouth spattering McGarrett's shirt. Steve's face twisted in agony. "Don't you quit on me!!" he cried, again, raggedly, his voice cracking. And then, in a broken whisper, "Danno?"

Danny heard the distant voice, vaguely felt the hands gripping his arms, but he was so warm now, and there was no more pain...

*******

This was not the first time Steve had watched an officer die. Nor was it the first time Steve had held someone as he'd died; that had happened too many times in Korea. But for the first time, he was completely frozen, stunned beyond words, beyond thinking, and utterly unable to function. For Steve McGarrett, the world had come to a complete standstill.

*******

Danny sat up abruptly, eyes flying open and lungs gasping for air. Whoa, that was one hell of a nightmare!! He scrubbed his hands over his face, attempting to fully wake up. And what in blazes am I doing on the floor? I'm sure I was on the couch, watching TV. He looked down at his chest and ran a hand over his shirt: no terrible injuries, no broken ribs. He felt his face and head: no blood, no lumps, no pain. He took a deep breath to steady himself. A good hot shower ought to clear the cobwebs. He quickly stood up and headed for bathroom, only to immediately realize that he wasn't in his apartment, after all.

Danny turned to survey the room, only to see one of the most bizarre scenes he had ever witnessed: HPD officers were standing in a small knot, looking down at ... him ... as Steve sat holding him and Duke knelt alongside. Steve looked shattered; Duke in shock. Steve was frantically calling his name. Danny swallowed hard. I look dead. Either I'm still asleep ... or this isn't a nightmare, after all...

Danny watched as a medical team arrived and unceremoniously swept Steve aside. Hey, that's me they're laying out flat to work on. What the hell is going on here?! Danny moved forward to ask the same question out loud.

"They can't see you."

"Wha...?" Danny spun around. He knew that voice; Chin Ho Kelly's voice. Chin was standing nearby, looking calm and relaxed. "Chin?!" Oh my God, does this mean…? "Am I…?" Danny looked down at his chest and again ran his hand over his shirt. No injuries... What the...? Bewildered, he looked back at the man standing in front of him.

Chin smiled. "No Danny, you're not dead. Not yet, anyway"

"But why can I see you, then? What's happening to me?" He glanced over his shoulder at the ongoing efforts of the paramedics.

"Your life is sort of ... hanging in the balance," responded Chin, with his oh-so-familiar enigmatic smile.

"What does that mean? Who decides what happens? Do I get a choice?" Danny's voice rose in pitch and volume with each successive question.

Chin chuckled. "Means you're kind of in limbo at the moment, bruddah. Between you and The Man Upstairs, the two of you decide what happens next. Sometimes people get to choose," Chin cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, "sometimes not."

Danny stared at Chin. He looked peaceful and happy. So different from the way his face had looked when his body was dumped on the steps of the palace. "Did you get a choice, Chin?"

Chin's face sobered. "No," he replied huskily, with a tiny shake of his head.

"How will I know what to do?"

"The answer will become clear, in time, Danny. No need to worry yourself about it," answered Chin with an inscrutable smile.

*******

Steve sat unmoving as blurred images and sounds poured past him. He barely heard the medical team as they attempted to revive Danny. His chest was so tight that he couldn't catch his breath. This can't be happening... This is impossible...

"No pulse, no BP, no respiration. Start CPR." The team's doctor turned to Steve. "If he's going to have any chance at all, I need a chopper." Steve stared at him, uncomprehending and unresponsive. Duke shot a distressed look at Steve and replied for him. "Chopper's already on the way." A paramedic began rhythmic chest compressions as Duke pulled a stunned McGarrett to his feet and back out of the way.

A second paramedic began checking Danny's airway. Mercifully, someone had reached over and closed his eyelids.

A third paramedic arrived at Danny's side. "He's our only patient," she reported. "The officer was hit in the vest; he's okay. Boy's okay, too. The blood all over him isn't his. The other three are dead." The paramedic winced at Danny's damaged hands and arms. Damn, nothing usable there. "Gimme some room, guys, I need his jugular." She quickly inserted an IV into Danny's neck, started the drip, and shoved the bag of clear fluid into a nearby HPD officer's hand with a curt "Hold this."

The doctor slapped electrodes on Danny's chest and attached EKG leads. The monitor displayed a jittery, unstable line and emitted an erratic series of abbreviated beeps. "V-fib," he announced, reaching over and flipping a switch to charge the defibrillation paddles. "Got that IV in? One amp epinephrine one to ten thousand, IV push." The third paramedic reached over to administer the medication. The doctor continued, "How's his airway?"

"Not good, doc," replied the second paramedic. "Gonna need to intubate." He tilted Danny's head back and inserted a laryngoscope into his throat. "Shit, too much blood in his throat and maybe his lungs. Doc, can we move him to the truck? I need suction."

"No time," snapped the doctor, "use a syringe ... do it manually."

"Who's got a free hand?" asked the second paramedic. "I do," answered the third, as she moved in with a large syringe and suctioned a terrifying amount of blood from Danny's throat. The second continued trying to insert a tube into Danny's trachea. "Got it! I'm in!" he exclaimed, after a few more moments' effort.

"Bag him ... get some O2 in there," the doctor chimed in, as the second paramedic attached a bag to the tube protruding from Danny's mouth and began forcing oxygen into his lungs in time with the chest compressions.

"Got those paddles ready?" demanded the doctor, just as the EKG monitor stopped fluttering: it now displayed a chilling flat line and emitted a terrifying unbroken monotone note. "Two hundred." The third paramedic handed over the paddles. "Clear!" snapped the doctor, applying them to Danny's chest. Danny jerked convulsively as the paddles shocked his lifeless heart. The monitor blipped, once. "Gimme 200 again," the doctor ordered. "Clear!" Another jerk. Everyone in the room stared at the small the monitor as it blipped once, again, and again, then settled into an erratic, unstable rhythm. "Gotcha," muttered the doc, with a grim sigh.

"All right, lets move!" called out the doctor. He and the paramedics were already in motion, their carefully choreographed movements rapidly preparing their patient for transport. "Let's go, get him loaded, and make it fast. Damn, he's still in lousy shape. If he's lucky, he might make it to surgery."

Steve continued to stare insensibly at the proceedings while the paramedics smoothly and quickly loaded Danny into a litter. With the help of HPD officers, the paramedics rushed him to the waiting helicopter. As it lifted off, Duke grabbed Steve's arm. "Come on, Steve, let's go." Steve stared blankly at him. Duke grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, hard. "Steve!"

McGarrett blinked and finally seemed once more aware of his surroundings. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, Duke, let's go." He jogged woodenly to the car and climbed in as Duke jumped behind the wheel. The car roared to life and peeled out onto the road, heading for the hospital.

*******

As they had done so many times before, Steve and Duke burst into the Queen's Medical Center Emergency Room, headed straight for the desk, and demanded information about Danny. "He's in surgery," replied the nurse, "The waiting room is…"

Steve cut her off bitterly, "I know where it is." He knew all too painfully where it was. He'd spent far too many hours in that room during his career with Five-0. And this time, there was truly nothing to do but wait. There was nothing to break the tension or use the time. Sanderson was dead; there was no one to hunt down. Steve, Duke, Kevin and Truck sat wordlessly as the time passed.

"You looked like you could use some coffee." Steve stared at the paper cup Duke held out to him, then slowly reached up and took it.

"Thanks." Steve was unsure how much time had passed, or when Duke had left to get coffee. Nor had he even noticed the arrival of a number of people. Word had spread fast; in addition to a cadre of HPD officers, Jenny Sherman and Duke's wife Celeste were there, as was a muscular black man whom McGarrett recognized as Danny's assistant Little League coach. Kono Kalakaua had made his way to this too-familiar place. He murmured something about Ben Kokua being on the mainland, but sending his prayers. David Kanaha also sat quietly by, looking strained and drawn. He dropped his eyes at Steve's gaze. "Mr. McGarrett, if you'd like me to leave…"

"No, no, not at all. I'm just surprised you're here and not with Kyle."

"Martha is with Kyle in the exam room. He has a bump on the head, but otherwise he's fine. They're going to keep him overnight for observation. Kyle insisted I come and check on Mr. Williams. He's done so much for us…" His voice cracked and he was unable to continue.

"Thank you for being here." Steve would have preferred to sit alone, but he couldn't be rude to those trying to be supportive and helpful. All of these people had every right to be here; they were Danno's friends, his family.

When Steve had finished his coffee, Jenny moved quietly to the chair next to him. Even though she had retired, Jenny always seemed to appear whenever there was a crisis. "Steve, I stopped by the office and picked up a change of clothes for you." Steve looked down at his clothing. His shirt and trousers had been saturated with blood that had now dried into stiff brown stains. Danno's blood... he thought morosely. "Thanks, Jenny," he said with as much warmth as he could muster.

