As Meg rolled over in bed the next morning, she realized with a wince that Steve had been right. Sitting up, she surveyed her arms. The skin was 1-2 shades darker than it had been the previous night. Frankly she was surprised – she hadn't felt it when the commander had first noticed it. Oh well. There wasn't much she could do at that point other than to try to soothe her skin.

Meg's first task was to fish out a travel size bottle of Tylenol from her purse. One capsule was quickly washed down with the remaining water from the bottle on her nightstand before Meg headed for a cool shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the girl sat on her bed in only a bra and panties, carefully applying lotion to her tender skin. She hadn't forgotten Steve's offer of aloe, but she didn't want to disturb him if he still was sleeping. He'd eventually see the damage – Meg's face hadn't fared any better than her arms, shoulders, chest, or back – but the lotion would help cool her skin and she would be able to honestly say she'd done something. Meg was tempted to forego a bra for the day, considering her cup size was still small enough to get away with it, but Meg worried it would only serve to make her look younger. She'd had yet to develop the curvy bust and hips her mom had assured her ran in the family. She would just have to suck up the discomfort when the straps accidentally rubbed against her burnt skin.

A lightweight sundress covered enough of her body without causing further irritation. Satisfied she was "decent", Meg thought back to her peek at social media the night before. The more she thought about it, the more convinced Meg was that she needed to do damage control.

In a matter of seconds she pulled up the private mode on her phone's internet browser and signed onto her account. She tapped the button to create a new post and quickly typed,

"Hey guys! Sorry I've been MIA. Out of town for last minute family stuff. Internet's spotty. Will check in when I can. Love you! XXOO Meg"

Meg posted her quick message and proceeded to log off her account. If she stayed on, she'd only be that much more tempted to chat with a friend, and she would run a greater risk of the commander discovering her identity.

Upon leaving the confines of her room, Meg was greeted with a scent that was both sweet and smoky that could only come from pancakes and bacon. It appeared the commander was awake after all. Phone in hand, in case her mother called, Meg made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. As she had suspected, a plate of fresh pancakes sat on the counter, and Steve was positioned in front of the stove, carefully monitoring a pan of sizzling bacon.

"Good morning, Meg!" Steve greeted, glancing up briefly to offer a smile. He began to turn his attention back to the bacon but froze, his eyes darting back up to the teen. "Damn," he murmured, the bacon seemingly forgotten as he approached her in several large steps. "You really got some sun yesterday."

"It's not that bad."

His expression made it clear he wasn't buying it for a moment. "I'm going to grab some aloe and Tylenol for you."

"The bacon's going to burn," Meg pointed out, nodding slightly toward the sizzling pan. "Besides, I already took a Tylenol and put on some lotion. I'm fine."

One eyebrow arched, but he couldn't deny she had a point about the bacon, and he wasn't about to ask her to watch it for him, no matter how sure he was that she could handle it. Pointing to the table, he said, "Sit down."

Steve's voice was gentle, but the command was still clear. Meg took a seat without argument, unlocking her phone and deciding to play a game on it while she waited.

Returning to the bacon, Steve carefully turned over the half-cooked strips before glancing over his shoulder. "How much Tylenol did you take?"

"500 milligrams," she answered immediately, looking up from her game to meet his gaze.

He nodded in approval, though Meg wasn't sure whether it was about her dosage or her taking Tylenol in general. "Does your lotion contain aloe?"

That, Meg wasn't sure about. "I don't know," came her honest response.

"Go upstairs and check, please."

Meg didn't see the point in checking when she'd already applied the lotion, but she nodded in understanding and rose to her feet, heading back up to her room to check the ingredients label.

By the time she had returned downstairs, the bacon was cooling on a small stack of paper towels and Steve was rummaging through the fridge. He must've heard her, though she thought she'd been pretty quiet, because he lifted his head from the open fridge door to look at her upon her entry. "Well?"

"No, my lotion doesn't have any aloe."

Nodding, Steve quickly pulled a medium sized bottle from the fridge and set it on the edge of the table. It was brown, like a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, with a bright green label.

"What's that?" she wondered aloud, choosing to stand near the doorway.

"Aloe."

She rolled her eyes, even though he'd turned his back to her presumably to find something else in the fridge. "I told you, I already put on lotion. I'm fine."

"Aloe helps better than lotion," Steve said, closing the fridge as he placed a bottle of maple syrup on the table. "Are you allergic to aloe?" He was pretty sure she wasn't – it would've been the first words out of her mouth at his suggestion otherwise – but he had to ask anyway.

Saying yes would've shut down his persistence, but somehow Meg suspected he'd be able to tell whether or not she was being truthful. "No," she reluctantly admitted.

Having received the verification he needed, Steve picked up the bottle of aloe, holding it out for Meg to take. "Then you're putting some on your skin – everywhere you're burnt."

She let out a sigh, hoping it expressed to the commander the ridiculousness of his directions, but she still took the proffered bottle. "I can't reach my back," Meg pointed out.

"Come sit down."

