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"Are you hungry?"
Meg wondered if Commander McGarrett could hear the rumbling in her stomach (breakfast courtesy of the hospital had been bland and unsatisfying), but glancing at a clock on the stove behind him, Meg realized it was probably his typical lunch time.
"A little bit," she admitted.
Steve rose from his stool and pushed it under the table just enough so he wouldn't trip over it but not enough to hit Meg's knees. "How about sandwiches? Does that sound okay?"
She was a bit surprised that her opinion mattered, but sandwiches sounded amazing. "Sounds great," she said. "Thank you."
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You don't need to thank me for feeding you, Meg. I want you to know that you can help yourself to anything in this kitchen that isn't alcoholic, and you don't need to ask my permission first. Okay?"
"Okay."
"All right then. What kind of sandwich do you want? We've got turkey, ham, cheddar, provolone, Swiss, peanut butter, jelly, tuna…"
"Peanut butter sounds good," Meg admitted. She watched the commander move to open what she assumed was the pantry door, moments later producing a jar of peanut butter.
"I have grape or strawberry jelly," he said as he set the peanut butter jar on the table.
Meg shook her head and shifted to grab a banana from the counter behind her. "No need. Would… would you happen to have some honey and some cinnamon?"
Another quirk of Steve's brow told Meg that he was at least slightly curious at her question, but he didn't prod. Moments later, a small bottle of honey and a cinnamon shaker joined the peanut butter. Steve grabbed a half-loaf of bread, a couple of plates, a cutting mat, two butter knives, and a paring knife, and added those items to the collection on the table. "I'm going to let you build your own sandwich."
Nodding, Meg immediately reached for the bread, pulling two slices from the baggy. Using one of the butter knives, she spread peanut butter on both slices of bread. Then, she drizzled a small amount of honey on top of the peanut butter on each slice before sprinkling them with cinnamon. Finally, Meg sliced up the banana and arranged half of the slices on one piece of bread. The other piece of bread went on top of that one, and the remaining banana half went on the plate beside the completed sandwich.
Glancing up, Meg observed Steve in the middle of building a turkey and cheese sandwich, although he seemed to have paused to study her sandwich. "That looks good," he said. "I hadn't thought of combining peanut butter with banana."
"It's one of my favorites," shared Meg. "When I was first diagnosed with a fire ant allergy, my mom became really paranoid and tried to cut a bunch of foods from my diet, fearing I might become allergic to them as well. Peanuts, tree nuts, shellfish, eggs… It made me want those foods even more."
Steve stared at the girl in surprise. She'd just willingly shared something about herself. He wasn't expecting her to slip up enough to reveal enough for him to track down her true identity – not so soon – but he did want to get to know her a little better, especially since he was looking after her. "Did you have a severe reaction the first time you were stung?"
Meg nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty bad."
"It sounds like she was scared of you having another anaphylactic reaction," reasoned Steve. "It's a pretty scary thing to witness."
"It's no picnic to experience," Meg murmured. "Anyway, she eventually eased up, which is good because life without peanut butter would suck."
Steve couldn't help but chuckle. "I can easily stock up on peanut butter for you. So, where's your mom now?"
Meg sighed. "I don't know," she admitted quietly.
That was an odd answer, Steve thought. Meg hadn't said her mother was at home, so it didn't sound like the kid had run away from home in the traditional sense, and if the mother had died, surely Meg would've at least hinted at that. "When did you last see her?" he probed gently.
Considering the question, Meg didn't think answering it would give too much away, though she had to count back in her head to figure out exactly how long it had been. She hadn't seen her mom the day she'd left New York – the last time had been the night before that. "Three days ago."
It wasn't much to go on, but either Meg had done some major traveling in a short amount of time, or she and her mom had been traveling together before becoming separated. Steve tucked this new information away for later reference and put the finishing touches on his sandwich. He didn't want to push Meg to the point that she shut down, so he decided a change of subject was in order. "All right," he announced. "We've got chips, but I want you to have a vegetable, too. Any preferences?"
"I'm not picky," she told him, shaking her head for emphasis.
Nearly two minutes later, the two were once again seated at the table, enjoying their lunches. Steve had produced a bag of baby carrots, shaking a handful onto Meg's plate before letting her grab the bag of Doritos. He'd also insisted on a glass of milk, which had elicited an eye roll but no audible protest from the teen.
"So, any thoughts on what you'd like to do after lunch?"
Half-way through her sandwich, Meg thought an afternoon nap sounded fabulous. It was hard to wrap her head around, considering she'd spent the previous night in the hospital and had enjoyed a few naps that afternoon/evening, courtesy of the antihistamines they'd administered. "Would it be okay if I lie down for a bit?" she asked after taking a sip of her milk. "I'm kind of tired."
Steve gave a short nod, his eyes filled with concern. "Of course."
She offered him a genuine smile. "Thanks."
