Down the Darkest Road
A/N: This is not a fix-it story. I'm not ready to write one yet. It's an attempt to get into the characters' heads and make sense of what didn't make sense to me in the series finale. One month later, I'm still bitter about it and about how the whole Steve storyline was written. So as he processed his decision, I did the same. My doubts became Danny's, and Steve's thoughts throughout the story were his answers to my questions as I tried to sort through it all and come to terms with it.
I've only read a couple of the dozens of stories you guys have written about the finale. Wasn't in the right frame of mind to do it. This is me adding my voice to the list. Steve is not getting off that plane in this one. He's not coming back to Danny, but at least he's telling him it's not the end. Ultimately, what I needed was some kind of reassurance. I felt they didn't give it to us, so I did it myself. Would love to read your thoughts about it.
"I'm sorry, Commander, you need to wait here."
Steve looked at the closing doors of the operating rooms, at the gurney with his best friend on it disappearing from sight, and suddenly the world around him started to spin.
The adrenaline that had coursed through his system and diverted blood to his muscles seemed to rush out of his body at a dizzying speed, taking with it whatever force was keeping him upright, and he leaned against the wall —exhausted, spent, and completely overwhelmed.
He tilted his head backwards and closed his eyes, exhaling a breath. His heart was pounding like it wanted out of his chest, every beat echoing in his ears.
Danny was hurt.
He had lost a lot of blood, and even without his twenty plus years of experience Steve could tell his condition was serious.
Limbs weakened, he pressed his back further against the cream-colored surface.
The team was watching him with concerned eyes, torn between the worry over their wounded companion and a leader that right now wouldn't even be able to guide them out of the building.
He wondered if he should say something to allay their fears, but couldn't find neither the words to address them nor the strength to actually voice them.
'You're good, buddy, I got you…'
What a big, fat lie.
He had almost gotten him killed.
Hanging his head in shame, Steve fought to contain the sudden surge of nausea burning at the back of his throat.
'Whatever she wants you to do, Steve, don't do it. Okay? Don't give her anything!'
'Whatever these people want, Steve, don't give it to them. Don't you give it to them!'
It was happening all over again.
Only this time, he wasn't sure he would ever recover from it.
In the confined space of the hospital hallway, Steve felt like he couldn't breathe. Everything he'd felt over the last few weeks, the stress of ten years of losses and repressed feelings was crashing down on him with the force of a hurricane.
He needed to leave.
Surgery would take at least a few hours and he couldn't stand to be there, didn't deserve the care and the forgiveness of his friends when everything that had happened was his fault.
Taking a deep breath and hoping his shaky legs wouldn't fail him he straightened up, pushed himself away from the wall and took a few tentative steps towards the exit. Noticing with relief that no one was following him he kept going, passing the nurse station and the emergency area.
How many times had he been there?
Too many.
As a patient, bringing in a fellow teammate, working a case. He'd seen these walls and these people more than he cared to count, and each visit had added more weight to his already burdened shoulders, so much so that even the sight of it now made his stomach turn.
An orderly wheeling a gurney whizzed past him. "Coming through!" he called out loud.
Startled, Steve moved aside, taking a moment to glance around the empty corridor.
Where was he headed?
He hadn't thought that far when he'd walked away.
There was a sign a few feet ahead. He approached it, trying to read it through his tear-filled eyes.
IMAGING
SURGERY
CAFETERIA
The words swam in and out of focus, and he blinked to improve his vision.
MEDICAL TREATMENT
CHAPEL
His disconnected brain latched onto that last word, to the idea of a quiet place where he could sit by himself as he waited.
He had stopped being a religious guy years ago, the idea of a benevolent God clashing with everything he'd seen on the job in the last few decades of his life. Nevertheless, he followed the directions as if he was drawn to it, moving on autopilot, his face a blank mask of despair.