The door to the waiting area opened, admitting a harried young doctor whom Steve had never seen before. Steve met him halfway across the room. "Well?"

"I'm Dr. Freeman, and I'm afraid I don't have a whole lot to report. Dr. Yoshihara, the best thoracic surgeon we have, is working on him, but it's going to be quite a while yet. Mr. Williams is holding his own…just. That's about all I can tell you at the moment."

"Thanks for the update, doc," said Steve, frustrated at the lack of information. He detested feeling helpless in any situation, but he had no control here.

For what seemed like the tenth time that morning, the scratchy public address system squawked, "Paging Dr. Freeman." Freeman attempted to suppress a scowl as he glanced at the ceiling and muttered, "Damned thing. My father told me it would drive me crazy." The doctor looked back at Steve and noticed the clothing still in his hands, then his eyes dropped down to the grisly mess all over Steve's shirt. "Would you like to use the locker room to shower and change?" Freeman asked kindly.

"Yes, thanks, I'd appreciate that," replied Steve, and followed him out of the room.

*******

It was many hours later when Doc Bergman appeared in the waiting room. Everyone leapt to their feet. "Steve, Duke, come with me?" Doc was not smiling. Steve's heart felt like ice.

Bergman led them to a small conference room where he introduced them to a doctor in green scrubs who half leaned, half sat on the edge of a table. Steve couldn't help but notice it was the same posture Danny often used in the office. "Dr. Mark Yoshihara, Steve McGarrett and Duke Lukela." The men acknowledged the introduction with quick nods, and then Steve and Duke returned their attention to Bergman.

Dr. Bergman scowled at them from under his bushy eyebrows. "Steve, Duke, I won't kid you. It's really bad this time. Danny's in very critical, unstable condition. He was just about dead when he got here. He took a horrendous beating, and the wound in his back was from a .45 at close range. Dr. Yoshihara repaired the damage as best he could, but the injuries were extensive, and the prognosis is poor. His spleen and about a quarter of his right lung had to be removed, his liver was lacerated, his kidneys and intestines badly bruised. He's lost a tremendous amount of blood. So far, there's no evidence of brain swelling, but he's had a severe concussion, he's in a coma and he's not breathing on his own. He's also got other serious injuries from being hung and beaten, including some badly broken ribs." Dr. Bergman took a deep, shaky breath and looked hard at Steve. "I'm sorry, Steve," he relayed heavily and sadly, "But I don't think he'll survive the night. You can go see him, but I doubt he'll know you're there." Bergman crossed his arms and stared at the floor.

Steve's heartbeat thundered in his ears. We got him this far. It's your job to keep him alive! We can't lose him now!! "Dr. Yoshihara, do you agree with this assessment?" Steve managed to ask in a carefully controlled voice.

"Yes, Mr. McGarrett, I'm afraid I do. I'm very sorry."

Steve recognized all too well the professional detachment of a doctor delivering bad news, and he felt as though a rug had been pulled out from under him for the second time in that long day. The hope that had flared briefly through the day sputtered and died as he looked at the expressions on both doctors' faces. He had never seen Bergman so upset about an injured officer. Steve dropped his head and struggled to maintain control of his own fragile emotions. Once again he felt Duke's stalwart presence, as Duke silently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want to see Danny alone?" asked Duke.

"No, Duke, we'll go together." The events of this day had shaken him to the core, and Steve was not at all sure he had the strength to see Danny alone. For once, he wouldn't pretend to have a capacity he didn't possess; he'd lean on another human being.

Both Steve and Duke had seen their friends in the Intensive Care Unit before, but neither had ever experienced anything as overwhelming as the scene now before them. Danny was nearly unrecognizable. His eyes were swollen shut. Almost every area of his face was bandaged; the little skin left visible was either a terrifying grayish-white or ugly with deep bruising. Tubes in his mouth and nose were held in place by tape; more tubes ran from each side of his chest into jars. Danny's torso and abdomen were crisscrossed with stainless steel staples closing two large incisions. The first ran the length of the right side of his chest and around to his back, the second stretched across his entire upper abdomen. Virtually all of the skin on his torso showed dark bruises, and his chest still appeared distorted where his ribs were broken. Bags of blood and clear fluids dripped into what appeared to be a large IV inserted into his upper chest. His hands and forearms were wrapped in bandages. Danny's chest rose and fell with precise regularity, accompanied by the hiss and click of a ventilator. The heart monitor registered a weak, slow rhythm. Steve was struck by the strange impression that someone had dismantled his friend and then reassembled him without quite putting all the pieces back in the right places.

Duke stood across the bed from Steve, wondering if his own face looked as ashen and worn as his boss's did. A glance between them confirmed what each was thinking. Bergman and Yoshihara were probably right; it was just a matter of time. But neither man was ready to give up on Danny.

Steve spoke through tight lips, his head down. "Duke, do me a favor. Go to the waiting room. Tell them Danny's holding his own, and they should all go home and get some sleep."

Duke looked at Steve skeptically, knowing he had been ordered to tell his wife and friends a bald-faced lie, but nodded and left.

Steve grabbed the bed rail in a white-knuckled grip. His face was set like granite as he stared at Danny's still form. Bergman put a hand on Steve's shoulder and spoke softly. "He's out of our hands, Steve. Medical science has done all it can. Now it's up to God."

Steve nodded. "I know, Doc, thanks," he said, his voice pinched and weary.

"I'll check in with you later."

As the door closed behind Bergman, Steve squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressed his quivering lips together, and directed one short, pleading thought upward... Please...

*******

Danny and Chin spent the day wandering from place to place all over Oahu. First, to the house where Danny grew up. Then to the baseball fields where he had played Little League and pickup games, and to the beaches where he had spent so much time surfing. To Diamond Head, the Pali Lookout, and all the other places that Danny loved. To the bowling alley, where he had spent so many enjoyable hours with his best friend, Chinough Olena. There, Danny thought he heard a cheerful, mocking voice, "Hey, Daniel, you still owe me a steak dinner!" Danny turned quickly, but there was no one there. Only a handful of people had ever been allowed to call him 'Daniel'; Chinough was one those few. Now he was hearing things...

Toward the end of the day, Danny and Chin arrived at the Five-0 office at Iolani Palace. This place that had always felt like a beloved second home now seemed sterile and remote. Feeling much more like a visitor than a recent resident, Danny walked past his cubicle and entered Steve's office. It was hushed and dim, with no lights on to break the early evening gloom. Danny had never seen it this quiet in here. Evidence of the search to find him was still spread out over tables and tacked up on boards, but it all seemed very distant to Danny. He had the strong impression that while this was a place holding innumerable good memories, it was now part of the past, a spot where he no longer belonged. He and Chin walked out without a backward glance.

Danny and Chin's final stop was the hospital. Danny watched Steve and Duke from the far corner of the ICU. Their grief and sadness didn't seem to register with him. "Why doesn't it bother me that they're so upset?" he asked Chin.

"You're moving on, Danny. Separating from this time and place."

Danny turned to look at Chin, but instantly found himself standing on a rocky outcropping facing the endless Pacific Ocean. Ka'ena Point. "Chin?" But he was alone.

The smell of the ocean filled his nostrils. The air was alive with sound and motion; the crash of the waves on the rocks, the soft hiss of the water as it trickled over the ancient lava and back into the sea, the whisper of the warm and gentle breeze that riffled through Danny's hair. He had always loved this place; it was still wild and uncivilized. The sun hung just above the horizon, about to finish it's descent into the sea. Its reflection sparkled and danced across the water, creating a path of twinkling golden sunlight from the edge of the land all the way to the distant convergence of sky and sea.

Danny knew why he was here. Ka'ena Point, the traditional departure point of souls. He thought he saw shadowy figures out over the water. Danny looked back toward towering ridge behind him; he was still alone. A single bird wheeled high in the sky. As he slowly turned back seaward, toward the stark point of land jutting into the ocean, he thought that he must be imagining things, that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. There, silhouetted against the setting sun, with the light sparkling off her hair, Jane stood smiling at him. Her face was beaming. "Danny, you're here!"

Danny's breath caught in his throat. He was momentarily speechless, sure that he must be hallucinating. It pained him to look at her, since she couldn't possibly be real. "Jane?" he whispered.

"Yes, darling, we've been waiting for you." She gestured behind her, where dozens of people appeared to be standing among the waves. He could make out a few of them: Chinough Olena, Louie Kimura, Larry Thompson, Al Salton, Eadie Hastings ... all of them looking peaceful and smiling broadly at him. Chin Ho stood a little off to one side, a welcoming grin on his face.

"Are those my parents?" Danny asked dazedly, squinting into the sun.