Dinner had been hours ago, and now Steve was settled on the sofa, watching "Top Gun" on the TV. Meg had opted for the armchair, her temple resting against the back cushion while her legs hung over one of the chair arms. Steve doubted the movie was all that interesting to a teenage girl, particularly since it was 30 years older than her, but she hadn't complained or asked to watch something else.
He glanced at the nearest clock, noticing it was 9:30. They hadn't discussed it earlier when Steve had gone over the main rules, but it seemed to the commander that the girl ought to have some sort of a bedtime. He was fairly certain Grace had a bedtime, and he was willing to bet Grace was at least a year older than Meg, maybe even two years. He doubted the kid was thirteen, but he didn't for a moment think she was sixteen or older.
"Meg," he said, waiting for her to glance over at him so he knew he had her attention. "I think this is a good time for you to start getting ready for bed."
Meg immediately turned her gaze to the clock and frowned. "It's only 9:30."
"It is," agreed Steve. "If you head upstairs now, you can be ready for bed by 10."
She shifted onto her side so she was closer to facing Steve, her legs still resting on one of the chair's arms as she uncomfortably crossed her arms. "I didn't have a bedtime back at home."
It was the first time she'd mentioned anything of her home life, and Steve would have tried to get more details if not for the hour. "Well, you're going to have a bedtime here. You would have had a bedtime in foster care or juvenile detention, so I don't see the big deal."
"It's 9:30!" Meg repeated, as if Steve had somehow forgotten. "I'm too old for such a babyish bedtime! I'm already…" Realizing she was about to reveal how old she was, when she'd insisted she wouldn't, Meg caught herself just in time and clamped her mouth shut.
The expression on Steve's face made it clear he understood perfectly what she'd been about to say. "You're already what, Meg?" he queried, a hint of a smirk on his face.
She frowned at him. "I'm already too old for a bedtime," she amended, "especially one as early as 9:30!"
"Your official bedtime will be 10, but that means I expect you to be in bed at that time. Therefore, you need to head upstairs now."
It hadn't escaped Meg's notice that this back and forth with the commander was delaying her trip upstairs. She doubted she'd win in the end, but wasn't postponing going to bed still a small win? She casually glanced away from Steve. "I could always head out in the middle of the night. You can't stay awake 24 hours a day."
Steve shifted from lounging on the sofa to sitting forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look at me, Meg."
She lazily turned her head back so she could see his face, and she tried to ignore the butterflies that settled in her stomach at his expression.
"Leaving this house would be breaking two of the rules you agreed to earlier today – the rule that I need to know where you are at all times and that you need to ask permission before going anywhere, and the rule that you'll do your part to keep yourself safe. I can promise you that if you sneak out of this house, whether in an attempt to run away or just to go somewhere you shouldn't, I will catch you. I can also promise you that if I catch you off of this property without permission, you will not like the consequences."
"Yeah? What exactly would you do about it?"
The kid was pushing his buttons for sure. It surprised Steve at first, but then he wondered if maybe she was testing him – to see if he was really going to keep her, no matter how irritating she became. Spying the clock again out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw that it was now 9:33 p.m. Meg was clever enough to travel from the mainland to Hawaii on her own – perhaps part of this was a ploy to stall having to go upstairs.
"I would start by moving up your bedtime to 8 o'clock for a week," he told her calmly, not missing the look of horror on her face. "I may go ahead and do that for tomorrow night anyway if you don't stop stalling and go upstairs now."
Meg caught the word 'start', clearly meaning that an early bedtime wouldn't be the only consequence. She wasn't sure she wanted to know just what he'd do, and she was a little miffed that he'd called out her attempt to stall. Swinging her legs in front of her so she could sit up properly, Meg huffed. "Fine. I want to go on record as saying it's utterly ridiculous that I have to go to bed this early though."
"Duly noted," Steve promised her, barely keeping a straight face at her teenage theatrics. "I'll be up to check on you at 10."
Rolling her eyes, Meg rose from the armchair and trudged up to her room, resisting the urge to stomp her way up the stairs. She hated giving in, but she couldn't deny that a quick shower sounded fantastic, especially since she hadn't taken one since the prior morning. Stepping into the room Steve had declared hers for the time being, Meg dug through her backpack, fishing out a pair of cotton shorts, a t-shirt, a clean pair of underwear, and a Ziploc bag that contained travel sizes of her favorite products. She'd have to find an opportunity to buy full-sized bottles of those products, as her travel sizes wouldn't last more than a few days.
Pulling her hair up into a sloppy bun to keep it from becoming too wet in the shower, Meg took her pajamas and body care products into the bathroom. She froze in the doorway as she spied a bunch of familiar bottles on the counter by the sink. Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, facial cleanser, body lotion, facial moisturizer… Every product Meg had her Ziploc was sitting, full-sized, on the counter waiting for her, including a tube of toothpaste, a spare toothbrush, and floss. How could Steve have possibly known?
