Chapter seven
A/N: I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of its wonderful characters. If I did, angst and bromance would be a weekly occurrence so you're probably safer this way. No copyright infringement intended. Figured I'd clarify that since I haven't so far.
Hope you enjoy this chapter. The story's moving towards its climax so there's going to be some action in this one and in the next two chapters. Thanks again for sticking around, it's greatly appreciated.
His hands shook as he fumbled with the keys. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to find the right one. He looked down at them and for a moment, they were still covered in his partner's blood.
Steve closed his eyes, drawing in a breath, and willed himself to calm down. He hadn't had a decent night of sleep since the accident, and the stress of the week was finally catching up with him. With a vengeance.
Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the door then banged his head against the wooden surface. Once, twice, three times.
He could still see the shocked, bewildered look on Danny's face as the bullet tore into his flesh, feel his precious blood seep through his fingers as he applied pressure to the wound.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Straightening up, Steve rubbed a hand over his face, glanced at the keys still resting in his palm and tried again. When he finally selected the right one his hands were still shaking, and it took him another full minute to slide it into the lock.
He pushed the door open and quickly stepped inside the house, grateful for the silence that greeted him. After the way he'd left the hospital earlier he knew his team was looking for him but hoped that they'd called the search off for the night. He wasn't ready to face them yet.
The living room was filled with an unearthly quiet, bathed in the soft, yellow light coming from the lamp near the door. Junior didn't appear to be home. He honestly couldn't blame him after the way he'd lashed out and made a mental note to apologize to the task-force's newest recruit when he got the chance.
Sighing, he dropped onto the brown leather sofa, resting his elbows on his knees. He could feel his emotions dangerously close to the surface once again but stubbornly refused to let them loose. Not this time. He had a purpose now.
Needing to give meaning to a senseless act and believe that at least some kind of justice would be served, he had decided to focus all his attention on the guy who had started it all. The man who had armed Doyle and his accomplice and poisoned his island with drugs.
He was going to find him, and make sure he didn't hurt anyone's father or best friend ever again. It wouldn't erase the guilt he felt but righting the wrongs was what he'd been trained for, what he had spent decades of his life trying to accomplish, and it gave him an odd sense of reassurance.
And maybe, just maybe, it would also give him the chance to make a difference and help restore a bit of self-worth.
Adam had been a great help. Supporting, but not intruding; resourceful and smart. Taking him up on his offer, Steve had driven from Diamond Head straight to HQ, his mind already working on a plan so that something good could come out of the mess he had created.
Together, they'd gone through every piece of information they had on James Doyle and Pacific Shipyards, working all night to explore every angle and every connection they could find. Bank and phone records, HPD reports, footage from every camera in a five-block radius of previous drug busts around the island. Until something had popped up. A name he'd recognized.
Hiding his surprise, Steve had glanced at the clock and told his friend it was time to leave. Get some rest and regroup. They would tackle it again in the morning.
He felt bad lying to Adam like that, but no one else was going to get hurt because of him. This was his mission, and his mission alone. He would check the lead out and hope it would reveal another piece of the puzzle.
He just needed to rest for a moment.
Feeling lightheaded and bone-crushingly tired, Steve leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Just for a little while, he said to himself.
His breathing slowly evened out and he drifted into an uneasy sleep. The lines of tension on his face gradually eased and the house fell quiet again, the gentle lapping of the ocean the only sound around him in the warm Hawaiian morning.
"Adam? I didn't know you were in town." Lou Grover couldn't hide the surprise in his voice as he cradled the phone to his ear with his right shoulder and used his free hands to tie his boots. He and Junior had overslept, both of them crashing in his living room after running around all day, and now they were late and his back hurt from sleeping in god-knows-what-awkward-position on the couch.
"Yeah, I got back a few days ago."
"Good to hear you, man. How's Kono?" he asked, moving on to fasten the last two buttons of his shirt. He liked the man and all, but he really didn't have time for chitchat and pleasantries. Not with his boss currently MIA and his second-in-command in a hospital bed dealing with a potential life-altering injury.
The hesitation on the other end of the line was hard to miss. "She's— she's busy. Following leads all over the west coast. Look, man, I need to tell you something. It's about McGarrett."
That stopped Grover in his tracks. "What about McGarrett?"
"He, uh…" Adam started, unsure of how much to reveal. He knew Steve wanted to keep what they had done private, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was on to something and felt compelled to help. "We were supposed to meet at the Palace two hours ago and he never showed up. I just wanna make sure—"
"Whoa, hold on a second!" Lou stopped him, snapping his fingers in Junior's direction to get the kid's attention. "You saw McGarrett?" he asked, putting Adam on speaker so they both could hear him. The young man immediately jumped to his feet, staring at the device with an intent, determined look in his eyes.
"Last night. I spotted him on my way home. He, uh… he wasn't doing well so I thought I'd keep an eye on him."
"We've been looking for him since yesterday morning." Lou's voice carried the same concern that had sent the team on a search across the island the day before.
"Yeah, I heard what happened to Danny. I'm sorry. How's he doing?"