The place was mercifully empty. It smelled of incense and candles, and as he slid into one of the wooden pews he was reminded of the last time he'd visited a church. He had been sitting in a wheelchair back then, recovering from the liver transplant that had saved his life.
His state of mind at the time had been equally frazzled, and he had questioned a job that had taken from him more than it had given. Three years later, with a death toll even higher and a soul shattered by too many blows, all he could think about was Danny and the possibility that he might not come out of surgery alive.
The image of his best friend in shackles was going to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, as well as the one of his still form laying on the ground. He thought he had been too late. For a few, excruciatingly long seconds, Steve had feared that he'd lost him too. And despite all the encouragements and the positive thinking, that fear was still rooted inside of him, acting like a vice around his chest and squeezing his lungs with every hitched breath he took.
He would do anything to make amends, trade places with him in a heartbeat. Protecting Danny had always been his number one priority, and the idea that he'd been the one to cause him pain was too upsetting to accept.
He slumped back, gaze fixed on the altar.
Had God ever heard his prayers? Was He really with him during his struggles?
'Maybe I'm just feeling a little lost right now…'
'I kind of feel like I've been protecting everybody except for myself.'
'Ten years ago, I hit the ground running hard and I've been running ever since.'
In light of the recent events, the words he had said to Danny a few days earlier couldn't have been more appropriate.
He needed to stop running.
Stop putting the people he cared about in danger.
It was the only way to make sure he wouldn't lose anyone else.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
'This whole Five-0 thing started with me burying my father. Then Joe White last year. Now my mother. So I don't know how I feel, but I do know that we don't get life on our terms, Danny. It's life on life's terms, or not at all.'
Despite his beliefs, he needed things to go his way. To know, just this once, that there was hope in his life amidst all the tragedies.
"I don't know if you've ever listened to me," he started, hands tightly clasped before him. "I have tried to be a good man all my life, to do what was asked of me and what I thought was right. I've put everyone else before me and never asked for anything in return."
In the soft light of the empty church, Steve felt a surge of rage flow through him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to relieve some of the pressure that was building in his tense body.
"There's… there's things I regret, stuff I have done that I'm not proud of, but Danny shouldn't be the one paying for it. You hear me?"
His knuckles turned white as the anger kept working its way to the surface.
"You want to take somebody," he whispered darkly, glaring at the crucifix above the altar. "Take me. Not him, you take me."
A noise coming from behind got his attention.
Steve sat up straight, bracing himself for bad news he knew he wouldn't be ready to accept. His eyes were brimming with tears, but his teeth were gritted so hard his jaw was aching.
A moment later, Lincoln Cole slipped into the pew behind him.
Out of all the people he thought would come find him, the former Marine was the last on his list.
He reminded Steve of himself a few years back, when his job still gave him purpose and the innocent lives he saved made him feel like he mattered.
"No news," he heard. "He's still in surgery."
The slight nod Steve gave as he processed the words was more a reassurance to himself than an acknowledgement of the other man's words.
There was still hope.
Like any good soldier who couldn't back down once he'd set on a goal, Cole started talking about Doris' cypher, about how it was vital that they decoded it. Steve wanted to tell him that he didn't care, like he didn't care about it when he first saw it, or when he traded it for Danny's life without a second thought because it was just another one of his mother's twisted games and he was done trying to understand her.
Doris was dead, and she never loved him like she should have.
Danny was still alive, and he had always loved him more than he should have.
"What difference does it make?" he heard himself say, because none of that mattered if his best friend didn't survive.
Eventually he caved in, agreeing to let Cole investigate and telling him to take Quinn with him. He wasn't entirely convinced, but needed to get rid of his presence. Lincoln was a good guy, and he had been a great asset over the last few days, so there was a chance that he would succeed. Only that wasn't Steve's priority. He couldn't focus on the cypher, on Daiyu Mei, on anything that wasn't the blood on his hands, the guilt eating him alive and Danny's life hanging in the balance.