Meg returned to her previous spot at the table and placed the aloe bottle into Steve's outstretched hand. She watched as she squirted a dollop of clear gel into his hand before setting the bottle on the table and moving behind her. As the gel touched her scorched skin, Meg jumped a bit at the sudden, unexpected cold.

"I know it's cold," Steve said as he carefully spread the gel over the exposed part of Meg's back, "but it will help with the pain and it will help it heal quicker. What have you done in the past for sunburns?"

She shrugged lightly. "I don't remember the last time I had a sunburn, to be honest. I don't get burnt easily." It was true enough, though Meg suspected it had something to do with her mother insisting that she reapply sunscreen every hour she was outside. Meg knew fair skin had run in her mom's family, though Meg had noticed that she didn't seem to burn quite as quickly as her mom did. Meg suspected the current state of her skin had more to do with the fact that she'd only applied sunscreen once – just before going down to the beach. For the number of hours she'd been outside, Meg thought the damage wasn't that bad. Her mother would've been a tomato in the same situation.

Was this something she'd inherited from her dad?

"Next time we'll have to make sure you reapply sunscreen frequently."

Meg pondered a moment on Steve's "next time" comment. Did he expect she'd be staying with him for a while? She was waiting for any news from her mom, but regardless of her intentions, it didn't seem like he had any plans to dump her elsewhere. Meg wasn't sure what to think of it, but she couldn't deny that he'd been far more attentive than she'd expected. Even now as she covered her back and shoulders in a thin layer of that frigid gel, Steve was being so gentle that it didn't really hurt having him touch her skin.

"All right," he said after another minute, sliding the bottle of aloe so that it was directly in front of Meg on the table. "Your back and shoulders should be good. Go ahead and get some of this on your arms and your face. I promise, you'll be glad you did."

Oddly, Meg found she didn't mind following Steve's directions, ones she'd thought were a bit ridiculous, once he'd explained why he wanted her to do it. So, despite her previous objections, Meg picked up the bottle and headed for the nearby bathroom, where squirted a bit of gel into the palm of her hand and began to apply it to the rest of her reddened skin, using the mirror to guide her efforts.

Washing her hands a few moments later, Meg had to admit herself that the aloe was helping. The Tylenol hadn't had enough time to take effect, but as Meg pressed the back of her hand to her flushed face, she noticed that it wasn't as tender to the touch.

She walked back out and handed the bottle back to the commander. "Thank you."

She'd expected a smirk or a "told you so", but Steve's smile seemed genuine. "You're welcome, Meg. I'm going to put this back in the fridge because it needs to say cool, but I want you to put some more on before bed tonight, at the very least. Drinking extra water today will also help. Go ahead and sit down and help yourself."

It was then Meg noticed that the table had been set and that the plates of pancakes and bacon had been transferred to the table. She could tell where her spot was, both because she'd unofficially claimed that spot on the first day and because that plate was accompanied by both a glass of milk and a glass of water. The milk made her want to roll her eyes – she actually loved milk, but in her mind, it just further accentuated his believe that she was a child. "Thank you," she repeated, taking her seat before placing two pancakes and two pieces of bacon on her plate. She spied a bowl of what looked like a fruit salad, and happily placed a scoop of the fresh, cut up fruit on her plate.

By that time, Steve had joined her at the table and was helping himself to some breakfast. "This looks great, Commander McGarrett. You didn't do this all for me, did you?"

"Yes and no," he said. "You've been eating cereal for breakfast all week, and I thought you might like a change."

"You've done enough for me as it is. I don't want you to feel obligated…" She trailed off mid-sentence at the look the commander was giving her.

"Stop," he said, the command clear even if he didn't raise his voice. "You are not an obligation and I don't want to hear you suggesting you are anymore. It was my choice to bring you here, my choice to take care of you, and there's nothing I would change about that choice. I'm happy you're here, Meg."

She felt her cheeks warm, though she wasn't sure whether Steve would be able to see it through her sunburn. "Then thank you."

His face softened, and he chuckled lightly. "You've thanked me enough, too, but you're very welcome. Dig in before the pancakes get cold, and you can tell me what you'd like to do today."

As the weekend gave way to a new week, Meg felt herself falling into a routine with Steve. After breakfast, she'd grab her purse and iPad and accompany the commander to Five-0 Headquarters. Sometimes Steve would be there all day; others, he'd have to leave for a case. In those instances, Jerry would check in on Meg throughout the day to make sure she was okay. After work, they'd head home and Meg would help with dinner (her insistence). Meg would finish out the evening watching TV or doing something on one of her electronic devices before bedtime.

Every night, the commander tucked her in, reminding her she knew where to find him if she needed anything. Meg had had two more nightmares since that first night, and she'd apologized profusely each time for waking Steve, but he'd been just as gentle as he had the first time, and had sat with her until she fell back asleep. It wasn't the same as having her mom there, and part of Meg felt guilty for taking comfort from the commander when she had no idea where her mom was or if she was okay, but she couldn't deny that her situation was far better than it would have been in foster care or juvenile detention, not to mention the inevitable task of figuring out how to escape. With Steve, running off didn't feel as urgent. She had a roof over her head, food to eat, clothes to wear, and she felt safer than she'd expected.

