Notes: I'm really fascinated by the Tracy/Cricket/Tom dynamic. While it was often teased that Cricket had feelings for both guys, I think the romantic chemistry with Tracy was more apparent. I hereby christen the 'ship the S.S. Tricket.

Since this relates to a specific episode and what I think should've happened next but didn't, I'm calling it AU/canon-divergent.

Everyone reading this likely knows the show and its characters, but for anyone who doesn't: I tried to keep Kim in-character without making him sound like a stereotype, but also without backpedaling on any of his traits like they're a source of embarrassment.

Kim's multilingual. He speaks 'Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Pidgin, and a little bit of English' or so he says in Waikiki Widow. Plus, he owns his own business, can carry a tune alongside Cricket, and helps on cases with Tracy, Tom, and later, Greg. I happen to think that makes Kim pretty awesome.

Not saying the series didn't do some extremely not cool things (like putting Connie Stevens in brown face in Aloha, Cricket ~MAJOR YIKES~ or only billing Doug Mossman in the closing credits, and always below the guest stars, even though he appeared in more than 100 episodes) but I don't think Kim's characterization is one of them.

My biggest issue is that I believe Kim deserves to be featured in HE fics but I don't know if this basic white chick is capable of writing him well, and I am very much open to constructive feedback when it comes to Kim, or anything else about this.


It's stupid, springing news like this on Cricket in the middle of her show. It's more than stupid. It's selfish and weak to lean on her this way when it's obvious how she'll react. But Tom has to tell her. More than that, though, he just can't be the only one who knows it. Tracy's plane was reported down over the ocean.

Tracy's dead.

Tracy's dead and Tom needs someone else's grief to shovel over his own. To make his the bottommost layer of pain. To harden and flatten it. To press it so tight and bury it so deep that he can pretend it's just there to hold everything else up.

But poorly laid foundation cracks.


Cricket reassures herself it doesn't matter how terrible Tracy looks. She's ready for it. She sure doesn't want that to be the way of things, but she's braced herself for it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he's shown up after a case battered and bruised. Pouted a bit—over smirk at least as much as mustache—and convinced her to take too much time away from her own work to tend to him as if they aren't just friends. As if either of them might want something else.

As if both of them might want something more.

But when Tracy walks off that plane, his suit is perfectly pressed and not a hair is out of place.

A couple of important looking men stop him at the foot of the steps. They only keep him for a few words, but when they back away, they don't leave entirely. And don't think Cricket didn't notice that. That she doesn't still notice them loitering about.

Don't they know he's got someone right here waiting for him?

Tracy clearly doesn't see Cricket or Kim at the fence; he can't possibly. He'd be right over if he did. Instead, he lingers beside the plane like he's waiting for something, too. Someone.

A feminine someone, of course.

They're so close to each other and Cricket is too far away. The fence between them might as well be barbed wire because Tracy and the woman have stopped talking and now he's kissing her.

Doesn't he know he's got someone right here waiting for him?


Tracy wasn't expecting streamers and banners or a ticker tape parade. Of course not. But this welcome back is definitely subdued. To call it understated is, well... an understatement. Feels quite a bit like something's been omitted and Tracy doesn't enjoy being left in the dark anymore than being left out in the cold.

That's what it feels like.

It's almost as if he's done something wrong just by being here, made some colossal misstep from the moment he arrived back in Honolulu and he has no idea what.

He was prepared to be bombarded with questions rather than fanfare, naturally. Maybe even a bit of inquiry that bordered on accusatory. Worry is a particular kind of emotion, after all. It wears all sorts of masks. Anger and apathy seem to be the most common, though.

It all makes for an awkward cab ride, to say the least. Unease and discomfort weren't on the shortlist of responses Tracy expected his return to elicit. But it's even worse than that.

It's disappointment.

Kim's chatty as ever and Tracy is certain at least part of Cricket's aloof air is that she can't possibly let on that she was afraid for him, nor can she show that she's too pleased to see him back, here and now. Safe and sound. After the stunt he pulled. As if it was his choice to be aboard hijacked aircraft, taken hostage, and nearly delivered for execution. Or imprisonment. He's not sure. Only that it would've been bad.

Maybe he's just seeing things differently now. Perceiving threats where there are only friends. Snubs where there's only poorly expressed concern. Tom and Cricket don't know the finer points of where Tracy was when they didn't know where he was, after all.

It's hypocritical, all things considered, still, he'd prefer to keep it that way. Because while they'd given him up for lost, he was fighting not to be.