He unholstered his gun and gave it to him, unable to stand its weight on his hip. It was a reminder of a job that was not fulfilling anymore, that had worn him down and cost him everything he had. Suddenly, the idea of leaving the island didn't sound so bad after all. A little time away could really help him get some perspective.
But Danny was hurt, there was a chance that he could still die, and no distance or amount of travel would ever help him if he lost him too.
Desperate for peace and reassurance, Steve stayed at the church well after Cole left for his decoding mission. When it felt long enough and he started to get itchy for updates, he went back to the waiting area and joined the rest of his team.
He didn't sit with them, choosing to pace nervously instead. Every now and then he'd stop to stare blankly out the window or check the hallway for any sign of Danny's surgeon, and then resume his walking. Between the lack of sleep, the strain of the exercise he had subjected his body to as a result of that and the events of the day, he was surprised that he was still standing.
And so were his friends, who kept glancing sideways at him when they thought he wasn't looking.
In an attempt to avoid their pitiful stares Steve leaned against the wall, his back to them, and rubbed at his tired eyes. He heard Lou's reassuring words for Tani and wished he could believe him. As a soldier and law enforcement officer he had seen too much to trust God to take care of Danny, but it was probably better than leaving his partner in his own hands. He had caused his friends and family nothing but trouble.
Before he could add to his long list of failures, the doctor came out. Steve snapped to attention, wringing his hands nervously as he approached her. He remembered her from when she had operated on Grace the year before, and hoped he wouldn't have to tell the young girl that her father had died because of his family's screwups.
"Hey. How's, uh..." he started, only to stop a moment later when words failed him.
How's my best friend?
The very last person that Death hasn't claimed yet?
The one I care about most in the whole world?
"What's going on?"
"He just got out of surgery and he's stable for now," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.
Steve sighed in relief.
Danny was alive.
"Okay," was all he managed to reply.
"We're not entirely out of the woods yet,"she continued, because despite his mother's thinking, his life had never been a cakewalk. "But we just cleared a big hurdle."
He nodded, holding onto the steady, relatively calm tone she was using.
"Alright, can I-can I, uh, can I see him?"
The doctor didn't even try to stop him. She had dealt with him before, so she knew better. "Yeah. Come."
"Okay."
He followed her on unsteady legs with barely a glimpse back to where his friends were standing and thanked her when she pointed to a room and told him to call if they needed anything.
Sighing, Steve reached for the door's handle. That's when he noticed the blood that was still staining his hand. Horrified, he jerked it away as if the metal knob had just seared his skin.
He couldn't let Danny see it.
Glancing around, he spotted the 'restroom' sign and quickly headed towards it. A few minutes later, flesh scrubbed raw from too much soap and scalding hot water, he was back in front of the closed door.
The overwhelming urge to be near Danny was stronger than ever, yet he was terrified of what was waiting for him on the other side. When he finally opened it, and he took his first look at his unconscious partner, his gaze immediately darted away.
Look what you've done, a voice in his head told him in an accusing tone.
Swallowing hard, Steve forced himself to move forward.
His right hand rose on its own accord, rubbing his face. The other reached for the chair next to the bed, moving it so he could sit by Danny's side. Taking a shuddering breath he hesitated again, struggling to take in the details of the scene in front of him: the machines monitoring his vitals, the IV providing him fluids and medications, the pressure cuff on his bicep, the nasal cannula delivering him the oxygen he needed.
He studied every bruise, every graze on his best friend's battered face, cursing Daiyu Mei and her goons for putting them there in the first place.
Danny's chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Steve's gaze locked onto that reassuring sight as his body sagged in the chair, almost folding into itself, and he reached for his partner's hand, trying to find comfort in the familiar touch.
A memory flashed in his brain, bringing him back yet again to the moment he'd entered the house on Kapule Avenue, gun drawn, and saw Danny on the ground, a puddle of blood growing underneath him. Steve closed his eyes, willing it away, and gripped Danny's hand tighter, using his thumb to draw soothing circles across its back.
