AN: I know it's been a while since I updated this story (nearly 17 months in fact). I've been dealing with writer's block for a while, but I recently experienced some inspiration that helped me finish this chapter. I have the next 1-2 chapters planned out (depending on how wordy I get and where the characters take me) and have no idea how long it will take me to write those chapters, but I am starting on the next chapter now, so fingers crossed!
I know this chapter is short, but that's just how it played out.
An unexpected ringing startled Meg out of her daydreams, and she wiped her hands on a towel quickly as she leaned over to check the screen on her phone. She'd half hoped it might be her mother, but Meg recognized the number as Steve's. He'd been insistent that they have a way of communicating with each other from the first day she'd joined him at work, and Meg had somewhat reluctantly relented. If and when she ever needed to make a run for it, she'd have to figure out how to get her hands on another phone, as she was sure he'd be able to trace this one now that he had the number.
"Commander McGarrett," she said as she pressed the green circle on the screen and brought the phone to her ear.
"Hi Meg," she heard him say. "Everything going okay?"
Meg looked around the kitchen at the results of that day's "project". Dinner rolls were resting in a baking dish on the counter by the oven, while freshly-made raviolis sat in a bowl and a sweet dessert chilled in the fridge. As soon as she had a chance to clean up some of the mess she'd made, Meg would get started on a simple tossed salad. "Yup," she confirmed. "Everything's great."
"Good," Steve agreed. "Listen, Danny's going to join us for dinner tonight, so we're going to stop on the way home and pick up takeout. Any preferences?"
Any other time, Meg might have been touched that she was even asked, but takeout did not mesh with her plans one bit. "Oh…" she said in response, her voice trailing off as she tried to think of what to say.
"What's wrong?" the commander demanded at once. He didn't sound mad to her ears, just concerned, but he'd clearly picked up on something in her tone.
"It's just…" Meg paused, shrugging a shoulder despite the fact that no one could see the movement. "I kind of made dinner already, but I can put it in the fridge if you want takeout."
There was a pause before Steve spoke. "You made dinner?" he repeated, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "You didn't have to do that, Meg."
He still didn't sound mad, but Meg couldn't be certain. "I wanted to," she said hesitantly. "You… you said it was okay if I wanted to cook sometimes, right?"
"Of course!" he said quickly, and his tone seemed sincere enough to Meg. "We'll just do takeout another night then. Is there enough for a third person?"
She chuckled a bit at his concern. "Detective Williams could bring his kids, and there would still be leftovers."
"If you're sure."
"I am."
"Well, then Danny and I will see you in about 30 minutes."
As she hung up the phone, Meg moved to begin preheating the oven. She had a deadline!
"Wow," Steve murmured as he and Danny sat at the dining room table, helping themselves to pasta and salad. They'd entered the house just over 30 minutes after hanging up with Meg to find the table set and dishes of food. Even now, Meg was setting a basket of warm, buttery rolls on the table before taking her own seat. "Meg, you made all of this?"
She gave a small shrug of one shoulder. "It's no big deal."
"I disagree," Danny said from his seat. "This is pretty impressive."
"Just my way of saying thank you." Meg saw Steve's mouth open and she held a hand up to stop him. "I know, I know. I wanted to."
The commander chuckled. The kid had clearly known what he was about to say. "Well thank you for dinner. I didn't think I had ravioli anywhere in the fridge."
Chewing on a bite of ravioli, Danny shook his head. "You wouldn't," he said as soon as he'd swallowed the bite. "This is fresh." Surprised eyes turned toward Meg. "Meg, did you make this ravioli from scratch?"
At once, Steve's eyes were also trained on her, and Meg felt a little self-conscious. "Maybe?" she hedged, wondering if Steve might somehow be upset with her over it.
"I'm going to have to have dinner here more often," Danny proclaimed, taking another bite of ravioli.
"I've got the dishes," Meg insisted, watching the commander place a stack of dirty plates by the sink.
"Nope," he disagreed as he turned on the faucet and held his hand under the stream of water, waiting for it to warm. "You cooked, so I'll clean. Besides, I wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Meg took a seat at the small table, frowning as a thought occurred to her. "You're sure you're not mad that I cooked? If you are, I promise I won't anymore."
"Of course not," he said, turning back off the faucet for a moment so he could give her his full attention. He leaned casually against the counter. "You are welcome to cook as much or as little as you'd like."
She gave a small sigh of relief. "Okay, cool."
He offered her a brief smile before his expression turned serious. "The dinner was amazing, but I know we didn't have half of the ingredients for it this morning when I went to work."
"What…?" she started asking, not sure why he appeared so serious, before something clicked in her mind. "Oh!" A faint blush crept over her cheeks, and Meg was grateful Steve hadn't broached the subject while Detective Williams had still been there. She would've been absolutely mortified. "I didn't leave the house." At his raised brow, she rushed to explain. "I promise I didn't. I used a grocery delivery service."
By the expression on his face, he hadn't expected that answer. "How did you use a delivery service? You have to have a credit card for that."
Meg shrugged. "Or a debit card."
Steve folded his arms over his chest. He hadn't expected that response, and he wasn't sure what to think of it. "What debit card? I have the cards associated with your fake IDs."
Meg didn't like how he still seemed unhappy. She hadn't left the house against his instructions, and she hadn't taken any of his money without permission. "I have the numbers memorized."