He's no fool. He knows exactly where he ranked in the hierarchy of hostages. There's a reason he was pulled aside, placated with a cup of coffee, and enticed with a few morsels about the hijackers' plot.

Only, does he really know?

He does.

Useful for the time being, but still a liability. Which meant he was safe for the time being, so long as he didn't do anything stupid.

Like springing Lisa Barton and failing to convince her that she couldn't go back, no matter what was threatened. No matter who was threatened. But she folded when Tracy would've called, stayed in the game. He'll never know which of them was right. Just that Lisa's decision not only undermined his plan, but it utterly ruined whatever leverage he might've had. It also very likely saved Mrs. Jennings' life.

Tracy knows where she placed in the hierarchy, too.

He's realizing now that there's a certain hierarchy at home, too. A thing not meant to be disturbed. Everyone has his place, so long as he doesn't question it. Or get ahead of himself. Or convince himself he belongs, or is wanted, somewhere other than he is. Or maybe just in a way that he isn't.


Tom knows now that it was all just a scam. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, after all, and he can't quite pull himself back up. He also knows that while the wool was pulled over his eyes, over Cricket's, and Kim's, and Moke's—Tom was this close to calling Tracy's mother in Ohio!—something very real was happening to Tracy.

He still doesn't know the details; Tracy hasn't gotten around to dishing. He knows it wasn't the weather. Sure, that's why Tracy was bumped up—bumped himself up—and given passage on an earlier, unscheduled flight. He was trying to beat a storm and got caught up in something much, much worse.

Tom pushes off from where he's been leaning against Tracy's desk. The pool is to his left, the bar's to his right, and there's no shortage of paperwork behind him, either. But none of it seems so pressing as getting some information out of the man himself. The morning edition is obscuring his face and there's a cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

"Sooner or later, old pal," Tom says, aiming for flippancy. He figures it'll go one of two ways. It's just, he's not used to having to interrogate his own partner.

There's the slightest crinkling and Tracy peers over the top of the paper. "Sooner or later what?" he asks, like he's got no idea what Tom is getting at.

"The truth'll come out. I'd sorta like to hear it from you." Tom would also really like to hear it without having to prod. To pick at a scab, to cut his way through scar tissue. He hates old news. "I'd really like it to be on your terms."

Tracy just does that... thing with his face where he makes every expression and no expression at the same time. It's too contemplative to be a bluff, too amused to be a joke, and nothing anyone else'd ever dare try as his poker face. But hell if Tom can read him, so maybe it is. Tracy's brows knit but then whatever he's trying to make unravels just as quickly.

His reply is thought upon only so long as it takes him to light a cigarette, take a drag, and offer the answer on the exhale. "What's there to tell? The plane was hijacked. I was sort of just... there."

Tom doesn't need to think at all on his own reply to that. "Good for everyone else that you were."

"Well, I wasn't the only person on that plane. That flight might've been unscheduled but it wasn't private."

It's obvious what Tracy's talking about. Of course there were other hostages. Maybe there were real casualties among them, too. Tom knows the whole reason behind that bogus mayday—that he fell for, thank you very much—was that no one'd be the wiser when an entire plane and all of its passengers never turned up.

He wonders why Tracy thinks this reminder is necessary. He isn't left wondering for long, though.

"I sentenced an old woman to death." Tracy's blunt as they get and he's got an odd sense of humor; Tom's known him long enough to pick up on that. But he's got a weird, faraway look on his face and he's using his straight-man voice now.

They're solo artists as much as partners, though, and Tom knows his own comedic timing isn't always the best. Still, the worst joke at the best time is worlds better than the best joke at the worst time. "What'd she do? Kick the back of your seat on the flight?"

"She didn't make the sort of bait the kidnappers were hoping for."

"Hey, now, if they were gonna kill someone, that's not on you."

"It is if I was going to let them."

"You thought they were bluffing." Tom isn't asking or even guessing. He knows better. He knows Tracy. If he made the wrong move, well… Except, he clearly didn't think it was the wrong move at the time.

"Of course I did."

"It obviously didn't happen." Tom cocks his head to the side. "Right?"

"Right."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I'll never know."

"You're gonna have to learn to live with that."

"Hmm." There's something beyond just thoughtfulness and introspection in Tracy's tone now. It's not even a word and he does this all the time.

Then again, so does Tom. He knows that's a page outta his own book, offering noncommittal murmurs in place of a genuine response. A sound that isn't a word. An idea fully-thought-out but only half-shared.

Or maybe he's the copycat and stole it from Tracy. Then again, it could be one of those shared traits; there's a lot of them, after all. It's why they get along so well. Only, Tom's just finally realizing how annoying it is to be on the receiving end of that sort of thing, whether tactic or idiosyncrasy. He isn't sure which.

