Thanks to Irene Claire for helping me with this and all the other chapters. Your input means a lot. Extra thanks to everyone reading for putting up with me…especially MissSlothy. But it takes one to know one!

/././

Steve opened the door and scanned the room before entering. He'd chosen this spot on the corner after cruising the parking lot and casing the grungy little motel. There was egress through this door and the bathroom window. Just in case. It was impossible to shut off his instincts. He wasn't as relaxed here as at the beach. The city buzzed with an energy that agitated him.

He flicked on the ceiling fan that hung over the bed. A vague smell of disinfectant lingered, giving the room a clinical feel. Setting his duffel on the bed, he sighed. At least the linens appeared to be new and laundered. There was no evidence of rodents or insects. This place was probably frequented by kids from the local universities for parties. It had that vibe. Lots of ice and vending machines and posters advertising campus parties and upcoming sporting events. Most importantly, management clearly looked the other way, if they paid much attention at all. The woman at the front desk had barely glanced at Steve when he'd checked in and requested a particular room. She'd slapped a key on the counter, reminded him of check out time and had also growled that any damages would be subtracted from his credit card.

Steve hadn't factored summer graduation into his loose plans. There were no hotel rooms closer. So he'd ended up in the rough part of town on the edge of the university. Which suited him better, if he was honest. He felt at home there. In that gritty neighborhood. He could move among them like a shadow. Like he'd done in Mexico when he was looking for his mother. And on so many other missions. No one asked questions. Not too many anyway. Only things like – what time was he checking out? What did he want to drink? Did he want pepperoni on his pizza? Nothing too deep that would dig at his wounded heart or endanger his safety.

He knew if Danny's family found out he was this close and didn't stop in to say hello, he'd never hear the end of it. He smiled when he pictured Danny all excited – or exasperated really – scolding him for picking this spot. Rolling his eyes and telling him he should have stayed at the beach. Who spent their vacation in South Orange, New Jersey?

Steve distinctly heard the word idiot in his head. He smiled for a few seconds, and glanced at his phone. Maybe he should call Danny.

No, he wasn't ready for that. He had some things to say and his courage was in short supply when it came to super emotional conversations. It had occurred to him more than once that he'd run away from those things rather than bullets and blood.

He glanced down at his kit bag. Danny's cologne was nestled there, wrapped in sparkly tissue paper. He'd been haunted even by the scent of the man.

The thought of getting a drink loomed large. The desk clerk told him there were two liquor stores in walking distance and a bar just down the street. The bar was closer. She muttered about a hospital up the block, too, as he'd turned away with his key. How fitting. He wondered how many drunks ended up in the ER.

Setting his bag on the chair by the bed, he zipped it part way and pulled out his toiletry kit, taking two ibuprofens from a small bottle, dry swallowing them. A headache had been chasing him all summer. He blew it off as allergies. He hadn't spent much time on the East coast for ages.

Grabbing his wallet, phone and room key, Steve glanced at his bag. He needed to stow his weapon. He figured being strapped would draw undue attention. He wasn't a cop anymore. Plus, he had no reason to be armed. Wasn't he on vacation?

There were two possible options in the room. The bed or the AC unit. There was no safe. Not that he ever trusted a safe. Someone at the motel always had the means to open them, and this place was more than a little shady. He lifted the mattress. Sure enough, it was on a platform. He slid the mattress and checked the box. No joy. His bag would be exposed. He turned to the ancient AC unit. Chewing on his lip, Steve felt for a latch to remove the cover. One cracked fingernail later, his gun was hidden from prying eyes.

Satisfied, he set the thermostat to cool for later before switching off the lights. He was not used to the humidity here or the smell of warm garbage and asphalt. It clung to him without a breeze off the ocean. The weather had gone from muggy to sweltering, surprisingly hotter than home. He caught himself. Home was Oahu. Home was Danny and the team. His chest tightened. Tears swelled, and he shook his head. He definitely needed a drink. Something stronger than beer. Maybe he'd find one of the liquor stores and bring a bottle back to this room. He didn't want to get drunk in an unfamiliar place, but he definitely needed a buzz.

Steve caught his reflection in the long mirror and then tapped his knuckles on the dresser. He never understood why people used them. He was surprised the drawers opened. Even if he spent more than a minute in motels, he always lived out of a bag. Just in case he needed to pack up and go. At a moment's notice. Cut and run. Survive until rescue. Except now, no one was coming to rescue him. He'd left the team. He was on his own. Untethered, he felt not free, but everything. No longer locked down, emotions and memories assaulted him at night, during the day. Good ones and bad. His compartments were gone. Unnecessary. Smashed to pieces. Part of finding peace was allowing himself to feel.

It had taken him months to unpack when he'd first come back to Oahu when his dad was murdered. Actually, Danny had put his clothes away. An odd gesture from someone he'd barely known. One grumpy day, his then-new best friend had done his laundry. He'd lectured Steve about the empty dresser and closet. Humans put their clothes away. Steve smiled at the memory.

The AC whirred and fizzed as it kicked into gear, bringing him back to the present. Steve put on his ballcap and slipped into the haze of the early evening. The door locked with a loud click behind him.

/././

The heat was stifling. The humidity worse. It seemed like every exhale was trapped by the asphalt, adding to the agony. Sweat lined his brow. The walk was short from the motel to the bar, yet Steve considered turning around, ordering a pizza. He didn't need a drink.