He sighed, but his expression relaxed a bit. Considering how clever the kid was, he should've considered the possibility. "Meg."
"It's my money," she reminded him, dismayed that a hint of a whine slipped out. She was fourteen for goodness sake – teenagers didn't whine like toddlers.
Pulling out the stool opposite Meg, Steve took a seat so they were on the same level. "I don't want you using that money while you're here. None of those cards have your real name on them. I will happily take you to the grocery store to pick up whatever you need if you want to cook something, but you are finished using any of those cards. Understood?"
She didn't like it, but Meg didn't see any way around his ultimatum. She really didn't want to find out what he'd do if he caught her using the money off of one of the cards in question. She wasn't going to take the chance that he'd react the same way he'd warned he would if she left the house or the yard outside of an emergency. Besides, it was pretty cool of him to offer to fund her cooking projects. With a sigh, she gave a small nod. "Understood."
The silence was almost suffocating as Meg blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Closed curtains blocked out any moonlight that might have illuminated her surroundings. After a few seconds, Meg could just make out the outlines of the furniture in her room.
Glancing to her right, she spied a dark figure standing in the doorway. It took half a second for her brain to register that the figure wasn't Commander McGarrett. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, a hand closed around her neck, cutting off both her voice and any airflow. Meg reached up to try to pry the solid fingers away from her neck. A second later, something soft was pressed firmly against her face.
She was going to die.
Meg awoke with a jolt and pushed herself up to sit on her bed, one hand pressed against her chest as she attempted to slow her racing heart.
The curtains were open, allowing the moonlight to illuminate her room just enough for Meg to be able to recognize her surroundings. Her room looked just as it had when she'd gone to bed earlier. Glancing over at the small clock on the nightstand, Meg saw it was just after 2 a.m.
As her heart began to slow and her chest lightened, Meg thought it odd that Steve hadn't come in. It had been a few nights since her last nightmare, but he'd come in every time. Curious, the teen slipped out of her bed and carefully walked the twenty feet to Steve's bedroom. His door was open, as he'd promised it would be in case she needed him, and there was a commander-sized lump in the middle of the bed, half-covered with a sheet. She couldn't see much in the dark, but the body rose and fell just enough for Meg to tell that he was breathing.
Was it possible that she hadn't made any noise during her nightmare?
Part of Meg was tempted to wake the commander. He definitely had a way of helping her fall back asleep, and she never repeated a nightmare that same night when he did. However, he looked so peaceful, and really, at fourteen she was far too old to wake an adult over a bad dream. People made offers all the time that they didn't really mean, and the commander might not appreciate being woken over something so juvenile. Resigned, she turned and made her way back into her bed, pulling the covers more securely around her shoulders and closing her eyes, trying to let the ocean waves lull her back to sleep.
"Slow morning," murmured Detective Williams as he dropped into one of the chairs in front of McGarrett's desk.
McGarrett nodded as he met his partner's gaze. "It is. I'm glad. I want to get a jump on tracking down Meg's family."
"All right," agreed Danny. "What do we know so far?"
Grabbing a legal-sized notepad out of his desk, Steve began listing what he'd learned from the kid.
-Hasn't seen her mother since a day or two before she ended up in the hospital
-Claims to live far from Hawaii
-Under 18
-Not likely a street kid
-Has access to money and quality fake documents
-Taught herself to cook in elementary school
-Speaks or understands at least seven languages
-Smart
-Allergic to fire ants
-Hates calamari, sushi, oysters, liver
Reading over the list to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, Steve slid it across the desk for Danny to view.
"Seven languages?" Danny read aloud with obvious disbelief.
"She told me she knows Spanish, Italian, French, German, and Mandarin, and apparently she's been teaching herself Hawaiian."
Danny struggled to wrap his mind around the idea of a kid younger than Grace knowing that many languages. "Is she fluent in all of those languages?"
"No idea. I didn't sit there and give her a foreign language exam to check, Danno."
The detective snorted softly at his partner's sarcasm. "Okay. For the sake of argument, let's say she's fluent in at least half of those languages. That isn't typical of a public school kid, even if they're gifted. I'd be willing to bet money that Meg attends a private school."
Steve nodded in agreement. "I agree, but that doesn't really narrow the search down to a specific part of the country."
Leaning forward, Danny rested his elbows on Steve's desk. "Remember that afternoon that the kids and I joined you and Meg on the beach behind your house? Meg's reaction to your travesty towards pizza was interesting."
It was McGarrett's turn to snort. "Yes, Danno, someone else shares your aversion towards ham and pineapple pizza. Someone on this earth was bound to agree with you sooner or later."
Danny arched an eyebrow but didn't otherwise react to the jab. "She said 'pie' when she was talking about pizza – more than once, in fact. Calling pizza a 'pie' is common to the Northeast, particularly New York. She was passionate about pizza, enough so that I don't think she thought about what she was saying beforehand. For those brief moments, she let her guard down. Then, she mentioned Joe's. I know she said she was talking about a different Joe's, but I think she meant the one in New York City."
"So we should focus our search on the New York area?"
"That would be my best guess. If we come up empty, we'll reassess."
Nodding, Steve opened up the laptop on his desk. He suspected it wouldn't be enough to track the kid down, but it was a start.