He just reiterates, "And be glad you're still alive to have to learn to live with it."

He really should take his own advice.


Things were so much simpler a few days ago. When the biggest trouble in Cricket's life was a dress zipper that wouldn't budge and no one to ask for help with it except Tom. It was stuck halfway up and halfway down her back and Paul was about to introduce her for her number over in the Shell Bar.

Then Kim came busting into the Hawaiian Eye office and saw the whole thing and got the wrong idea. Or maybe just pretended to, the way he made fun of both her and Tom. Cricket couldn't help the flush on her cheeks any better than feeling immediately relieved that it was just Kim and not Tracy.

What would he have thought if he'd seen?

What would he have done if he was there?

If only he was there?

If she'd asked him for help instead.

If she'd had the choice, like she usually does.

"Suppose I was serious about someone. I mean, really serious about someone," Cricket asks. But it's Tom she's asking and isn't exactly wrong but it isn't right, either.

"Mm hmm," he murmurs. Anyone who didn't know him better would think he was being dismissive. But Cricket recognizes the tilt of his head and that low rumble in his throat for what it really means: go on, I'm listening.

She does. "Would you fight him for me?"

"In your place or on your behalf?" Tom wonders, or pretends to. Cricket recognizes this, too, his twinkle-eyed ribbing.

"You know what I'm talking about!"

Would you be jealous?

"What's he done besides date you?" Tom asks, and this time he almost sounds sincere.

Almost.

Cricket pouts. It's exaggerated and they both know it.

Tom laughs, ever-amused at getting a rise out of her. But then he's solemn. "Only if I didn't like him. Besides, I wouldn't be trying to win you."

"Oh?" She means to ask, 'Oh no?' but half of the question has gotten lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth. She knows exactly where it is and that it isn't lost at all. She can feel it stuck in her throat.

Tom's declaration is both a disappointment and a relief, somehow. Bittersweet. It's something Cricket has always known she needed to hear, but now that she has, she isn't sure she wants to. Maybe because she didn't get the rest of what she thought she'd have alongside that confession. Maybe that's because she never expected to be asking Tom's blessing for her to carry on with an imaginary boyfriend. Who may or may not be named Tracy Steele and has no idea how she feels.

"Just what would you be doing?" Cricket prods. She means to come off playful, like Tom does, but she just feels desperate instead. "Since you aren't trying to win me."

Kissing other women like Tracy is, probably.

She understands that a great deal of how she feels now is petty, especially where Tracy is concerned. It's nothing like the affected jealousy she's put on in the past, whenever he or Tom has almost gotten close to somebody, but it matches the push and pull, the ebb and flow, of how they've always gotten on. It's only just now that she's wondering if it isn't tit-for-tat. Or maybe it just never meant the same thing to all of them.

Watching Tracy walk off that plane and down those steps, Cricket's heart could've burst outside of her chest. But seeing him kiss that woman... her heart could've burst inside of it. It was like it seized, shrunk a bit, and hasn't beat the same since. It's not his fault it took her thinking he was dead to realize she'd rather he was kissing her instead.

It was about the ugliest reminder a girl can get that she's not the only one with choices. That sooner or later someone is going to make one, and for keeps. That dawdling or just plain not being able to untangle her feelings isn't fair to anyone and just might hurt everyone.

"I'd be protecting you," is Tom's answer. "I'll always protect you."

"You really mean it?"

"Of course. Whether you're just dating... or engaged... or married," Tom says, with the faintest of grins. But then his grin gets wider, he chuckles, and he adds, "Or an old maid, still singing over in the bar at 80 years old."

"Old maid?! I oughta…"

"What's this all about, anyway? You aren't planning on getting mixed up with some loser, are you?" Tom asks. He's gruff, a little rough, even, now. He's still joking but it's also very clear he's ruffled, too; riled.

So is Cricket. "You should know me, and my taste, better than that."

Tom lets out another, "Hmm." This time he's contemplative, and she can't read him. She isn't sure if it's worry or knowledge in his tone. If he's figured something out.

Even if he hasn't, she has. "Besides," she insists, "I'm not planning anything with anyone."

Anymore.


Tracy steps into the Shell Bar. He feels his lighter sink into his jacket pocket as he easily spots Tom on a stool at the end of the bar. He surveys the room a moment before moving forward.

Hardly an empty seat, Mai Tais as far as the eye can see; it's lively as ever. Music mingles with the buzz of countless conversations. The band is playing but center stage is empty. For now. Tracy doesn't need to check his watch to know Cricket is about to go on.