Jane smiled radiantly. "Yes, Danny. We've all been so looking forward to your arrival." She extended her hand toward him. "Welcome home."

Danny smiled. Could this be possible? He took a step toward Jane.

*******

BEEEEEEP..... Alarms shrieked, nurses came running. "Code Blue, ICU. Code Blue, ICU. Dr. Yoshihara report to ICU, STAT!" Steve was pushed firmly out of the way as nurses rolled a crash cart in beside Danny's bed. Steve heard once again the unbroken tone of the heart monitor. "Danno!!" he shouted, "Danno, don't go!"

*******

Danny's smile widened into his familiar lopsided grin. He had never dared to hope that he would see Jane again, but here she stood, as real and enchanting as she had ever been. She was comfortably barefoot, her hair blowing free in the breeze and her simple dress fluttering loosely around her. Danny had almost forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was. Yes, it was time to go home, with Jane. He had never felt so completely certain about anything in his life. The sun was just touching the horizon; it would be dark in a few moments. Danny took another step toward her and reached out to take her hand.

*******

Dr. Yoshihara arrived in ICU just as the defibrillation paddles charged. "Two hundred," announced a nurse, handing him the paddles. "Clear!" ordered Yoshihara. Another nurse paused the chest compressions that she had begun. Danny's body jerked as the doctor applied the paddles to his chest. Once, twice ... no response. Yoshihara wondered for an instant whether he should dispense with further heroic measures, call it, and just let this man die. His quality of life if he were to recover would be questionable, at best. "Epi," Yoshihara barked, his decision made, "and give me an intercardiac needle." He inserted the long needle straight into Danny's heart. "Come on, come ON," muttered the doctor, reaching for the paddles once more. Steve stood in the corner, unnoticed by the medical staff. "Fight, Danno, FIGHT," he urged quietly and fiercely, his hands balled into fists.

*******

Danny's hand touched Jane's; hers was as tangible and as solid as his own. His heart leaped in his chest. He hadn't felt such incredible peace and utter joy in years. This was, without a doubt, where he belonged.

And yet, something demanded his attention. What? He'd left something ... unfinished. Danny shoved the thought aside; didn't want to know. He wanted to ignore the feeling and go with Jane. Involuntarily, he tore his eyes away from Jane's and glanced back over his shoulder. As he did, he knew. Oh, God, I promised. Kyle sat on the rocks, smiling at him. As clearly as he could see Jane, he could see Kyle's face, Kyle's eyes bright with trust. "Everything's going to be okay. I'll never leave you. I promise. Trust me." Danny's heart turned to ice. He turned back toward Jane, misery etched on his face. What am I supposed to do?? Despite his promise to Kyle, there was too much pain, too much loneliness waiting for him back there.

Jane's beaming face softened into a sad smile. "Go to him, Danny. He needs you. You can't change who you are. You know what to do. We'll still be here waiting when the time is right."

"Noooo!!!" Danny cried in anguish. His heart was breaking. "Jane...??"

Danny knew that there was really only one choice. Still holding Jane's hand, he turned slowly back toward land. His eyes never left her. As the sun finally slipped below the horizon, Jane slowly faded from sight. A brilliant flash emanating from the western horizon lit the sky with breathtaking emerald light. He had seen the green flash of sunset before, but it had never seemed this dazzling and beautiful. As the light quickly dissipated, Danny's hand closed on thin air. Jane was gone. He shut his eyes tightly against the flood of tears that formed there and tried to stifle the sob that rose in his throat.

*******

Once more, Danny's body jerked as he was cardioverted, and he finally responded with a weak, slow heartbeat. Yoshihara hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until he expelled it in a long, explosive sigh. "Okay, folks, we've got him back. Let's see if we can keep him this time." The surgeon looked wearily at Steve and shook his head slowly; both knew the situation continued to be tenuous at best.

Steve's gaze shifted to Danny. He was startled to see what appeared to be tears running from Danny's eyes back down into his hair. "Nurse, is he crying??" asked Steve incredulously.

"No," she answered, gently wiping the wetness from Danny's face. "That's not possible. He's still unconscious. His eyes are probably watering because of the defibrillation."

For some inexplicable reason, Steve McGarrett was not entirely convinced...

*******

It was late, the hospital was nearly deserted. Visitors had long since departed, leaving the building to the patients and staff. A shadowy figure padded stealthily through the dimly lit corridors. Darting from doorway to doorway, he purposefully sought his target. The information he had carefully gathered earlier in the day told him was on the correct floor; he just had to find the right room. Looking cautiously up and down the corridor to be sure he was alone, he quickly moved to the next intersection and peered around the corner. Perhaps he would locate his objective in that flurry of quiet activity just down the next corridor. Deliberately avoiding the few nurses and hospital personnel around at this late hour, he crept closer to his target. As he entered the dimly lit area where a number of seriously ill people lay in cubicles surrounded by equipment, he wondered how he would be able to quickly identify the one he was looking for. A familiar face shortened the search; the chief of the state police, Mr. Steve McGarrett, was asleep in a chair beside a bed. There, in that bed; that would be the man he was looking for.

*******

When Nurse Joyce Lee made her 2:00 a.m. check, she was startled to find a small, pajama-clad, barefoot boy nestled against her patient, sound asleep. The child had somehow managed to avoid all of the many wires and tubes surrounding the patient and had curled up like a small puppy in the tiny space beside the unconscious man's feet. Joyce's eyes moistened as she retrieved two blankets and gently covered both the boy and the solitary figure who sat slumped in a chair next to the bed, his hand resting lightly on the patient's arm. When Joyce returned to the nurse's monitoring station to call pediatrics and inform them of the whereabouts of their escapee, she was happily surprised to note that her patient's heartbeat had steadied and strengthened as the night wore on.

*******

"Kyle," a soft voice called, shaking him gently. He opened his eyes to see Aunt Martha leaning over him. "You have to go back to your own room, honey. It's six o'clock in the morning." Kyle sat up sleepily and looked from Danny to Joyce Lee.

"Will he be okay?" asked Kyle.

Joyce glanced at Martha, who took the cue and answered the boy. "We hope so, sweetheart."

Kyle looked shyly at Steve. "Thanks for coming to get us."

Steve offered a tired smile. "You're welcome, Kyle. I'm glad you're okay. Thank you for being here with us tonight."

Steve picked Kyle up off the bed, carefully avoiding the tubes and equipment. As Steve carried him to the waiting pediatric nurse, Kyle suddenly wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and hugged him ferociously. "He'll be okay, Mr. McGarrett. He has to be. He promised." Kyle whispered fiercely. Steve hugged Kyle tightly in return, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line and his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Come on, little man, let's get you back to your room." The nurse, dressed in loud, jungle-print scrubs, smiled sadly as she took Kyle from Steve and loaded him into the waiting wheelchair. As the moved toward the door, Kyle twisted around and stared hard at Steve. The child's eyes suddenly took on the hue and depth of a man much older than his years, and he nodded his head wisely, as if he knew something the adults did not. A quick chill ran down Steve's spine. He realized he was fatigued to the point of hallucination, but he had seen that same strange look just once before, in the eyes of a wizened old kahuna. The faith of a little child ... the thought leaped unbidden into Steve's weary mind.

Martha briefly rested her hand on Steve's arm and looked at him with her own tired smile. "We'll be here, if you need us."

"Thank you," Steve murmured, nodding and clearing his throat. He resumed his vigil beside Danny's bed, but within moments his eyes drooped with exhaustion once again.

*******

The pain had returned. It was everywhere. Alive. Searing. Clawing at him. Unbelievable in its intensity. It gripped him like a giant hand, crushing and unyielding. He couldn't move, couldn't moan, couldn't even lift his eyelids. After a blissful reprieve, his world was once again dominated by unbearable agony.

*******

Steve had only been dozing for about an hour when he started awake to the sound of yet another alarm. A nurse hurried in and checked various pieces of equipment. The heart monitor was racing. She flicked the intercom, "Call Dr. Yoshihara."

"What is it?" asked Steve anxiously. He could see that Danny's face looked pinched, as though he were in pain.

"Looks like he may be coming out of it."

Dr. Yoshihara arrived and checked Danny's vital signs, then briefly lifted each eyelid. "Get me 75 milligrams of Demerol," he ordered. It didn't appear to Steve as though the doctor was terribly concerned about what he was seeing.

The doctor leaned down close to Danny and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Williams," he said firmly, "you've been injured; you're in a hospital. Don't try to talk or move, just rest. We'll get you something for the pain."

The nurse returned with the medication and administered it through the IV. In a few moments, Danny's face relaxed and his heart rate returned to normal.