Yet he did.

Steve was drawn to the crumbling dive bar. He'd checked it out online. They had a popular trivia night with lots of pictures in their website's gallery. The dark, dingy place reminded him of other less than reputable spots he'd frequented in another life in very different parts of the world. They did just enough business to stay alive.

The serious drinkers kept their heads down or their eyes focused on the TV screens by the bar. Keeping their misery to themselves. Except for a handful of college students in one corner. They were there to drink on the cheap. Slumming it. Laughing a little too loudly and harassing the barmaid.

Steve tensed his jaw, ground his teeth. Seething at the immature behavior, he cracked his knuckles under the table. His whole body itched to put them in their place. He scratched the spot where his weapon should be.

This anger worried him. He didn't know these kids. They weren't breaking any laws, no serious ones anyway. He'd bet there was a fake ID among them. Which did not concern him. Yet, a nagging feeling chewed on his guts.

Signaling to the young girl, he ordered another beer. Steve was cheered by the fact they served Longboards. When she delivered his drink, he caught her eyes. She stopped and asked, "Can I get you something else, sir?"

He dove right in. "Are they bothering you?"

She twitched but didn't even glance at the raucous table. "No, it's fine. Not the first time."

"You sure?"

"Yea mister. But thank you. For caring."

"Thanks for the beer."

"My pleasure. And my job." She winked and left.

Steve watched her for a few minutes, as he finished his drink, peeling the label from the bottle as it, too, beaded with sweat. AC chugged in a corner window, barely keeping up with the sweltering evening. Convinced the waitress could indeed handle herself, he decided to leave. First, he needed to hit the head.

When he was finished, the bar was empty. The kids were gone. Steve settled his tab and asked after the waitress. He wanted to give her a tip. The bartender motioned to the bar door. She'd gone to dump some trash. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. For a second, he considered checking on her. Then he looked up at the oscillating fan and decided he was paranoid from the alcohol. He handed the guy a fifty and told him to split it with the girl.

Saying goodnight, Steve left the bar, and once outside, he assessed the scene. The street was quiet. No sign of the noisy bunch, but something didn't feel right. He strained to listen, and for a few seconds, all he heard was the hum of the city. Traffic, music playing from an open window. (Was that Bon Jovi blasting?) Then a sharp sound, cut off. Not quite a full scream. Steve was moving before he quite knew where he was going. He jogged around the building into the unknown.

He remembered the waitress. Her trash run. He prayed he'd find an empty alley.

/././

Steve didn't announce himself. He simply grabbed two of the young men and smacked their heads together. They fell in a heap, disoriented. The girl stopped screaming. She locked eyes with Steve, hope flickering into a heated flame, and she started kicked with fervor. One of the guys, oblivious to Steve's approach, yanked on her skirt, tearing it. This fueled Steve's rage further, and he snagged the kid by his pants, tossing him aside with a roar.

"Run!" Steve commanded.

The waitress didn't hesitate. She disappeared into the bar. Steve didn't have a chance to take the win. With a clang ringing in his ears, he collapsed to his knees. Clocked on the head with something heavy. A splash of stars filled his field of vision, and he almost vomited the beer he'd just drunk. Hands on the uneven grit of the pavement, he pushed up. Already searching for a target through blurry eyes. With a calculated strike, he took out one kid's knee and swept the legs of another. Ducking just in time, Steve knocked a large metal lid out of the hand of the skirt ripping asshole. One smooth lift and the kid ended up head over heels in the steaming garbage bin. He turned to the others, chest heaving, stance wide. One of them whimpered and sprinted away. The other sneered.

"Bring it on, old man." He gestured to Steve. "I'm a boxer."

Steve smirked at the bravado. The kid was flat on his back in less than five seconds. Unfortunately, so was Steve. Laughter erupted in his ears, as he was struck with a barrage of kicks and blows. He took a loafer to the face, and blood blinded him. An attempt to roll over and shield himself was interrupted by a heavy stomp to his ribs. As he blacked out, a gunshot echoed in the alley.

/././

"Back up, or I'll shoot you." She aimed the gun at her attackers, and then laughed when she realized one of them had pissed his pants. "Aw, poor baby forgot his diaper?"

Two of the young men sat against the far wall, holding their heads while another was draped over the dumpster, half stuck on his climb out. A bloody metal bar, part of a broken table, lay on the ground near Steve.

"You better hope he lives." She snarled at the pants-wetter. He'd dropped the weapon when she reappeared in the alley.

Her boss stepped out the back door, cursing, also armed. "Get the fuck on our knees before I kill you. Damn college brats. You okay, Jo?"

"Yea, boss. Can't say the same for him." She was already beside Steve, checking for a pulse and an airway. "He needs an ambulance."

"One's on the way."

"Thank you." She whispered close to Steve's ear. He didn't respond. He was out cold. "You saved me."

/././

Bright light seared a hole through his brain. He feared he might vomit and needed to roll onto his side. Hands fought his movements.

"Sir, please, stay still. You're in a hospital."

"Danny…I promised Danny."

The barrage of light and sound was too much. Steve passed out.

"He's stable. Vitals look good."

"Concussion protocols. Order a CT."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And call someone for him. Look on his phone. If there's a Danny, contact him first."

/././

We're almost there…the boys will be reunited soon. Thank you for reading!