She performs nightly, just like the spinning sign outside says.

It's all so very… normal, but also, not. Tracy's not sure why it suddenly feels novel, foreign to him. Why he suddenly feels like he's on the outside looking in.

Through frosted glass.

Cigarette at his lips, he takes a drag and approaches Tom, unable to shake the off-balance, off-beat feeling he's had since returning home. He made the plane, yet, he feels like he missed the boat.

"Hey hey, just in time," Tom greets him.

He'll see about that.

Tom signals the bartender for him, and almost immediately there's a drink placed before Tracy.

They generally don't speak while Cricket performs. It's sort of an unwritten rule, not always adhered to, but they try. It'd be little better than either of them walking in or out in the middle of a number, after all; it's impolite.

Even if Cricket herself is too focused to catch them in the act, she always seems to notice something is amiss after the fact.

Watching her onstage now, Tracy can't help noticing the way the spotlight illuminates every bit of her, from the flip of her ponytail, to the sway of her skirt, to the sparkle of her jewelry. Her hair seems longer, even though he knows it can't have visibly grown in such a short time. It's obviously just the way she's wearing it tonight. Her eyes seem bluer. Not necessarily brighter, but bluer.

Deeper.

The piano could tune itself to her. There's a saying about practice after all, and she's nothing if not very well-rehearsed. It's everything and nothing like the countless times Tracy has seen her sing before.

It's a hypnotist's spell, broken by applause, rather than the snap of a finger, and Cricket sashays up to where he and Tom are seated almost immediately after her number. She wastes no time in sandwiching herself in between the both of them. Tracy gives her his seat. She responds by taking his drink, and proceeds to finish it as if it's hers.

Or theirs.

What a strange thought to wander into Tracy's mind.

He fails to ignore it. He attempts not to let on. "You're welcome, lover."

Cricket's nonchalant. "I figured I'd save you the trouble of buying me one."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

She nudges Tracy. "This is the part where you tell me how radiant I was up there. Voice of an angel and all that."

Tom has the misfortune or maybe it's the luxury of sputtering his amusement into his drink. He's still got one, after all.

Tracy attempts to look and sound utterly stoic. He nods toward Tom. "What he said."

"You two!"

It's hardly been a couple of days, yet it's been far too long since Tracy's seen that side of Cricket. Fiery, riled-up, oh-so-offended. Unguarded, but also unhurt. Tracy can't help his smile, or his own honesty. "You were splendid."

Arms crossed and glaring daggers—both affected and effective—Cricket is waiting for Tom's response now. "And you?"

He grins, and copycats, "What he said."

"What are you doing here, anyway, huh?" She nudges Tracy again, and harder, this time. A pronounced elbow to the ribs, the sort of prodding meant to evoke discomfort.

So this question is just for him, is it?

It's not at all out of the ordinary, though. Maintaining a presence inside the Shell Bar is important, in case anyone needs hotel security. An escort outside for a bit of fresh air if someone has had one too many. Or a friendly reminder that, 'No,' is both a woman's prerogative and a complete sentence.

Then again, there's no denying that sort of task is typically delegated to their uniformed crew, more often than not–

"Moke."

Tall, uniformed, he stands out against the sea of evening gowns and dinner jackets. Cap in one hand and a slip of paper in the other, he's obviously carrying a message of some sort and it must be important.

Tom's anticipatory, taking the sheet of paper, yet also gunshy. He hides it well enough, and quickly enough, too. He's already standing up and gesturing for Moke to lead him or just plain accompany him back to the office. He'll handle it.

As if there was any doubt that was his plan, he looks to Tracy and insists, "I'll take care of it."

Tracy detects the slightest expression of protest on Cricket's face. Is it that she doesn't want Tom to leave? Or that she doesn't want him to stay?

Tom must sense it, too. "I'll be back in time for your next number. Besides, I'm sure you two can figure out something to talk about."

Tracy smiles at Cricket, and even though he's not entirely sure he agrees, insists, "I'm sure we can."

What ends up happening is the both of them eavesdropping, and poorly, at that, on Tom and Moke's conversation, but only for as long and as well as they can, over the chatter of the rest of the bar guests.

"Moke, your penmanship is worse than your typing. What is this, your shopping list?"

"The day I can afford to put diamonds on my shopping list," Moke retorts.

"Diamonds?" Tracy echoes distantly, and almost involuntarily. It's also clear that neither Tom nor Moke can hear him at this point.