"I'm here, buddy, I'm right here... You just rest, everything will be alright."
He blinked away the tears that had welled up in his eyes, scrubbing at his face when they spilled over anyway and he felt them trailing down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking.
This was his worst nightmare, the very thing he had tried to avoid since the early days of their partnership. Steve McGarrett liked the thrill of a chase and bringing criminals to justice, but he leapt off buildings and dived headfirst into danger so that his partner didn't have to do it.
"I had no idea she was after the cypher..."
They had turned every rock in search for Daiyu Mei and her associates, spent months doing research and tracking money trails. How could he even fathom that what she was really after was a piece of paper he didn't even know existed until the day before?
Trading it for Danny's life had been the easiest decision of his life.
He never asked why she wanted it, or how she found out that he had it. He just agreed to give it to her.
'Don't make the same mistake you made with your father, Commander McGarrett. Don't allow a loved one to die because of your stubbornness.'
It was all it had taken for him to capitulate. Gambling with his best friend's life over something that had no value to him whatsoever was out of the question.
Exhaling, Steve ran his free hand across his face. It scraped across a day's worth of bearded scruff. His body ached, both in physical and emotional pain. He was running on fumes, and it was taking all of his remaining energy to even get air in his lungs.
"She said..." his breath faltered, and he squeezed the limp hand he was holding. "She said she had the person I care about most in the world. It's true. I don't tell you enough, but I hope you know that."
Another wave of guilt washed over him.
Damn Doris and her riddles.
He wiped more tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. The emotions he had been struggling with for months were threatening to burst out, and every time he looked at Danny he was reminded of how close he'd been —how close he still was, to losing him.
"It should've been me…" he said softly.
In response, the heart monitor increased its beeping as if Danny was trying to tell him something. Steve's head jerked up, panicked eyes darting between the machinery and the pained frown on his friend's face. He was about to call the nurse and half the hospital staff when the rhythm started to slow down to normal.
Almost dizzy with relief, his own heart thumping loudly in his chest, he sagged back in his chair and watched the green lines on the monitor bounce across the black screen until he was reassured that the little dips and spikes were as steady as they were supposed to.
Then he leaned forward, rested his forehead on his arm and closed his eyes. He stayed like that while his thoughts wandered, occasionally shifting in his seat but never taking his hand away from Danny's unless the nurse needed him to step away from the bed during her checkups. It kept him grounded, and he hoped it told his friend that he was there for him.
A couple of hours passed. Steve continued to sit there, shoulders hunched, staring into space, exhausted but at the same time painfully awake. The beep of the machinery was still steady, a welcoming yet needling reminder of the circumstances that had brought them there.
Danny had barely stirred and was still unconscious. It was perfectly normal, they'd told him. The wound was serious, he had lost a lot of blood, and his body needed time to heal. Steve understood all of that, but every minute that passed his worry increased anyway, and like in the most vicious of cycles, that fear triggered helplessness, guilt, and other unhealthy emotions he wasn't able to stop.
Hands covering his tired face, he was about to be swept away once more by the thoughts swirling in his head when he heard it.
A faint "hey", in a hoarse yet unmistakable voice.
He looked up, his demeanor instantly switching from defeated to utterly relieved.
"Hey..." he repeated, dragging the chair even closer to the bed.
"Why'd you stop holding my hand?"
Steve exhaled loudly. He felt like crying, but for a whole different reason.
Danny was awake.
Danny was back.
He reached for his hand again, fingers gently curling around his friend's wrist.
"We're fighting?"
The lingering effect of the morphine was making him goofy, but Danny's sense of humor was apparently intact.
"Buddy..." Steve whispered, trying like crazy to keep his voice from giving him away. "I, uh... I thought I lost you there, man."