The answer came to her almost immediately. Someone must have looked in her backpack. Meg panicked for a moment that they'd found her last ID, but then she pushed that thought aside. She would've seen some indication on Commander McGarrett's face during their earlier talk if that had been the case. The teen wasn't cocky enough to believe that she could catch a lie or mistruth from anyone, but she was fairly good at reading people, and she hadn't read any suspicion on the commander's part.
What was obvious, however, was that Steve had planned on having her come stay with him early enough that he'd had time to go out and purchase these products, or in the very least to have someone else purchase them, and Meg hadn't heard him speak to anyone about it that morning at the hospital. Either he'd taken care of it before she'd woken, or it had been part of his plan the day before – probably one of the times Meg had been sleeping.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Meg set her clothes and Ziploc bag on the counter and closed the bathroom door for privacy so she could take a shower. A minute later dirty clothes were discarded on the floor as Meg stepped into the shower, eyes closing as the warm water flowed over her. She couldn't help but sigh at how good it felt. She regretted deciding not to wash her hair that night, but getting her hair dry enough for bed would take a lot longer than the commander had allotted.
Ten minutes later, the teen stood on the bath mat as she slipped her t-shirt over her head and slid her arms through the sleeves. Sufficiently dressed, she released her hair from the messy bun and reached for the new toothbrush. Might as well save her other toothbrush in case she needed to leave quickly. In fact, it appeared she'd be saving all of her personal care products. Using a pea-sized amount of the toothpaste Commander McGarrett had left for her, Meg brushed her teeth as she considered her reflection in the mirror.
When her mother had shared her 'escape plan' with her nearly two years earlier, Meg had never imagined she'd ever need to execute it. Honestly, for the first year Meg had simply thought her mom was a bit paranoid. It was only during the last year that Meg had begun to suspect that some of her mom's associates and business connections might not be law-abiding citizens Meg had assumed them to be. Her mother had never come out and confirmed Meg's suspicions, but Meg wasn't stupid, and she wasn't quite as naïve as everyone believed.
Forty-eight hours after arriving on the island, Meg still couldn't believe she was in Hawaii. She'd always imagined coming here on vacation with her mom someday. Now, she was too worried to let herself even pretend this trip was a vacation. Even so, she couldn't deny that her situation could've quickly turned much worse than it had. Meg had a roof over her head and food to eat, neither of which she had to pay for, and while she'd been 'caught' by law enforcement, they didn't know who she was and neither Commander McGarrett nor Detective Williams seemed to be credible threats at the moment. In fact, the commander had been far more generous towards Meg than the teen could have ever expected. Who knew what the future would hold, but Meg wasn't going to throw away the opportunity she had at the moment.
Rinsing the toothbrush and her mouth, Meg turned off the bathroom light and carried her dirty clothes into the bedroom. There was an empty plastic basket in one corner of the room that looked like it might hold laundry; Meg deposited her dirty clothes there so they wouldn't have to go on the floor or on a piece of furniture. Remembering her Ziploc bag of toiletries, Meg quickly retrieved it from the bathroom and tucked it safely in her backpack. A brief glance at the clock on the nightstand on the right of the bed told Meg she had five minutes until the commander expected her in bed, but Meg decided not to wait. Making sure her phone was on the nightstand to the left, Meg pulled down the covers on that side of the bed and took a seat, slipping her feet under the covers. The mattress was comfortable; more so than the hotel bed had been and much more so than the hospital bed. She slid her body down until her head rested on the pillow and pulled the sheet up over her body; it was too warm to need the comforter.
Meg could hear footsteps in the adjacent room seconds before a hand reached out to knock on the open door. Steve's head peeked through the doorway. "I see you're ready for bed. Thank you for following my directions."
"You're welcome," Meg murmured, surprised that he'd thanked her for being cooperative. "Thank you for the shampoo and conditioner and stuff in the bathroom," she continued in a soft voice. "You didn't have to do that."
Steve reached for a simple wooden chair that accompanied a simple wooden desk on the opposite side of the room, and pulled the chair over next to the bed so he could take a seat. "Did you have to buy your own 'shampoo and conditioner and stuff' when you were with your mom?" he asked curiously.
"No," she admitted, "but you're not my mom."
"I'm not," agreed the commander. "That doesn't change the fact that kids shouldn't have to buy their own basic personal care products."
Meg sighed softly. "I wish you'd stop calling me a kid."
"Don't be in such a hurry to grow up," he said, his tone gentle. "Embrace your childhood as long as you can."
"I don't have that luxury."
"As long as you're here, Meg, know that I will fight to protect your right to hold onto your childhood." Not knowing what to say, Meg offered what she hoped was a grateful smile. In return, Steve reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Most nights I won't mind if you stay awake a little longer to read, if you like to read, but tonight I want you to try to go to sleep right away. You've had a long day."
Rising to his feet, Steve returned the chair to its rightful place. "You know where my room is, and if you need me for whatever reason in the middle of the night, come wake me up. Okay?"
Meg nodded. "Okay."
Smiling, Steve set a gentle hand on Meg's shoulder. "Good night, Meg."
"Good night, commander."