Yoshihara turned to Steve. "I don't pretend to understand it, Mr. McGarrett, but he's grown stronger through the night. What you just saw was a response to pain. He's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, but he's got a fighting chance, and yesterday I didn't think he had even that. Keep talking to him. As he continues to come out of the coma, these pain medications are going to keep him confused and groggy, and as long as he's on the ventilator we'll have to keep him sedated. Maybe, Mr. McGarrett, just maybe..." finished the doctor, shaking his head in wonder.

*******

High above a deserted and lonely Ka'ena Point, a single bird wheeled slowly in the early morning sky...

*******

Steve left Danny's side for a few minutes to stretch his legs and find himself a cup of coffee. He'd spent the long night alone, having ordered Duke home under protest just before midnight. Although Steve hadn't realized Kyle was in the room until he woke up, he found it strangely comforting to know that Danny had been accompanied by people important to him through the night.

As Steve passed the waiting room, a remarkable sight met his eyes. The small room was packed; all of the people who had kept vigil here yesterday were still present, plus a handful more. Some were dozing in chairs, some talking quietly amongst themselves. Abandoned coffee cups and fast food containers littered tables around the room.

Steve entered the room and fixed them all with a stern look, arms folded across his chest. "I told all of you to go home and get some rest," he declared, looking particularly hard at Duke.

Duke looked at Steve with a flat, lifeless smile. He lifted his shoulders and spread his hands as if to say, "Sorry Steve, but what did you expect?? I did what I knew was right."

"Well, Steve, guess it's a good thing most of us don't work for you, don't gotta do what you tell us when it don't make sense," said Kono in his typical forthright style.

"We couldn't leave, Steve, you know that," chimed in Jenny.

Kono continued in his warm baritone, "How is he?"

"He really is holding his own." Steve allowed himself a small, wondering smile. "It looks like he might just make it."

A ripple of joy washed over the room. Steve realized that he had truly underestimated the depth of feeling these people had for Danny and was embarrassed that he had tried to send them away the previous evening. He shuddered to think of the effect that it would have had on Danny's friends if he'd died during the night and none of them had been here...

*******

Danny slowly became aware of sounds and antiseptic smells. The pain that had accompanied his earlier attempt at consciousness was subdued, but the drugs keeping it at bay were also keeping Danny from making any sense of his surroundings. Something in his mouth prevented him from speaking. His limbs were too heavy to move. There was a gray fog hanging over him that he was unable to penetrate. He spent most of the time asleep, awakening for only a few moments here and there. His eyes fluttered half-open for a few seconds, but he was unable to focus on anything. He could tell that there were people in the room, but he was unable to identify them, though they seemed at times to be speaking to him. Despite his confusion, he felt a sense of warmth and safety in this place, where he felt free to simply rest without trying to comprehend the circumstances.

*******

It was now Wednesday, Danny's fourth day in the hospital. After two days, he had begun some breathing on his own, and today he had been taken off the ventilator, the endotracheal tube removed from his throat. However, he had remained groggy and unresponsive. A consulting neurologist had pronounced Danny's EEG normal, and affirmed that there appeared to be no brain damage, but said that recovery from trauma this severe would simply take time. The doctors seemed exceptionally pleased with Danny's progress, but Steve would not be satisfied until Danny could look at him with coherence and recognition.

Duke had finally convinced Steve that he couldn't spend twenty-four hours a day at Danny's bedside. Duke, Steve, Kevin, Truck, Kono and T.C. Calvin set up a rotating schedule so that Danny would never be alone. Steve had insisted on staying by Danny's side through the darkest hours of the night, though he continued to put in a full day's work. The strain was really starting to show; McGarrett looked haggard, drawn, his eyes sunken deeply in their sockets.

*******

Danny opened his eyes to clear consciousness for the first time in four days. As he had begun to suspect, he was in a hospital. Someone sat asleep in a chair beside the bed. A dark-haired man. Steve ... his name is Steve. The fog that had smothered him for so long was beginning to lift.

A nurse entered the room and smiled. "Welcome back!" she exclaimed with a smile, quickly flitting her eyes over her patient and the few pieces of equipment still attached to him. "My name is Joyce. Thirsty?" He nodded slowly. "I'll get some ice."

As she left the room, Danny saw another, more shadowy figure standing behind Steve. "Chin?" Maybe his head wasn't as clear as he'd thought. Chin spoke softly. "Be seeing you later, Danny, much later." Chin looked down at Steve with a warm smile. "Say hello to Steve and Duke for me. Tell them that I'm fine, I'm happy, and I'll be seeing them much later, too. Aloha, bruddah." Chin's smile widened as he faded from sight.

"Bye, Chin," whispered Danny.

Steve stirred awake and stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his aching muscles. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and opened his eyes to check on Danny. A pair of amused blue eyes gazed back at him. The long look that passed between the two men completely transcended mere words. Brotherhood, deep friendship, fellowship, trust, pure joy, peace, acceptance, relief, and a thousand other emotions and thoughts were wordlessly conveyed in those few lasting seconds.

"You look like hell," croaked Danny, his battered face creasing into a small, tired smile. His voice was rough and his throat still sore from the intubation.

A sense of euphoria greater than any Steve had ever felt flooded through him, and he chuckled aloud with relief. Danno was back. "You've seen better days yourself, Danno. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!" Steve took a second to glance upward... Thank you...

"How long?" asked Danny.

What's today' thought Steve, Thursday morning. "Four days, going on five." Four of the longest days of my life, he reflected.

There was something important that Danny needed to ask about, but he was still having trouble pulling his thoughts together. Kyle! "Kyle ... he's all right?"

"Fine, Danno, Kyle's fine, thanks to you. Do you remember what happened?"

Danny's brow knitted as he thought back. It was all still foggy... He remembered fear, pain, anguish, but the details were mercifully blurry. "Some..."

"Don't worry about it, Danno, just rest."

Joyce returned with a cup of ice, spooned a piece into Danny's mouth, and handed the cup to Steve. Danny rolled the ice in his mouth appreciatively and savored the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. "Dr. Yoshihara will be in soon to check on you," Joyce said to Danny. She and Steve exchanged victorious grins as she turned to leave the room, almost colliding with Duke.

Duke was thrilled to see Danny awake and coherent. "Nice to have you back, Danny!" he exclaimed with a huge grin.

"Mahalo." answered Danny quietly, already looking very tired.

All at once, Danny's eyes took on the same strange, aged depth that Steve had seen in Kyle's eyes just three mornings ago. Steve was struck by the overwhelming impression that Danny had seen something that few men see, been somewhere that few men go. Again, Steve reflected on just how exhausted he was; surely his own eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Have a message," Danny said slowly. "From Chin." Danny took in their startled looks. "I'm not crazy," he continued quietly. "I saw Chin. Said ... hi. Says he's fine ... happy." Danny paused, already short of breath, then continued with some difficulty, "Says ... see you again ... but ... not real soon."

Steve and Duke stared at Danny in pained shock. "You saw Chin? How…??" sputtered Steve.

But Danny's eyes had already drifted shut, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Steve would have to wait for whatever answers there might be.

*******

After his startling revelation about Chin, Danny slept most of Thursday morning. When he did awaken, he seemed drained, so Steve and Duke didn't bring up the subject. Duke had confirmed that this type of occurrence was not unusual among locals, but didn't seem to happen as often to haoles.

Just after lunch, Dr. Yoshihara arrived to speak to Danny about his injuries. The doctor launched into a lengthy explanation of Danny's condition. "You were very seriously injured and are lucky to be alive," he began.

Steve had already heard the gruesome details about broken bones, extensive surgery and internal injuries; he paid more attention to Danny's reaction than to the doctor's litany. Danny seemed to accept the details without undue distress, but also seemed anxious to ask questions.

"Frankly, Mr. Williams, although I couldn't be happier at the outcome, I'm not sure why you're still with us. I don't know if I'd use the word miracle, but you've beaten some incredible odds," Dr. Yoshihara concluded with a smile and a happy shake of his head.

"What about my hands?" interjected Danny, looking grimly at his splinted, bandaged appendages.

Dr. Yoshihara sighed. "The ligaments, tendons and muscles in your shoulders and arms have all been strained, but should recover without any problems. However, it looks like there's been some nerve damage to your wrists and hands. I've asked Dr. Shaughnessy, a hand specialist, to evaluate them today." Dr. Yoshihara shook his head, "I can't give you a good answer at this point. I'm sorry."

Danny nodded slowly, accepting the present unknowns and seeming to steel himself against future bad news.

Dr. Yoshihara glanced at his watch. "Dr. Shaughnessy should be by to see you about two o'clock, and I'll check in with you later." He left Danny and Steve alone.

Though both would have denied it, the two men avoided each other's eyes. Steve tried to be as upbeat as possible. "Looks good so far, Danno. Your hands probably just need some time. I'll let you get some rest; be back in a couple of hours." Steve's confident tone rang false in both men's ears.