"Nah... No, you can't get rid of me that easy. Alright?"
Steve tried to smile, show him how grateful he was that he didn't have to watch someone else he loved die, but his red-rimmed eyes and haunted expression were betraying a whole different emotion.
Danny picked up on it immediately.
"You know, when a patient wakes up, you're supposed to be relieved. At least act happy, a little bit…"
The banter, albeit welcome, didn't lift the weight of the self-reproach off of Steve's shoulders. Instead, it only seemed to hit him harder.
"I'm happy," he said softly, needing Danny to believe it.
Blue eyes stared back at him. Even at half-mast and clouded from drugs they anchored him back, giving him something to hold onto.
"Yeah? Yeah, me too."
Steve nodded. It was not lost on him that Danny was the one comforting him and not the other way around. The thought upset him and he shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on his chest. He wanted so damn hard to enjoy the moment, the happiness of having his friend back, but couldn't get past the blame he was drowning in.
"She used you to get at me," he finally said, admitting what was bothering him. "She almost killed you."
"Eh, she didn't. I'm right here, I'm chillin'," Danny reassured him.
"Yeah. It's just... It feels an awful lot like what I went through with my father, that's all."
He had been missing his father a lot lately. At night, in between the pacing and the nightmares, he'd done a lot of thinking about his situation, about the feelings of purposelessness and disorientation that were accompanying him lately.
Danny knew all of that. He had been aware of Steve's lack of sleep and general weariness for weeks. As soon as he felt better, he would address it again. For the time being, he was going to settle for humor. "Stop, please. You're annoying me already."
Steve looked away.
His friend was telling him it was not his fault.
If only he could believe that…
"If I had a dollar for every time you saved my life," Danny continued, voice strained but spirit unbroken. "I'd have, like, twenty bucks or something…"
"You-you'd have a lot more than that, actually."
"Twenty-five bucks."
"Yeah…"
When Steve's phone rang a moment later, he almost wished it hadn't. His place was there, right by Danny's side. Everything else could wait. But Cole informed him that they'd decoded the cypher and that they were coordinates for a location.
The cemetery where they thought Doris was buried after she faked her death.
Steve didn't want to go.
Danny urged him to.
Reluctantly, he agreed.
"So, it's all over?" Danny asked when his partner came back a couple of hours later.
There were new dirt marks on Steve's shirt and his face was, if possible, even more drawn.
"Yeah. It was all about money. She targeted you for the money that my mother left me. Said Wo Fat had every right to that inheritance because he was Doris' son too."
Danny shook his head. The woman was as twisted as her late husband.
He watched Steve basically collapse into the chair, head between his hands. If he had thought he was burnt out before, it was as clear as day now how this latest ordeal had affected him, adding yet another layer to the heavy burden he was carrying.
"Enough with the guilt trips, alright?" he said, reaching out his hand to touch him. All he could manage from his lying position was a tap to the knee. "This is not your fault."
Steve raised his head to meet his friend's gaze. "Danny…"
"It's not. You want to blame someone, blame your mother. She's the one who started it all."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you even hear what I just said? You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't pick your family, babe, you're not responsible for their mistakes."
"I know, I just…" Steve's voice trailed off as he struggled to express how he felt. "I feel like my head is about to explode."
"Maybe you really need to take a break. Clear your head, cool out a bit."
As much as he hated the idea, Steve had been emotionally adrift for months now, and if leaving the island could help, Danny wasn't going to stand in the way of his happiness.
"Yeah. As soon as you're better."
Three days later
"What's that?"
"What's what?"
"What are you eating?"
"This..." Danny smiled, using the plastic spoon to point to the small cup he was holding. "This is red Jell-O with whipped cream on top."
Steve grinned, amused by the sight and his friend's improved condition. "Is that right?"
Danny was doing much better. The wound was healing nicely, his gaze was clear, and some of the color had returned to his face.