They can't, but Cricket does. She fiddles with the empty highball glass in her hands. She's tipping it a bit, as if testing to see if it can stand on its edges. She knows it can't and doesn't ever let it completely out of her grasp. It's a trust fall, minus the fall.

Or the trust.

It isn't much of anything really, except wishful thinking, and when Cricket speaks, it's to say, "You can go, too. You don't have to stay here with little old me."

Gone is the lighthearted mood of just moments before, and Tracy doesn't like the feel of eggshell under his feet. Earnest, but tentative, he asks, "What makes you think I don't want to be here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, I happen to think it's pretty nice here. Some people would even say it's paradise."

"Lots of people say that, lover." Tracy happens to agree with them. There's a reason he made O'ahu his home after Korea, after leaving the Air Force. He isn't the one who made it his home, though. He settled here, sure. But it's Tom, Kim, Cricket who made it home.

"But I understand if… it… can't compete with the excitement of diamonds. Or Hong Kong. Or…" Cricket's voice trails off, with a measured softness, like she means it, but it's broken in a way that also tells Tracy she doesn't. "Guess I should've let you buy me that drink after all."


People come and go all the time. Doors open and close. That's sort of how the things work, whether entrance or exit.

That's how life itself works.

There's no shortage of people passing through or just milling around the front entrance of the Hawaiian Village; Waikiki's known for its nightlife, after all. Which is undoubtedly why Kim is leant against the door of his cab, ready and waiting for a fare.

"Hey, Mr. Steele," Kim calls out, standing up straight and adjusting his hat.

"Hey, Kim."

"Need a ride?"

"That's alright."

"You sure? Safer you take a cab than a plane, right?"

Tracy can't disagree with that, or maybe it's just that he understands the sentiment behind the remark. He manages to joke, "That depends on who's driving."

"Hey!" He feigns offense, but a lopsided grin forms on his face in almost no time. "More better than just standing around."

If anyone's just standing around… No, Kim's got a point. Tracy is definitely dawdling, making the short trip from the bar to the office.

Still, he assures Kim, "I just don't happen to be going anywhere." Well, it isn't exactly a lie.

"...Whatever you say, Mr. Steele." Kim's impish, and his scrutiny isn't entirely unwarranted. It's also a testament to his intuition.

Tracy knows this is all part of both his personality and persona. There's a reason Tracy and Tom put one of their radios in his car, after all. He's been called upon countless times by Hawaiian Eye, and for far more than the fact that he owns his own cab. Oh, that's plenty useful, no doubt, having rapport with a local cabbie. He doesn't just know O'ahu like the back of his hand, isn't just able to drive any road. He can walk a very fine line, too. Lighthearted and unassuming, but invariably observant, he seems to be forever waiting for fares at the intersection of inconspicuous and opportunistic.

Something in Kim's demeanor has shifted now. He's gone from amused to introspective, and it's clear he's thinking twice about saying anything more. Anything at all, really. "Lookin' like you lost something."

"I haven't lost anything."

Has he?

"Then maybe you leave something behind?" Kim's quizzical.

Tracy can't imagine what. No, that's a lie. He just parted ways with Cricket, over in the Shell Bar, and with little better than excuses. He reasoned that he'd better check in and see if that message was as urgent as Tom seemed to think. She insisted she needed to get changed before her next song. The hotel does like her to have a different outfit for each number.

Something in her face shifted when the topic of wardrobe came up; a flash of guilt, of embarrassment. It was as if Cricket both wished she'd never said anything but also wanted to say more and just wasn't self-assured enough to do so for some reason.

It was all so abbreviated, so cryptic, so…

"So you just waiting here for something to happen?"

"Actually, there is something you can do for me, Kim."

Because if anyone knows anything about anything, and he sure seems to be going on like he might… Well, Kim was at the airport alongside Cricket. Kim was, Tom wasn't, and he's the only one of them that's acting at all like himself. The only one who doesn't seem to have been caught in whatever it is the rest of them is tangled up in.

Kim perks up and offers an enthusiastic grin. He looks proud, ready for action. "You name it."

"Answer me this: did something happen while I was gone?"


Transporting a large carat diamond is nothing to sneeze at. It's the sort of thing that's gonna take careful planning. An all hands on deck kind of situation. Tom's already running scenarios through his mind when Tracy steps into the office, looking glum, or at the very least, pensive.

"I said I'd be back, unless… don't tell me you're calling it a night already?" Tom jokes.

Tracy opens his mouth to speak but closes it again before he actually says anything.

Tom knows what that means: drop it. Or maybe, more accurately: don't pick it up. So, instead, he decides to ask, "Don't suppose you'd wanna hear about our new prospective client, then?"