*******

Steve had intended to be back at the hospital by five, but finally arrived just after 7:00 p.m. "I'm sorry I'm so late, Danno. Lots going on today. Howzit?" Despite his obvious fatigue, Steve looked more relaxed than he had in almost a week.

"No problem, Steve. Jenny came by to say hello. I've been sleeping a lot, and the docs spent plenty of time poking and prodding." Danny still looked tired and worn. The swelling in his face had gone down some, but its myriad discoloration, purple bruises fading to yellow and green interspersed with angry red lines of stitching, still bore stark witness to the recent assault. "How was your day?"

"Not bad, Danno. Busy as always. Alika is acting up again, and with the Japanese ambassador's visit coming up next week, the Governor has turned up the heat."

Danny grinned carefully. "Same old stuff, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve paused, then carefully broached a delicate subject from earlier in the day. "Danno, what you said this morning about Chin. Did I understand you correctly?" Steve paused again. "You want to tell me more about it?"

Danny didn't answer right away, his eyes taking on a distant look. Steve could see that his thoughts were a thousand miles away.

After a few moments, Danny responded hesitantly, "You know how people talk about having near-death experiences?"

"Yeah?" responded Steve in a carefully neutral tone. It was obvious that Danny had something he needed to talk about, and Steve didn't want to scare him off.

"Steve, I saw what happened at the warehouse. The paramedics ... the whole thing. I died, didn't I?"

Steve felt as though a knife had been plunged into his chest. "Yeah, Danno, you did." Steve's voice was slow and heavy; he really didn't want to relive this.

"And here, in the hospital, it happened again. Right at sunset, on Sunday."

Steve thought for a moment, reconstructing in his mind the scene that he had watched in fascinated horror. "Yeah, Danno, and I guess it was right around sunset. But how could you possibly know that?" he asked, puzzled.

Danny looked as though he were struggling with a decision. If Steve didn't understand, no one would ever understand.

"I know this is gonna sound really bizarre, but Chin appeared just as I "died" at the warehouse. During that whole day, I roamed all over the island with him. Almost like ... like it was my chance to say goodbye. None of you could see me. I know my body was here, in the hospital, but... I'm not sure how to explain it... We were here, watching from over in that corner, when my heart stopped. Then I was at Ka'ena Point. It was nearly sunset."

Danny went on to describe for Steve the scene at Ka'ena Point, where so many people who had already died were waiting for him. How they greeted him with such warmth and happiness. The joy he'd felt. Danny didn't give Steve any specifics about his interaction with Jane, nor did he tell him about Kyle's presence on the rocks.

Steve could hear the animation in Danny's voice, and could practically feel the happiness he had experienced. "So why are you here, Danno?" he asked quietly.

Danny was badly startled. This dangerous, unexpected direction was not where he had intended the conversation to go. He was obviously not thinking clearly, to have allowed himself to get anywhere near this subject. "Chin told me that sometimes people get a choice, sometimes not," Danny answered evasively. "Chin said he didn't get a choice…"

"Did you?" Steve asked gently.

From bad to worse, thought Danny frantically. How am I going to get out of this one? I've never lied to Steve, and I don't want to start now, but I can't tell him the whole truth, either. That would be too brutal. Maybe a half-truth would work. "I heard you, Steve. At the warehouse, and here in the hospital, yelling at me, calling my name."

Steve offered a tense, cheerless smile. "I didn't want to lose a good cop, Danno."

Danny's own expression was tight and humorless. He fully intended to let Steve draw his own conclusions, incorrect though they may be. Let Steve believe that his entreaties had pulled Danny back from the brink ... what harm could there be in that?

Suddenly, Steve felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. With absolute clarity, he remembered the tears on Danno's face, that night in the ICU. He remembered Kyle's words; "He'll be okay, Mr. McGarrett. He has to be. He promised." Steve knew... He stared open-mouthed at Danny, the full magnitude of his friend's sacrifice beginning to dawn on him. His voice just above a whisper, he asked, "Danno, you did have a choice, didn't you? Kyle's the reason you came back, isn't he?"

Danny found it hard to breathe. He tried to explain, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I never wanted to hurt any of you. I thought that if I died, you and Duke, Kono and Ben, you'd grieve, but you'd move on. But Kyle... I promised him everything would be okay. I promised him I'd never leave him!! I was afraid that if I died, he wouldn't be okay. I couldn't do that to him." Danny's face twisted in anguish. He was breathing hard and looking like he'd rather be someplace else, any place else, other than here. "God forgive me, Steve, but I didn't want to come back!!" he blurted in agony. "Chinough was there. My parents were there. Jane was there, waiting for me. I touched her hand. I wanted to go with them." Danny's voice cracked. "I was going with them, and I turned back..." He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut against hot, stinging tears. His breath came in great unsteady gasps. His head down, he continued in a broken whisper, "I only came back because I made a promise..."

Steve sat in stunned silence. Enough that Danno had been forced to endure the physical ordeal, but this was too much for any man to bear. No one should have to make the decisions that Danno had been forced to make. Those were supposed to be God's decisions.

Danny looked up at Steve, his face wet with tears. He reined in his reeling emotions and found his voice. "I never meant to tell you any of this. I'm sorry, Steve," he whispered.

"Sorry?" Steve asked incredulously. "My God, Danno, there's no reason to be sorry!!" How does any man know what he would do in that situation? thought Steve, What if it had been me ... and Cathi...? What would *I* have done??

Steve pondered the unanswerable question. A small, utterly irrational part of him was hurt that Danno had not responded to his appeals to hold on to life, but the much larger part of him found that he didn't care why his friend was still here, only that he was... Danno was alive, and for that Steve was deeply grateful.

*******

The doctors had assured him that Danny was out of danger, so Thursday night found Steve sleeping in his own bed for the first time in nearly a week. He awoke on Friday morning feeling almost human again. Despite several important meetings scheduled for today in preparation for the Japanese ambassador's visit, he had hoped to get to the hospital by late afternoon to visit Danny. This week had been understandably worthless for Five-0 in terms of accomplishment; with the immediate crisis now over, he and Duke a lot of catching up to do. HPD had once again loaned them Kevin Wilson, who was showing so much promise that Steve was seriously considering offering him the position on the Five-0 staff that been vacant since Chin's death. Steve preferred not to think about the length of Danny's recovery.

McGarrett's plans for the day changed dramatically when Doc Bergman called at 11 a.m.

*******

"Dr. M.J. Shaughnessy," read the sign on the door. Doc Bergman had also insisted that Dr. Mike Shaughnessy evaluate Danny's hands. Doc had called Steve at the office just an hour ago to say that the Dr. Shaughnessy wanted to see wanted to see Steve before talking to Danny.

As McGarrett and Bergman were ushered into the doctor's office by the receptionist, Steve stared at the very female Dr. Mike Shaughnessy. That explained the gleam in Bergman's eye. Steve shot him a withering look that promised payback for this little stunt. Despite his surprise, Steve realized that she was a very attractive woman, with large green eyes and auburn curls that framed a lovely face sprinkled with freckles. She was thin, but not painfully so; she had an air of strength about her, as if she were an athlete.

Dr. Shaughnessy extended her hand in greeting. Steve shook it gently, as he did with all women, but quickly strengthened his grip when her firm handshake gave him his second indication that this was no average woman. "Nice to meet you, Mr. McGarrett. I'm Michaela Shaughnessy. Please, have a seat." As she walked around her desk and sat down, Dr. Shaughnessy couldn't help but notice that Steve McGarrett had expected a male physician. While this was certainly not a new experience for her, she had hoped this unusual man might have been more open-minded. It also occurred to her that Bergman must not have enlightened McGarrett as to her gender. She cast her own withering look in Bergman's direction.

Dr. Shaughnessy folded her hands on top of her large desk, leaned forward, and spoke carefully. "The news is bad, Mr. McGarrett. The nerves in Mr. Williams' wrists have been severely damaged." She pointed to a model of a hand and wrist on her desk, using it to illustrate her explanation. "There are three major nerves running through the wrist: the median, the ulnar and the radial. Between them, they control all movement and feeling in the hands. The wrist is actually a fairly delicate structure; those nerves aren't meant to be compressed. The weight of his body hanging on his wrists put tremendous pressure on the nerves, traumatizing and damaging them. The swelling in his hands and wrists is currently continuing to compress the nerves, causing further damage. Right now he has virtually no movement in his hands, although he has some very faint feeling and he responds to pain stimuli. It's too soon to tell for sure without some further electrical stimulation studies, but I'm sorry to have to tell you that I don't think his hands will ever be fully functional again. In fact, based on what I'm seeing now, I wouldn't expect much more than 10 to 20% function will be restored. I called you in because I thought he should have some support when we tell him."