"Nurse brought it to me. Says I'm a model patient. I think she likes me," he added as he took another spoonful of his impromptu dessert.
"What's not to like, buddy?" Steve said softly as he grabbed the familiar chair and moved it next to the bed. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
The memories of what Danny had been through were still keeping him awake at night, along with the thoughts of his mother stashing money in crypts and overseas accounts to make up for the love she didn't give him, and his father forcing his family away to spend the last few years of his life surrounded only by his demons.
He didn't want that to happen to him.
"Hey. You with me?"
Danny's voice brought him back to the present.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."
"What's going on in there?" he asked, indicating Steve's head.
Sliding further down in his seat as if to prove his point, Steve dragged both hands over his face.
"I'm tired, Danny. I don't think I can do this anymore..."
"The job?"
Steve nodded.
"It's alright, man. It's okay if you need to stop. No one expects you to lead Five-0 until you're eighty."
"I'm not sure I'll even make it to eighty..."
Danny dismissed the comment with a shake of the head. "I'm just saying you're allowed to step down, find some other things in life. Find out who you are without a badge on your hip and a gun in your hand."
"I mean, I love my job," Steve tried to explain. "It's all I'm good at. And I know I said I'd be crazy to walk away from it. But it's taken so much from me. And I think... I think as I lost more and more people I cared about... I kinda lost myself too."
Did his thoughts even make sense?
He leaned forward, searched Danny's gaze and held it as he went on.
"I feel... empty. Disconnected from everything. And I don't know how to fix this besides stepping away and-and taking some time for myself."
"I understand. You've sacrificed a lot."
"But I don't want you to think..." he stopped, eyes glinting with unshed tears. "You saved my life, Danny. The day you pulled your gun on me, and every day since. And I would love nothing more than to share this next step with you, but I need to do this by myself."
"Steve, I'm okay with it. Alright? Do I like it? I'd lie if I said yes, but if that's what you need then you should go for it. I'll be here when you get back."
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it."
The idea of leaving Danny behind didn't sit well with him either. It was for the best, he reasoned. He needed to find some peace so that he could come back to him, to the family that had loved and supported him over the years.
Hopefully, it would prove to be the right thing to do.
"You know where you're going?"
Dressed in a gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Danny sat on the edge of his hospital bed, watching Steve pack the few belongings he had collected since he'd been admitted into a duffel bag.
Beside him, the discharge papers that declared him fit to go home and the cane they had given him so he could move around more easily.
He hated it already.
There was a dull ache in his chest where the bullet had hit, and he was due one more round of painkillers before he was allowed to leave.
It's not going to help one bit, he thought as he tracked Steve's movements, waiting for an answer.
"Not yet. I'm gonna go visit Mary in LA and then figure it out from there."
The fact that his friend, a man who made lists and always had a plan, was about to embark on a journey without the slightest clue about where he was going told Danny that Steve was as lost and confused as he had admitted to be.
Still, the more he thought about it, the more he despised the idea with every fiber of his being.
Despite their different upbringings and life experiences, despite their opposite personalities, he was having a hard time believing that running away would somehow help him heal.
The bad memories Steve had been talking about, the ones that kept him awake at night and burdened his soul, were not going to magically disappear. Wherever he went, he'd still be carrying them with him. Isolating himself was not the solution. What he needed was to find a way to deal with them, not to escape.
But he wasn't gonna say any of that.
And there laid the problem.
Because for the first time in ten years, he was gonna lie and tell Steve he was okay with his decision instead of walking up to him and yelling 'What about me? What about the guy who has given you everything and always had your back?'
As a result, something very akin to depression had sneaked up on him during the last few days, and he was dreading going back to Steve's place only to watch him pack and tell him goodbye.
"Sounds good," he eventually found himself saying. "Let me know if you need more suggestions."
"I'm not going to Jersey, Danny."
"I know you're not. Doesn't mean you can't take my advice."
