Steve's exhausted: mentally, physically, emotionally. It's like his whole world has stopped because of two words; she's back. It doesn't seem real. He's annoyed that this still matters to him so much. He told her he couldn't wait for anymore and he'd moved on. He had a girlfriend he liked, and life was so right when he'd woken up this morning. Everything seemed like it was in place. He hadn't even thought of Catherine this entire day until Will Grover sauntered in asking for money. Why was he jealous of a 17-year-old seeing Catherine? Why was he so annoyed at the fact she had met someone and gotten more serious with him? He had told her he was still seeing Lynn and she had said she'd been dating; he should have known one day a man would come along and make it so that Catherine wanted to settle, God how he wished he had been that man.
He's not sure if he's happy about her coming back because as much as it pisses him off, it won't be real until he's laid eyes on her. Steve doesn't know if he wants to see her, there's so much that needs to be said. He's furious, sad, and most of all disappointed. He'd never considered that they'd be done forever or at least their final separation wasn't on his terms. He's angry that she's been here living life as a civilian and he's been so worried about her and her safety. He doesn't want to see her because it will be too much, but he also needs to see her, needs to understand.
Dealing with this emotional shitstorm sober is not an option. He's too angry and hurt to deal so he heads to the nearest bar and instructs the bartender to, "keep them coming." He'll never admit this, but deep down he's anxious about moving on with someone who is not her, he needed her, but she had left him. He's worried he will never see her again, but also seeing her again would break his heart all over again. Steve McGarrett did not handle lose-lose situations well. Why couldn't Catherine stay gone, but safe, changing the world so he could avoid this painful introspective mood he suddenly found himself a hostage to? He was her emotional hostage, and he was tired of being played. With too many shots and too many thoughts swirling in his brain, he's in no condition to solve any of his problems, but they're getting to be overwhelming. The bartender cuts him off, Steve knows it's the right decision, but easing the pain was his main priority.
It's over an hour before he can bear turning his phone back on; he doesn't want the real world and problems interrupting his pity party. A man like Steve McGarrett is not a man afraid of turning on his phone, yet here he is ready to vomit. What if she's reached out to him? Worse, what if she hadn't. Refusing to give in to his cowardliness, he takes a deep breath. Sifting through the incoming barrage of notifications going off on his phone leaves a pit in his stomach. What man in his forties is afraid to check his inbox to see if his ex- has texted them? Probably a lot actually he jokes to himself and takes the plunge.
Steve immediately sees that there is a text from an unknown number, he knows it's her, but it's easier to respond to Danny, Tani, Lou, and Junior first. Then he checks the island's daily security briefs, his emails, and every stat on his workout app. Before he chickens out, he opens the message. It's only after he's finished reading the text for the third time does he notice he's been holding his breath.
"Aloha. It's me. I love you. Please be safe. You're not taking anyone's calls. Your people are worried about you. I think we should talk. I need to talk to you. Please, Steve. At 20:30 I'll be at the beach behind Kamekona's. If you're not there by 20:50, I am going to leave. Steve, I need to know what you want, what you need. Please don't shut me out because you're hurt."
He wants to scream. This text is bullshit, devoid of any emotion or explanation, and yet it's a lifeline. Steve misses and loves her so much, he reasons she does love him, but she can't possibly love him the way he loves her. She's moved on, and he's "happy" – the thought is unbearable to him. He doesn't want to do this, but the jungle cannot be the last memory he has of her.
"I'll be there at 20:30. You have 5 minutes to talk."
He doesn't know why he's included a five-minute window, it's a dick move, but the threat made Steve feel as if he's gotten some of the power back. It's all smoke and mirrors though, she has all the power, and he knows she knows it. He doesn't have time to go home, shower and change, but she doesn't deserve that much effort. She's lucky he isn't going there to trash Kame's truck. Kame is dead to him, except Steve still wanted to kill him. He knows she picked Kame's because it's "neutral territory," but he still hates Kame, with a fiery passion. He remains at the bar for another hour or so, sobering up. At precisely 20:28:13 he exits the Silverado and crosses the path to meet her.
Seeing her from afar still takes his breath away; he almost wishes he'd brought his cell phone out of the Silverado to take a picture. Steve knows he shouldn't think like that anymore, but he knows he'll never stop marveling at the sight of her. True to his military training, he's planned to remain stoic, to the point of indifference. A part of him wants her to suffer as he has for the last three years so that she could stop fucking doing it. Unsurprisingly within feet of her, his mask is up, and he's on guard, determined not to crack.
Catherine doesn't turn around immediately, but he knows she knows he's there. He clears his throat unnecessarily loud to announce his presence. She doesn't budge. At 20:31:00 he says flatly, "20:31, you've got four minutes, but if you're just gonna stand with your back to me, I guess we're done here." He's pushing her to turn around, to acknowledge him, to ease the anxiety flooding his heart.