Steve immediately recognized the astounding implication behind her words. No functional hands ... no police work. Medical retirement. Disability. In an effort to distract himself from the devastating news, Steve idly noted that the doctor's desk was strewn with odd piles of papers, articles and files. Pens, pencils, and a wide variety of notes scribbled on scraps of paper lay scattered among the piles. He wondered how anyone so disorganized could possibly function at all, let alone perform as a noted neurologist. Maybe she wasn't the crack doctor that Bergman thought she was. He also wondered if she might be disorganized and mistaken about Danny…

Steve rose from his chair to pace back and forth across the spacious office. "So, you don't know if the nerves are permanently damaged?" he asked after a few moments, pausing to look over at the doctor.

"I didn't say that," responded Shaughnessy with a shake of her head. "There is almost certainly at least some permanent damage." She could see McGarrett would grasp at any straw in his efforts to help his friend. A very beneficial characteristic to have in a friend, if not misused.

Steve stopped and stared out the window. "But Doctor, you say you can't be sure about the extent of the damage," he said, his tone hardening. He turned back toward where the doctor sat at her desk. "Does this mean his hands might recover?" he asked, his eyes flinty.

"There's always a slim, outside chance, but..." She pursed her lips and shook her head slowly.

Something inside Steve snapped. The last few days had brought too many unknowns, too many maybes, too many naysayers, and too many people ready to write Danno off. Steve strode quickly across the room, leaned across the doctor's desk, and stabbed a forefinger in her direction. "I'll take that chance, Doctor!" he declared heatedly, eyes narrow and voice tight. "I will not give up on him, and I don't expect you to, either! I don't want to hear gloom and doom! I only want the positive, is that clear?!" His hands were now balled into fists, his posture clearly communicated that he would accept no excuses. "I don't want to hear 'maybe'." Steve brought one fist up and shook it in front of him. "Facts, Doctor, give me facts!!!"

Dr. Shaughnessy rose from her chair, leaned forward slightly, and met his gaze. Her green eyes blazed, but her voice was firm and controlled. "Mr. McGarrett, neurology is not an exact science ... I don't have any pat answers for you. I understand that you and Mr. Williams have been through hell in the last few days, but sugar coating the facts won't help him." She raised a fist in front of her and forcefully extended her index finger. Her voice rising, she continued, "Fact: His hands and arms are damaged, badly!" She gestured forward with her hand, snapping up a second finger. "Fact: He may never regain functional use of them." And finally, a third finger popped up. "Fact: If he sees any level of improvement, recovery will be measured in months, or years, not days and weeks." She spit out the words in short, staccato bursts as she made her points. "Don't give him false hope, McGarrett, it will make it that much harder on him later."

Steve pursed his lips into a thin line and dropped his head. "Look, Doctor, I just want to give him every available chance. We owe him that, at least..."

Dr. Shaughnessy's face and voice softened. "I feel the same way, Mr. McGarrett." She sighed heavily. "I'd really like to see him beat the odds, but I gotta tell you, the odds stink." Her head also dropped, and she folded her arms in front of her.

Well, thought Steve, incredulously, the ice princess has a heart after all. "When did you plan on telling him?" he asked aloud.

"As soon as possible," replied the doctor, her eyes meeting Steve's once again. "Bad news never gets better with time."

Steve was taken aback. He thought how very few women he had come across who were as candidly straightforward as this one.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, I'll check and see if Mr. Williams' latest x-rays are back from radiology," said the doctor, as she walked out the door.

Bergman studied Steve's defeated pose. "Steve, if anyone can help him, she can."

Steve straightened. "Payback's gonna be hell on this one, Doc," McGarrett said quietly to Bergman, with a ghost of a smile.

Bergman grinned sardonically. "And would you have consulted with her if you'd known she was a female doctor?" Steve's pinched expression answered the question involuntarily. "That's what I thought," continued Bergman. "You're going to have to get over this thing about women, Steve. The days are long since over when they did nothing but stayed home, kept house, and had babies. Mike Shaughnessy happens to be the best neurological hand specialist in Hawaii. Isn't that what you want for Danny? The best?"

Steve held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, Doc, okay. Point taken. Of course I want the best for him."

"Besides," Bergman chuckled, "you call this gal 'honey' and she's liable to deck you."

Steve bit off his reply as Dr. Shaughnessy reentered the office carrying a set of x-rays. "Let's go see Mr. Williams, shall we?" They decided that Steve should go to Danny's room a few minutes ahead of the two doctors; Bergman and Shaughnessy headed for the cafeteria for a cup of coffee while Steve went directly to the room.

*******

"Danny, you've met Dr. Shaughnessy," said Doc Bergman. Danny looked suspiciously from Bergman, to Shaughnessy, to McGarrett. Something was up, clearly, for Steve to be here 'just to say hi' in the middle of a day when he'd said he had a number of meetings to attend.

"What is it?" Danny demanded. He felt like a child who had been discussed at length behind his back, and he didn't like it. "You all obviously know something that I don't, so someone spit it out."

He's going to need that energy and anger to get through this, thought Shaughnessy. "Okay, Mr. Williams," she began, nodding. "I have some information for you about the condition of your hands."

Years of police work had made Danny adept at reading emotions and facial expressions. I'd have to be an idiot not to realize that the news is bad, he thought. "Skip the preliminaries," Danny ordered flatly. "How bad is it? And give it to me straight."

Okay, thought Shaughnessy, this is how he wants to play it ... so be it. "Fair enough, Mr. Williams," she continued in her best detached, professional tone. "I'm very sorry to say that the news is not good. The nerves in your wrists and hands have been very badly damaged. The fact that you have some feeling tells me that they're not entirely dead, but I'm not optimistic about recovery. My estimate would be for about a 20% recovery, at best. That would leave you with some gross motor control, but no fine finger motion." She knew she was being brutally honest, but felt this was what Danny needed to hear.

Danny sat silently for a long moment while the enormity of the news sunk in. "Does this mean there's no hope at all for a full recovery?" he finally asked dejectedly.

"There's always hope!" snapped Steve, cutting off the doctor with a look.

Shaughnessy pursed her lips and stared at Steve momentarily. "The body can be a strange thing, Mr. Williams. Sometimes we're surprised, so I'd never say there's no hope, but I also don't want to give you any false hope. You asked me to give it to you straight ... so there it is. We'll continue with some further tests, and then come up with a treatment plan for you. I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. I know this isn't the news you would have liked to have heard."

Danny looked exhausted. "At least I know where I stand. Thanks for being honest, Doctor."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. Get some rest." Dr. Shaughnessy nodded to Steve and Bergman, then left the room.

Bergman looked from Steve to Danny. "I've got work to do. I'll see you later, Danny." He, too, made his escape.

Steve looked at Danny miserably. "I don't know what to say, Danno. I'm so sorry."

Danny stared into the distance for a few moments. "You don't agree with her, do you, Steve?"

Steve paused, wondering if a truthful answer would really do his friend any favors. "No, Danno, I don't. I respect her opinion; Bergman says she's the best. But I think we're in uncharted territory, here, and no one has any hard and fast answers. An awful lot of things can happen."

Danny's anger and frustration boiled over. "What am I going to do now, Steve?!" He squeezed his eyes shut and enunciated each word with painful precision: "I ... only ... came back ... because ... I made ... a promise. I can't be a cop without my hands!! What do I do now?!" he shouted in anguish, opening his eyes and looking pleadingly at Steve.

Steve put a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Easy, Danno, take it easy," he said slowly and heavily. "You've got a lot of healing to do. Get some rest, get well, then we'll worry about everything else." Steve knew he wasn't helping much; he didn't really know what to say in the face of such devastating news.

Danny suddenly looked exhausted beyond words. His small reserve of energy had been completely depleted by the unhappy events of the last thirty minutes. He laid his head back on the pillow and thought broken-heartedly of the scene at Ka'ena Point. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have stayed with Jane. But as his eyes dropped closed into an uneasy slumber, Kyle's smiling face danced before him.

Steve McGarrett sat by Dan Williams' side for a long, long time, wondering just what the future held for his friend.

*******

Danny opened his apartment door with difficulty. The month in the hospital and several weeks recuperating at Steve's beach house and at home had brought healing to most of his injuries. However, despite surgery to relieve pressure on the nerves in his wrists, his nearly immobile hands were still trapped in constrictive splints. Steve McGarrett stormed into the apartment, slammed the door behind him, stalked over to the lanai door and stood with his hands balled into fists, all without having said a word.

Danny wasn't quite sure whether to be concerned or amused. Steve's Irish temper's at work again. Wonder who pissed him off... "Steve?" he asked. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Danno," Steve began slowly, looking out over the lanai and choosing each word with great care, "the governor's office is requiring me to medically retire you." Steve paused, all the fight seeming to drain out of him. He stared at the floor for a moment, then turned to face Danny.