"Why else would I be here?"

Well, that's both loaded and smoking and Tom isn't gonna touch it either. He just explains the details of the long-distance, person-to-person phone call he just returned. To London.

"London?"

"Yeah. London."

"As in England?"

"Yeah, as in England."

"What time is it even there?" Tracy asks, glancing at his own watch.

Tom contemplates a moment; he's this close to calling up front to ask Moke if he knows and to tell him to look it up if he doesn't. In the end he settles on an educated guess. "I dunno off the top of my head, but it's already tomorrow."

"Hmm," Tracy murmurs.

Tom can't help thinking it's a weird thing to fixate on, but every detective has his own style. Far be it from him to question his partner's. Tracy's never let him down, after all.

"Anyhow," Tom continues, "they want us to act as liaisons… safeguards… whatever you wanna call it, for this diamond and make sure it gets from the seller to its new owner, here on the islands."

"Makes sense. A rare, high-value gem would make a nice prize for a thief. Did you accept the offer?"

"I said I'd have to talk with my partner first. It's an awfully important job to agree to by myself," Tom insists.

Something sharp lodges in his chest, saying that, for the thoughts it brings to his mind. He's certain Tracy has noticed it, too. Tom clears his throat, refuses to dwell. "Anyway, I figure we should use Kim, have him chauffeur the courier, and have one of us follow them."

"I beg your pardon?"

"For transporting the diamond." Tom reaches for the intercom, leans forward and into the speaker. "Moke?"

A moment later, the office doors open and he pops his head in. "Yeah, boss?"

"See if you can track down Kim. We need to ask him a favor."

"Sure thing," Moke accepts the order, but he lingers in the doorway. He finally looks Tracy square in the eyes and says, "I don't know if I said so before, Mr. Steele, but I can't imagine what we'd do around here without you."

Tracy grins, and jokes, "I'm sure you'd muddle through somehow."

"That is... what I mean to say is, I'm really glad you're alright."

Tracy's attempting to downplay that Moke's sentiment has struck him in any way, but it's obvious it has. It's also obvious why: it's the first he's hearing anything like this.

From anyone.

Tom feels the same way. He just didn't think it needed spelling out is all. He figured—mistakenly, by Tracy's demeanor in this very moment—that Cricket and Kim blubbered and chattered nonstop all about it on the ride back from the airport to the point that he himself told them to quit it.

Tom just assumed that's part of why Cricket's been so awkward around Tracy, around the both of them, lately. She just wanted Tracy to know how happy she was that he was okay and he didn't want to hear anymore of it.

Tracy just nods, quick, and sort of jerky, and offers, "Kim should be right outside. I was just talking to him."

Moke nods, too, just so. Then he ducks back into the front office, and pulls the doors closed behind him.

Tracy turns to Tom. "You of all people should know I'm pretty hardy," he says, suddenly. He sounds distant, though, almost like it's for his own benefit. His own reminder.

"You don't need to tell me that."

"You really don't need to spare me," he insists.

"Spare you from what?"

"I think it goes without saying my reception has been a bit… odd. I just couldn't figure out why until talking with Kim."

"Just what did you and Kim talk about?" Tom asks. He's really got no idea. With Tracy, it could only be so many things, but with Kim, it could be anything.

"I'm not upset." Tracy's deadpan.

Tom would say he's a terrible liar but he's actually pretty darn good. It's just that Tom knows him too well, knows all of his tells. "And just what aren't you upset about?"

"You."

"Me?"

"And Cricket, and whatever did or didn't happen between the two of you the other night."

"Didn't, alright, pal?" Tom insists.

He's relieved, but also annoyed. It's not like Kim to snitch. Well, except, it sort of is. It's just, he's usually on their side when he does it.

That's just it. It usually is their side, and Kim's usually gathering, and sharing, information for their mutual benefit. Not misunderstanding something perfectly innocent, hoarding those snippets, those fragmented facts, then cashing it all in at the worst moment.

And for what?

There's a reason Hawaiian Eye doesn't deal in jilted lover cases.

Someone wants in or out of a relationship, he can man up and take care of it himself. Leave the petty melodramatics for someone else. Anyone else.

Yeah, Tom's annoyed, alright. That Tracy could think he's being tight-lipped over something so unimportant. It does prove that Tracy can still always tell when Tom's not being square with him.

"The only thing that happened between me and Cricket while you were gone is that we thought you were dead," he confesses. He can only imagine how defensive he sounds.

How desperate.

Angry.

Hurt.

"I told her you were dead."

Tom told her so because he thought it was true. Tom thought it was true because the airline called and told him Tracy's plane had gone down.