A moment later, his favorite nurse stepped into the room, pushing a wheelchair. "You ready to go home, Detective?"
No, I'm not.
"Sure," Danny smiled as he got to his feet, wincing painfully at the discomfort that the movement caused him. "Lead the way."
"What time is the flight?"
"8:00pm."
Danny didn't have to look at the clock on the microwave to know how much time they had left. He'd checked his phone obsessively all day.
Steve was washing the dishes of what had been their last meal together, methodically scrubbing and rinsing them with the same dedication that he put into everything he did.
Their last meal together.
The thought hit him with a wave of sadness Danny was not prepared for and he almost gasped at the intensity of it, feeling the need to get out of the room before he completely broke down.
"Where are you going?" Steve asked. "You need a hand?"
"I can take care of myself."
The reply came out harsher than intended, but Danny was finding it harder and harder to pretend that everything was okay. His best friend was going to leave in less than an hour and a giant lump had just settled in his throat, adding to the sickness in his stomach and his overall, one-week-after-surgery condition.
Leaning on his cane, he slowly hobbled outside and towards the Adirondack chairs on the beach. There was something soothing about watching the ocean and the sunset, something that he had not fully appreciated until the recent younger self used to complain about Hawaiian water torture. Now he sought refuge in that water, in the constant lapping of the waves onto the shore. It had a calming effect on him, mostly because of the memories he associated with it.
Memories that had been tainted by the last conversation they'd had in those very chairs the week before.
'This is how I thought it would end for us… a couple of old guys sitting on a beach…'
'I mean, that sounds great to me. We can still do that.'
'I don't know anymore, Danny…'
He had really thought that they could be together for the rest of their lives.
Just like in his dream.
Steve, apparently, had other ideas. Whether it was the grief talking or his confused mind, there was a finality to his words that Danny couldn't ignore, and it scared the hell out of him.
In about fifty-two minutes he would be back to square one, back to his first few weeks on the island when he felt lost and alone. Was it selfish of him to think about himself? To be sad about a dream that was about to be ripped from him?
Danny didn't think so.
Steve's destination was unclear, his return date unknown. It could take him a month or a year to get back. Maybe even longer. With him gone, Grace on the mainland and his relationship with Rachel back to that awkward stage of no-more-lovers/not-entirely-back-to-friends, it was hard not to give in to the dark thoughts clouding his mind.
With a weariness that was more mental than physical, Danny lowered himself into his chair.
Fifty minutes.
He sighed, tipped his head back to face the sun and closed his eyes.
Steve looked at him from the kitchen window.
Lips pursed, brows furrowed, he debated whether or not to go after him but eventually decided not to follow.
He knew how hard it was for his friend to let him go, had read it in his eyes every day since they'd started talking about it.
It was hard for him too.
He still had to finish packing and check in for his flight yet there he was, tidying up a kitchen that he wasn't going to use for weeks, probably months.
Like all the McGarretts, he wasn't good at farewells. Anything that involved sharing and displaying his feelings was a struggle, so he had refused the goodbye party that his friends wanted to throw him with the excuse that Danny wasn't feeling well, hoping that the few words he'd said to them at the office the day before would be enough to ease the grief of his leaving.
Putting the leftovers in the fridge so that Danny could eat them later, he took a step back and looked around the kitchen. Despite all the bad memories, he was going to miss the house. They'd had a good routine going on, he and Danny. A good dynamic they had effortlessly settled into since he'd moved in. Steve had no expectations that they could go back to that when and if he ever came back, and it ached a bit that he was giving it all up to search for something he wasn't even sure he could find.
But he had to at least try.
Nodding slightly as if to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing, he walked out of the room and headed upstairs to finish packing.
Even late in the afternoon, the Daniel K. Inouye airport was bustling with activity.
Soft Hawaiian music played in the background as people rushed around with suitcases and baggage to get through their gates or gathered around the plasma screens for info on their departing flights.
Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Steve printed his boarding pass from one of the self check-in kiosks and expertly weaved through the crowd, lining up for the security check.
Part of him was happy, even excited to start this new chapter of his life. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken some time for himself and that alone, he believed, was going to do him good. Another part of him, the one who'd had to say goodbye to Danny, felt miserable, and wondered if leaving everyone behind was really what he wanted.
Separating from him had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and it had taken all of his willpower not to turn around and tell him that he had changed his mind.
'It's gonna be okay, man. You know that, right?'
'It doesn't feel like it's gonna be okay. It feels like... my main dude is leaving me. That's what's happening, you know.'
'It's not goodbye forever.'
'Better not be a forever goodbye...'
He had underestimated the extent of his friend's pain and the impact that his decision had had on him and wanted to smack himself over the head for his stupid reply about Danny having a phone.
He knew damn well it wasn't the right thing to say.
Of course they were going to call and text each other. There would be no 'out of sight, out of mind' for them. But instead of reassuring him, he'd said nothing, just shook his head so slightly Danny could've easily missed if he had blinked. If it was him on that beach, he would've hated it.
They had been through hell together, a constant presence in each other's life for almost a decade. How were they ever going to function apart?
Steve was tempted to dig out his cell phone and call him to apologize, right then and there as he waited in line. Instead he stepped forward, noticing that it was his turn, and gave the TSA agent his printed ticket.
A particularly loud voice made him turn around, and for a moment he could've sworn he'd seen Danny in the crowd, walking a few feet from him. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest before his mind reminded him that his partner would never impose himself on what was supposed to be his time alone.
"Mr. McGarrett?"
He shook his head, smiling to himself.
"Sir? I need to see your passport."
He looked up to meet the officer's impatient stare. "Yeah… sorry," he apologized as he handed him his ID, realizing that he was holding up the line.
It felt weird not to be addressed by his rank, but Steve figured he'd have to get used to it. For the first time in almost three decades, and for the first time ever in his adult life, he was a civilian.
No badge or weapon to define him, just a regular guy trying to figure out how to give his life a new meaning.
After inspecting the document to make sure it matched the information on the boarding pass, the officer nodded and gave him his passport back.
Steve thanked him and proceeded to the walk-through metal detectors and x-ray screening.
Once the check was completed, he finally headed to the gate.
The A/C blowing full blast made him shiver while he walked, passing groups of bored travelers lounging on the faux leather chairs and excited children running around the waiting area. An aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted invitingly from the food area nearby, tempting him to a quick stop. Steve checked his watch. Still twenty minutes to boarding. Enough time to indulge his craving.
As he sat down to enjoy his caffeinated drink, he checked his phone. He had said his goodbyes to everyone he cared about, so he wasn't really expecting to find any notifications. Still, the black screen tugged at his heart.
Should he send Danny a text or was it better to leave him alone?
On impulse, he unlocked the device, found the 'messages' icon and started typing.
I love you, man.
This is not the end.
He sent the text before the rational side of his brain could stop him, finished his coffee and joined the rest of the passengers at the departure gate.
Staring out the window at the plane on the tarmac, he tried to imagine what laid ahead.
It was new territory for him, this healing thing. And there was no success guaranteed. He could wake up in a crappy motel a few weeks from now and realize it had all been a giant mistake.
But he'd never been more sure of anything in his life than he was about needing to leave.
He had come full circle. There were no more mysteries to solve. All that was left was move forward and build himself up again before being truly able to appreciate what he had.
So he soldiered on, and when they began boarding the flight he smiled again and told himself that he was ready to go.
He would be back.
He was sure of it.
'No matter how far away we go, this island always draws us back home', he had told Tani once.
Hawaii was home.
And home was filled with very special people who would always be by his side.
"A Hui Hou," he whispered as he boarded the plane.
Until we meet again.
THE END