Danny sat down abruptly on the couch, his knees suddenly weak. Although this was nothing more than he had expected, he still found himself deeply shaken at the finality of the words. One man set on vengeance had changed his life forever. Being a police officer was the only career he had ever wanted, ever known. What would he do now?? Forty-one was too old to be starting over. And starting over at what?? Danny realized that Steve had continued talking. "I'm sorry, Steve, what was that?"

Steve smiled ruefully. "I thought maybe I had lost you. I was saying that they've compromised on a temporary retirement," Steve's smile widened and he lifted an eyebrow, "because I forced them to. They don't think your hands will recover enough to be a cop again. I think they're wrong. What do you think?"

Love to have seen that conversation with the Governor!! thought Danny. "I don't know what to think anymore, Steve. Being a cop is all I know. To have that taken away..." Danny pursed his lips, shook his head, and stared out the window into the distance.

Steve walked to the bar, poured a healthy swallow of bourbon, handed it to Danny and helped him get his hands around the glass. "Lots of people in the world do other things besides being cops, Danno. What about computers? Seems to be the wave of the future."

"And be tied to a desk the rest of my life?" Danny snorted angrily. "No thanks!" He downed the bourbon in one gulp, strode across the room and stood looking out the window. Then he took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm sorry, Steve. I know you're just trying to help."

Steve looked hard at Danny. "I have an idea, if you want to hear it. I just needed to be sure you still wanted a cop's life, after all that's happened."

Danny held his right hand in front of his face and slowly wiggled his fingers. After almost three months, it was still the best he could manage. No point in getting my hopes up, but... "What do you have in mind?"

Steve grinned widely. Now there's a look that doesn't cross that face often, thought Danny. "You've heard about Carew, from Boston?" asked Steve.

"Sure, he sounds like a pompous ass." Duke had given Danny a full rundown on Carew's antics, how he'd followed Johnny Mio to Hawaii and given Tony Alika such a hard time. Danny had found it difficult to believe that Steve had put up with the crap Carew dished out.

"I'm going to hire him."

A full 10 seconds of dead silence followed the announcement, with Danny staring open-mouthed at Steve. "WHAT??" Danny finally blurted, absolutely thunderstruck. Steve might as well have said he was going to walk to the moon. "Why, for God's sake??!!" Danny's thoughts spun wildly. Have you lost your mind? Carew is an idiot! You're going to replace me with Carew???

"I know, Danno, Carew is rough around the edges," (Now there's the understatement of the year, thought Danny bitterly), "but he's a decent cop with solid skills. I don't especially like him, but I think he'll make a good addition to the team. Besides, I'm only going to offer him a position for one year." Steve paused to let that sink in, his eyes twinkling. Danny stared suspiciously as Steve continued. "Carew says he misses Boston, but he needs to get away for a while, so I think he'll agree to stay for a year. He can't fill your shoes, Danno, but he's the best option I've got right now, unless I want to fill the position permanently."

"What about Duke?" asked Danny, wondering why Steve would overlook a man who had poured his soul into Five-0 and HPD for years.

"Duke's always made it clear that he has no interest in being second-in-command; that he's happy right where he is." Steve tilted his chin down and peered pensively at Danny from under raised eyebrows. "So whaddya think, Danno? Think you can get those hands in shape in a year?"

"I don't know what to say, Steve," said Danny, his voice thick with emotion. "You're way out on a limb for me, here."

Steve gripped Danny's shoulder hard and looked him straight in the eye. "I've been out on a limb before, bruddah, but I can't think of a better reason to be there." His own voice wasn't entirely steady.

The ensuing silence stretched awkwardly. Steve and Danny had never put words to their friendship; there was no need. Theirs was truly a relationship that required no explanation or discussion. Each had always known he could count on the other, no matter the situation; that alone was enough.

Danny straightened and seemed to make a decision. His words to Kyle echoed in his own ears, Everything's going to be okay. We're going to be okay. He smiled at Steve with his trademark lopsided grin; it was an expression that Steve had seen far too little of over the last three difficult months. "If you've got the time, I could use a ride to the hospital. I've got a physical therapy appointment; you could save me a bus trip."

Steve clapped Danny on the back and grinned broadly. "You bet, Danno, you bet! Let's go. I'll buy you lunch on the way. Or is lunch on you today?!"

"Steve, I'm trying to live on a disability check, here," Danny protested good-naturedly as they closed the door behind them and strode purposefully toward Steve's car.

*******

The summer afternoon was picture perfect: sky an impossible blue, air warm, sun bright. The tantalizing fragrance of freshly cut grass floated through the air. On the center field flagpole, the stars and stripes fluttered in the light breeze that blew out over an impressive green wall in left field. A day for hitters, thought Danny. He smiled at the small boy beside him who watched with rapt attention as ballplayers took pre-game batting practice. "So, whaddya think, Kyle?" asked Danny with a grin.

"This is so cool!!! This is the most awesome day of my whole life!" replied the incredibly happy little boy, grinning from ear to ear.

Long lines of people moved like ants along ramps and walkways, slowly filing into every seat in the ballpark. As the park filled, the noise level continued to rise until a constant, excited rumble ascended into the summer sky. Fans wore every conceivable permutation of the home team colors on their hats, their shirts, and even their faces.

Vendors moved through the undulating sea of people, hawking their wares. "Peanuts, popcorn, cold drinks! Get ya hot dogs and bee-ah, hee-ah!"

"I almost forgot how funny they talk here," Kyle whispered to Danny.

"Yeah, they sure do," Danny grinned back, signaling the vendor to send over hot dogs and sodas.

The players retreated to the clubhouse briefly while the grounds crew made the final preparations to the grass and base paths. The teams returned to the dugouts, the managers met with the umpires at home plate, and the home team took the field. Finally, the announcer piped up. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Fenway Park!! Please rise for our National Anthem."

Then, the most exciting words of all for a little boy, "Play ball!!"

Kyle positively radiated joy. "It's almost like my dad is here with us."

Danny put a hand around Kyle's shoulder and grinned. "Who knows, Kyle, maybe he is."

As the game progressed, Red Sox players occasionally waved at Kyle, and a few ran past his seat to high-five him on the way back to the dugout. Danny thought back over the remarkable day. Steve McGarrett had outdone himself. A few days after hearing that Danny planned to take Kyle to Boston, Steve had mysteriously ordered Danny to present himself and Kyle at the Fenway Park ticket office at nine o'clock in the morning on game day. "Nine o'clock for a one o'clock game?" puzzled Danny. "That's odd." Steve had steadfastly refused to offer any sort of explanation, but had looked exceptionally pleased with himself.

Danny and Kyle had risen before dawn at Aunt Clara's house in Connecticut and made the drive into Boston. Even in the very early morning, it had the makings of a beautiful day. Not unlike the beautiful July day almost a year ago. Danny shook himself to banish the unwelcome thought. It was a long time ago; today he and Kyle were on a much happier mission.

From the moment they identified themselves at the ticket office, Danny and Kyle were treated like royalty. They were swept inside the clubhouse and into a suite of offices. Danny could not imagine why they were receiving such attention. They were seated in a small but well-appointed conference room and politely asked to "Wait here for just a moment, please." Danny was completely mystified, but Kyle's eyes sparkled with childish anticipation. The door opened to admit a tall, good-looking man who appeared to be in his early sixties. "Morning boys," the man said, "Welcome to Fenway Park. I'm..."

"Ted Williams," interrupted an astonished Kyle, eyes huge and mouth hanging open.

Ted Williams chuckled. "Yes. And you must be Kyle Fisk O'Brien. Pleased to meet you." He held out a large hand in greeting, and Kyle's eyes widened further as he extended his own tiny hand in response.

"Dan Williams, I presume," a clearly amused Ted Williams continued, turning to Danny.

"Yes, Mr. Williams, it's quite an honor to meet you! Uh, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure I understand," Danny stammered, with a disconcerted chuckle of his own. He wasn't sure whether to believe his eyes. He was something of an overgrown kid himself when it came to baseball heroes from his childhood. What could possibly have precipitated a situation where he was sitting in the Red Sox clubhouse in Fenway Park chatting with the great Ted Williams? Danny now suspected he knew who was behind this, but how?

"First of all, please call me Ted," the elder Williams continued, with a twinkle in his eye. "We have a mutual friend. Almost thirty years ago, Lieutenant Steve McGarrett and I stood back to back in a bar in Korea and fought off a pack of locals who felt I should deliver my wallet to them just because they asked me to. We managed to get out of there more or less in one piece and disappear before the shore patrol showed up. He saved me from a pretty good beating... Navy-Marine Corps cooperation at its finest." Ted Williams chuckled at the memory. "Anyway, Steve and I have kept in touch over the years. He called me several weeks ago to tell me about your trip and ask if I'd show you boys around. I am delighted to have the opportunity to do so." He paused for a moment. "Steve tells me you saved this young man's life." Ted's voice dropped and he glanced down at Danny's hands. "He also tells me you paid a hell of a price."