"I thought you were dead."

What was he supposed to think, getting news like that? While Tracy was outsmarting hijackers, thwarting kidnapping plots, Tom was… thinking.

About how he'd break it to everyone else. To Moke, Teo, the rest of the guys. Lieutenant Quon. What he'd say at the funeral. If he could really run Hawaiian Eye without Tracy. He couldn't fathom letting what they'd worked so hard to build just… die. But the suggestion of—the near reality of—running the place without Tracy was even worse. And don't even get Tom started on the idea of replacing him.

It's quiet—too quiet—until Tracy finally murmurs, "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Get outta here with that." Tom groans. Then sighs. "It's just… really hard stuff to unthink, you know?"

Tracy's solemn, knowing. He admits, "I think I understand."

That awkward quiet seeps in again, only to be interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. Tom's inwardly grateful for the intrusion. He reaches for the button to respond. "Yeah?"

Moke's voice comes through, "Kim's out here."

"Thanks, Moke. Give us a minute." Tom looks at Tracy as he points to the intercom. "You know, he was right."

"About…?" Tracy halfheartedly guesses; he knows. "Let's not tell him that, though."

"That he was right about something? No way. Can't have him gettin' an ego,'' Tom agrees, riffs off of Tracy's joke.

It's how they do things. Tete-a-tete, matching wits, all that. They could leave it at this and it'd be just fine.

Only, it wouldn't. Not this time.

Relieved doesn't begin to cover how Tom feels knowing Tracy's okay, but he's just not sure how to get up from the low of being told Tracy had been killed, or come down from the high of it all being a lie, or just find some middle ground so he can be—feel—something resembling normal again.

For all the things Tom had no choice but to think about when it seemed like he'd never see his partner again… All the things he'd have had no choice but to say and has only been spared by dumb luck, or fate, or Tracy's survival skills, if he wants to be unsentimental…

For the first time, maybe ever, he doesn't.

"I really don't know what we'd do without you," Tom confesses, and he can just feel the anvil lifting from his chest. "Rest assured, this place sure wouldn't be the same. So just… don't ever apologize for being around. Alright, Lazarus?"

"Alright," Tracy agrees. "We're still not telling Moke, though?"

"Not a word."


Everything's quiet and the stage is nearly empty, except for the stuff that's just too heavy and awkward to be moved before and after every show. Every production. It's early afternoon and the Shell Bar isn't open yet. Cricket's supposed to be rehearsing but so far it's just her and her sheet music. It's a new arrangement and she's not quite sure how she feels about it.

Cricket immediately perks up over the sound of footsteps. It's hard not to slink down and pout when she sees that it's Tracy approaching. Suited, hair slicked back, he's looking handsome as ever. But she's just not sure she's ready for another round with him.

From him.

Either.

Both.

"Ships in the night," he murmurs, with the tiniest of smiles. It's nearly as thin as his mustache, though, and just as carefully trimmed.

He's not being precise for no reason.

"Oh?" Cricket pretends not to understand what Tracy's getting at. Or at the very least, what he's trying for.

"Isn't that what they say?" he asks.

"Very funny. Ships in the night is when people keep missing one another." She pauses and makes a point of putting her sheet music down on the table and standing up to meet him. Be level with him. "And I'm very certain a highly intelligent man such as yourself knows that."

"Aren't we?" he asks. Almost sounds like himself, too. He's suddenly self-assured. "Don't we?"

"How can we be missing one another if we're both here?"

"Good question."

It does feel like someone's cut the string holding their tin cans together, but they were only ever pretending to talk through them anyway. Now Tracy's standing in front of Cricket with his half of the frayed rope and dented metal and looking to her for answers about what they should do next.

Like she knows!

Like he doesn't, either.

"I'm not quite sure what I did," Tracy apologizes, "but I'm sorry."

"Nothing."

"That's obviously not true," he scoffs. "Look at you."

She'd rather not. She's in plain old pedal pushers and a floral print blouse. She hardly did anything with her hair and she isn't wearing a hat, either.

Tracy just continues, "At me. At us."

"Us?"

"If there's something you're worried about telling me, you don't need to be. I know nothing happened between you and Tom. And even if something had, I wouldn't interfere."

"I wouldn't either," Cricket insists.

"I beg your pardon?" Tracy asks, genuinely confused.

"I saw you getting off the plane," she admits. She pauses, hoping Tracy will interrupt and offer up a confession so she doesn't have to prod, to say it herself. He doesn't. "Well, I mean, Kim and I were right there waiting to pick you up!"