The first few days at Five-0 were semi-exciting – meeting the members of Commander McGarrett's team, getting a personal tour of the building, and being out of the house in general. By Wednesday, however, Meg was beginning to grow bored spending all day in Steve's office. There weren't many options for where she could sit or stretch out, and she missed the view she enjoyed at the house.

As she finished her bowl of cereal that morning, she watched the commander stride into the kitchen, finishing off his coffee. "Finish up and grab your things," he instructed. "We leave in five minutes."

Meg took a deep breath to summon a bit of courage. She wasn't sure how this conversation was about to go, but she figured it didn't hurt to ask. "Commander McGarrett?"

He paused on his way back out of the kitchen, turning to give her his undivided attention. From the expression in his eyes, she figured he could hear her nerves. "What's up, kiddo?"

She bit her lip – a nervous habit of hers she'd never managed to completely kick. "Would it be okay if I stayed home today?"

His brow knitted before he moved her side, reaching out to press the back of his hand to her forehead. "Are you not feeling well?"

It definitely wasn't the reaction she'd expected; Meg had never considered he might think she was feeling sick. "I'm fine," she assured him, which she hoped he would believe upon realizing she didn't feel warm. "It's just… It's getting a little boring spending all day in your office. There's more to do here, and more space to move around. I promise I won't burn the house down while you're gone."

Steve chuckled, and Meg was relieved that he didn't seem upset by her question. "I'm not worried about you burning the house down."

"So can I stay here today?" she asked, hope creeping into her voice.

He moved to the stool opposite Meg and took a seat. "My concern is that you'll leave while I'm at work and I won't know where you are."

Meg supposed it was a reasonable concern, and she couldn't blame him for having it, not when he'd caught her with five fake IDs. And while she couldn't honestly promise she'd never try to leave, perhaps the IDs would work in her favor. "You have my IDs," she reminded him. "How far could I get without any sort of identification?"

"Meg, let's not pretend that you aren't clever enough to figure out a way if you want to," he said mildly, arching an eyebrow to accentuate that he wasn't fooled by her defense.

She let out a soft sigh and gave a small nod of understanding. "I won't try to run off," she said, and for today, she felt she could make that promise.

He studied her silently for several moments, a time that felt much longer to Meg, though she fought not to squirm under his gaze. While he didn't for a moment believe the girl was 18, or even 16, he had no doubt that she was old enough to stay home alone during the day. She was probably even old enough to babysit for a few hours at a time. He couldn't blame her for growing bored at Five-0, either.

"If I'm going to let you stay here by yourself," he started slowly, hoping she could hear the seriousness in his tone, "I'm going to need your word that you'll stay in this house unless it's burning down."

"Could I go out on the beach for a few hours?"

"No," he said immediately and in a tone that booked no room for argument. "I do not want you on the beach alone. The undercurrents can be dangerous. However, you would be free to move around the yard as you please."

That was a reasonable compromise, she decided. Even just being able to sit out on the porch and enjoy the fresh air and ocean breeze would be an improvement over Steve's office. "I promise I'll stay in the house or in the yard unless the house is on fire."

"I'm serious, Meg," Steve continued. "Remember, rule number 1 is that I know where you are at all times. If you break that rule and leave this property for any other reason than a legitimate emergency involving the police, fire department, or paramedics, I can promise that you won't be sitting comfortably tonight."

His promise caught her completely off guard, and Meg's jaw went slack a few seconds before she came to her senses and closed her mouth. She completely understood the warning. "I… y-you can't d-do that," she stammered. "Foster parents can't do that."

Steve arched a brow curiously. "How do you know what foster parents can or can't do?"

Did he think she was a runaway foster kid? Possibly. It would certainly make it harder for him to find her real identity, but it would also be easy enough for him to access the system and realize that she wasn't in the system. "I had a friend in elementary school who was a foster kid," Meg admitted. "She was adopted before the end of the school year and moved away. She told me foster parents weren't allowed to do… that."

Her refusal to say the word mildly amused him. "Perhaps. I'm not your foster parent, though, am I? I also want you to understand how important your safety is to me. I think you've come to understand by now that if I say I'm going to do something, I do it."

Oh yes, she most definitely believed he meant every word he'd said.

"Of course, if you follow the rules and stay here like you've said you will, you'll have nothing to worry about. So, do you still want to stay home?"

She was still processing this turn of events, but Meg could keep her word for the day. "Yes," she said. "I still want to stay home, and I promise I'll stay here today."

"Do you understand what will happen if you break that promise?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm, but Meg nodded. "I understand."

If he picked up on the "today" part, he didn't acknowledge it. "Okay then. If you go outside in the yard, make sure you have your phone and EpiPen, just in case. There shouldn't be any fire ants anywhere on the property, but it's best to be prepared."

"I will," Meg promised. "Thank you, Commander McGarrett."

"You're welcome," he replied, rising to his feet and moving around the table to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Have a good day, Meg."

She smiled up at him. "You too."