Danny turned red and offered a lopsided grin. "Nah, just doing my job. Besides, these are healing." As proof, Danny raised his hands, curled them into fists, then flexed and extended his fingers several times. "Getting better every day."

"Well, Steve thinks pretty highly of you, and he's a tough guy to impress." As the color in Danny's face deepened, Ted decided he'd embarrassed the younger man enough. "I think we've managed to put together a pretty interesting day for the two of you. If you'll follow me, we'll get started."

Kyle and Danny exchanged incredulous, excited glances as they followed Ted Williams into the bowels of Fenway Park.

Ted Williams treated Danny and Kyle to a full-scale, grand tour. First they visited the players' clubhouse, where Kyle stared wide-eyed at his heroes' lockers. Then they went inside the famous manual scoreboard in left field, where they saw the graffiti and signatures inscribed by the many left fielders who had played for the Sox over the years. Finally, they walked through the very tunnel the players used, up through the Red Sox dugout and out on to the field, where the players were beginning to warm up.

Danny thought Kyle might just keel over when Carlton Fisk walked up to him. "Hi there, Kyle. Are you enjoying your visit?" Fisk asked.

Suddenly shy, Kyle could only look up and nod.

"I hear you're a pitcher. Let's see what you got." Fisk tossed a ball into Kyle's glove, walked several feet away, and hunkered down. "Okay, Kyle, burn a few in here." Kyle beamed, and proceeded to throw a number of decent pitches to the catcher.

Danny watched the exchange with a satisfied smile. "Some kid, huh?" chuckled Ted Williams. "And you know, he really does have an arm on him!"

"Yeah," replied Danny, nodding. "He's a great kid."

"Not bad, kid, not bad at all!" said Fisk as we walked back over to join Kyle and Danny. "Keep at it and I'll be watching you out here some day," he added, with a quick tug on the brim of Kyle's Red Sox cap.

"You really think I could?!" asked Kyle excitedly.

Carlton Fisk answered kindly but firmly. "Kyle, you've got to work hard, but you can accomplish anything you put your mind to." Kyle looked at Danny with shining eyes. "I bet I can do it, Coach. I bet I can!" Danny smiled and nodded tolerantly.

Carlton Fisk moved off to participate in warmups while Danny and Kyle sat and watched from the Red Sox dugout.

Before long, the Red Sox relinquished the field to the visiting Detroit Tigers and congregated in the dugout. "Hey fellas," called out Carlton Fisk. "Got someone here I'd like you to meet. This…" he said, pausing dramatically and pulling Kyle over to stand in front of him, facing the rest of the team, "...is Mister Kyle Fisk O'Brien, our special guest today, and his coach, Dan Williams. They've come all the way from Hawaii for the game."

Carl Yastrzemski's voice rang out above the murmured greetings, "Hey, let's call the kid 'Pudge'."

"Great idea!" responded Fisk. "Pudge it is!"

Danny chuckled to himself. As skinny as Kyle is, he's a pretty poor specimen of someone named 'Pudge'!

"We've got a little something for you here, Pudge, so you'll remember your visit with us today," said Fisk, catching the baseball that Yaz tossed from across the dugout. "This is for you, with all of our signatures on it," he continued, handing the ball to Kyle.

"Wooowww!! Th-thanks! This is so cool!!!" sputtered the astonished little boy, eyes sparkling and mouth once again hanging open. While the ballplayers all grinned at Kyle's childish delight, Danny was appalled to feel a small, irrational twinge of jealousy rise in him. He immediately smiled, doing his best to hide the ridiculous feeling and laughing sheepishly to himself. Geez, you'd think I was twelve years old...!

Danny realized that Yaz was now directing comments to him. "And this one is for you, Coach," said Yaz with a smile, tossing the ball across the dugout to Danny. Too late, just as the ball left his hand, Yaz realized in horror what he had done. He had tossed the ball without even a thought, though they all knew the whole story behind Danny's damaged hands. Almost in slow motion, the ball reached the apex of its arc and began it's descent. As everyone involuntarily held his breath, Danny reached up and deftly snatched the ball from the air.

Danny's face lit up as though he, too, were eight years old. He looked wonderingly at the ball in his hand, inscribed with just a single signature: 'Ted Williams'. He looked at Ted Williams and around at the players. "Thanks, guys, this means more to me than you can imagine," he said softly, his eyes sparkling with unadulterated delight and his mouth drawn up into a simple, understated grin of pure joy.

As the Red Sox players returned to the clubhouse for final game preparations, Ted Williams delivered Danny and Kyle to prime, front row box seats next to the Red Sox dugout and stood smiling at their excitement.

Danny extended his hand to Ted Williams. "Thank you, Mr. Williams ... Ted. For him," he said, nodding down at Kyle. "I can't tell you what this day has meant to him ... and to me," he finished with a heartfelt smile. "We'll never forget your kindness."

Ted Williams shook Danny's hand carefully and looked surprised and pleased when Danny's grip came back firm and sure. The old ballplayer smiled broadly. "As I said, it's been my pleasure. Enjoy the game. And I expect you to keep in touch. Any time you boys want to visit, you just let me know. These seats are yours whenever you want them."

Danny returned from his happy reverie just in time to see Rick Burleson drive in the go-ahead run for the Red Sox. He smiled at the thought of collecting on the bet he'd made with Thomas Magnum, T.C. Calvin's buddy. Magnum was a big Tigers fan, and he wasn't going to be happy about the outcome of this game. A couple of tall cold ones at Magnum's expense would go down nicely. In fact, he thought with a chuckle, Better wave at the center field camera; Magnum and T.C. said they'd be watching the game.

Danny studied Kyle, thinking again how grateful he was that the resilient little boy had come through last year's ordeal so well, perhaps even better than Danny himself. At the moment, Kyle was utterly suffused with joy, and Danny knew he'd made a good decision, to fulfill the promise made by Kyle's father and bring the boy to Fenway Park.

The game ended, with the Sox beating the Tigers, 8-4. As the park emptied, Danny and Kyle lingered for a few moments longer, unwilling to let the extraordinary day come to an end.

Danny thought back over the last long, hard year. Everything's going to be okay. We're going to be okay. It looked as though the words, although spoken in the very darkest of situations, in a place where Danny was not at all sure they were true, were ultimately going to prove prophetic.

You never can tell about us scrappy little guys, Danny thought with amusement as he clapped Kyle amiably on the back and gazed out over the ball field. We'll surprise you every time.

*******

Epilogue

After the magical summer of 1980, nothing would be quite the same again. Early in 1981, Carlton Fisk would stun Boston fans by leaving the Red Sox to play in Chicago, where he would remain until his retirement in 1993. In July 2000, he would be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, electing to enter the Hall wearing a Red Sox cap, and the Red Sox would retire Number 27 in his honor.

Kyle Fisk O'Brien would develop into a solid baseball player. He would attend Hawaii Pacific University on a baseball scholarship, continuing to play alongside his friend Benny Agbayani. He would then play three years in the minor leagues, and would even be called up to Baltimore for two glorious weeks during the 1997 pennant race. But a knee injury would cut short his promising baseball career. He would go on to medical school and become an orthopedic surgeon, specializing in sports injuries. He would return to his beloved Hawaii, where he and his two sons would continue to root for the far-away Red Sox. His wife would lovingly call him a fanatic. He would become the assistant coach, and ultimately the head coach, of the Hawaii Five-0 Little League Team. In July 2000, he would travel to Cooperstown to see Carlton "Pudge" Fisk inducted into the Hall of Fame. He would forever reserve an honored spot on his desk for a very special baseball. He would never forget a particular summer day in 1980.

Danny Williams would go back to being a state police officer. Fifteen months after the kidnapping, the injuries to his hands finally healed, he would be reinstated as Second-in-Command of Hawaii Five-0. He would go on to complete a long and distinguished career with Five-0, eventually being appointed head of the elite unit upon Steve McGarrett's retirement. Danny would continue to coach the Five-0 Little League Team, forever affecting the lives of hundreds of boys and girls under his tutelage. He and Kyle would remain close. Once a year, they would make a pilgrimage to Fenway Park, where they would sit along the first base line, eat hot dogs, and happily greet the ghosts of the past. Danny would forever reserve an honored spot on his desk for a very special baseball. He would still think often about Jane, but with far less pain and sadness than before. He would always know that at the appointed time, he would once again arrive at Ka'ena Point, where Jane would be waiting.

PAU

© 2001 J.J. Keegan