He nods, and it's clear by the look on his face he finally understands. He offers one word. "Lisa."

"Is that her name?" Cricket asks. Hearing it makes her more real, makes her more than just another one of Tracy's pretty clients.

Or dates.

Or both.

"You don't need to apologize, or tell me it didn't mean anything. It's fine. I'm a big girl."

"I know that. I see that. Trust me, I see that. Now."

"Hey you, just what do you mean by that?"

Tracy just sighs and looks at his shoes, or the floor, or just something other than Cricket. "Sometimes people call bluffs. Other times people just get sick of waiting around and walk away. Do worse than walk away."

"You really don't have to explain."

"I'd like to, anyway. I made a choice. A poor one, looking back. If Lisa hadn't been there to make the right one for me…"

It hurts to ask, to even think about it, but Cricket has to know. "You wouldn't be here now?"

"Oh, I would. Probably. To keep making poor choices." He chuckles, then cocks his head to the side and frowns a little bit. "That kiss did mean something, just not what you think. It was a thank you."

Cricket means to ask, 'For what?' but what comes out is, "I'll bet. What'd she do?"

"She saved me from making a terrible mistake." There's gratitude in Tracy's tone, but also regret, and Cricket's taken aback.

She asks, "What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"Sometimes that's the best thing."

"Sometimes it's not. I'm not sure if you believe me, but that kiss really was a thank you." After a thoughtful pause, Tracy adds, "And a goodbye."

It really doesn't seem like he's stalling or hiding anything or making excuses. This Lisa didn't stay in Honolulu, that's true. They never do. Or even if they do, they never seem to turn up at Hawaiian Eye again. They get rotated out as often as the ladies in the stenographer pool.

"I do believe you, and it's fine if it wasn't," Cricket assures him. "It's not like we're a couple or anything."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Tracy!"

"Because I'd hate to have missed us getting together. I was really looking forward to being there."

"Really?"

"Cross my heart and…" Tracy stops suddenly. "Scout's honor. How about that, instead?"

"So, what do we do now?"

Tracy blinks. Swallows. Cricket can't help fixate on his every movement, every motion. He finally says, "That depends on what each of us wants, I suppose."

"For starters, how about you quit getting yourself hijacked and declared dead?"

"If you insist."

"I do. You know, I wanted to be the one to kiss you, coming off the plane. A real kiss. Not some little peck on the cheek, either. Surprise you."

"That would've done it."

"Guess I've ruined it now."

It's been uncomfortable and awkward the whole way. Things haven't been particularly whirlwind, either.

Tracy just insists, "Only the surprise."

Then he steps up. Quiet. Smooth. Glancing up and down, quickly, just before he brings one hand to Cricket's back and raises his other to cup her cheek.

He leans forward. She leans back.

Forward, that is.

To meet him.

To feel his eyes on her in a way she never has, deep brown and full of want, but also wary of rejection, until they close, and it's his lips she feels on hers.

When they finally back away, it's only just a touch. Now Cricket couldn't be gladder that it's just the two of them in the empty bar in the middle of the day, with no one else around to see or care. To be impressed or judgmental or mocking or anything in between.

Or as happy as she is they both finally figured it out.

"But I'm finding I don't really like surprises, anyway."


1. Cricket and Tracy belong together. Even if they didn't, I refuse to accept Tracy had such strong feelings for a woman he only knew for four days and was estranged from for six months after those four days. It was just the lingering questions between him and Lisa and the respect he had for her once he learned who she really was. The character obviously never reappeared. At least it isn't like Bonanza, where if you fell for one of the leading men you were marked for death.

2. The episode following Hong Kong Passage was Cut of Ice, in which Kim was framed for the theft/loss of a diamond Hawaiian Eye was hired to safeguard as it was transferred from one party to another. So, yeah, that's the case I had the fellas taking on next. I might be a bit hazy on some of the details of that episode, and can surely make adjustments if anything seems way off base.

3. The guys' intercom seemed to change from episode to episode. Sometimes they seem to get on the phone and call up to Moke or their receptionist of the week. I swear I've seen at least one episode where they use a speaker/their comm system's speaker function, though. Maybe that's why half the time they just bellow out to whoever they want. LOLOL I really need to let dumb little things like this go.

4. Not gonna lie, my OCD (see above) has me upset that I have two scenes in a row from the perspective of the same character, even if one is relatively short. But it was important to make the plot go the way it needed to, and they were both Tracy-centric scenes, and he's the best, so I forced myself to let it be.

And finally… feedback is always appreciated and I would certainly love to connect with other Hawaiian Eye fans.