"Holding his own, considering. He's got a long way ahead of him."
Adam sighed. "Listen, I'm not sure I should tell you this but we spent the night at the office going through Doyle's records." Junior tilted his head up to meet Grover's matching frown. "I'm just calling because I'm afraid he's gonna do something stupid and I don't want him to get in trouble."
Lou shook his head. They should've known it. He should've known it. Steve wasn't going to just sit and wait. Even in his frazzled state, they should've figured out vengeance and atonement would be on his mind.
"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. You still at the Palace?"
"Yeah."
Grover looked at Junior, and they nodded in unison. "Alright, don't move. We're on our way."
If there was one thing Danny Williams hated, it was being in the hospital. Stuck in a bed, depending on others, with nothing but time on his hands.
And as the hours went by, he realized getting out of it wouldn't be nearly as fast or as easy as he'd imagined.
They'd removed some of the machines that had helped support his body's functions and monitor his conditions but he was still weak, and got tired easily. He had frequent and sudden mood changes, which made him more anxious and quick-tempered than usual, felt fearful about his slow recovery and insecure about the final outcome and the impact it might have on his everyday life.
The doctor was pleased with his progress, even if he'd complained he was having difficulty concentrating and remembering things. And as if all that wasn't enough, he'd noticed changes to his taste and sense of smell, caused by the tubes and the drugs he'd had to take.
An endless routine of medical tests and physical therapy would wait for him every morning until he regained his strength and hopefully, the use of his right arm. If it wasn't for the promise that his kids would visit him every day, he would've probably already given up.
That, and the worry for his partner who was still out there and surely about to pull one of his spectacularly stupid stunts and put his life in danger. If he hadn't already.
The heart monitor picked up speed as the guilt for not being there for him engulfed his entire being.
Steve was afraid to let people get close for fear that he would lose them. Afraid of losing control, of showing the vulnerability behind his invincible, superhero persona. Danny was the only one who had been allowed into his sacred circle of trust in a way no one else had been before. And now Steve was convinced that he'd lost him over something Danny had never blamed him for, not even for a second, which made him a ticking bomb ready to explode and a danger to himself and anyone who dared cross his path.
Danny's breath hitched.
He loved the guy almost as much as he loved his own children and often wondered if Steve knew it, if his words and displays of affection had ever sunk in. Did he ever believe them, or had his family background and twisted sense of being unworthy lessened their meaning?
He'd made a point to share those feelings with him every chance he could. Maybe in a few unorthodox ways, yes, but Steve should've known better. He should've known that he'd never blame him for something he'd had no control over. Something that was just bad luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
His face scrunched in concentration as he willed his fingers to move.
He needed his arm back because when they found him, he was going to use it to punch his best friend in the face.
Steve stood on the sidewalk of a deserted side street in Kakaako, staring at the building in front of him. The place where everything had started.
The two hours of sleep he'd gotten weren't nearly enough to compensate the ones he'd lost, but he felt refreshed and clear-headed enough to start his mission.
Memories of his recent visit to Doyle's apartment assaulted his brain. The loud music, the frightened six-year old hiding under the bed, the fear that had led his actions as he itched to find his partner's location.
He had paid no attention to the man's girlfriend, dismissing her as another wasted junkie who shouldn't have been allowed to procreate. But when her name and gaunt face had popped up on one of the screens back at HQ the night before, he'd realized there was more to her story than they'd originally thought.
As his quick morning search had revealed, Kat Morris had come to Oahu on the same flight as her boyfriend. Born Katherine Ann Dawson in El Paso, Texas, she had married fellow high school dropout Frank Morris when she was barely eighteen. Fourteen months and two arrests for possession later she'd met James Doyle, who was already a dealer and working his way up the ladder. The two had relocated to Hawaii in 2012 where their son Kevin was born.
Waitress and part-time drug dealer, Kat had managed to fly below radar until Steve had connected the dots and realized she was as active a player as her boyfriend had been, and could provide him with the answers that Doyle had taken with him to the grave.
His hand instinctively curled around the weapon holstered at his side as he entered the apartment complex and took the stairs to the second floor. Unlike his previous visit this time everything was silent, the few tenants who lived there either still asleep or already at work.
Steve moved quickly along the hallway, both eager for resolution and on edge about the whole situation. His thoughts slid back to Danny and he swallowed hard, imagining what it must feel like for him not being able to hold his son anymore, teach him how to play ball, or giving up the only thing he'd ever felt good at. His job.
He had stripped his best friend of his identity, irreparably compromised his role as a cop and as a father. No words or actions could ever make up for that. He wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes, but he could at least reassure him that every person responsible for what had happened was no longer a threat.
The wooden frame to apartment 2F was still splintered from when he'd kicked the door in a week earlier. The sight made his lips curl into a satisfied smile. The next thing he noticed turned the smile into a frown: the door was slightly ajar.
He unholstered his SIG and entered the apartment.
The living room was completely trashed. Overturned chairs, toppled bookshelves, couch cushions thrown all over. Steve moved around strewn papers and scattered clothes, eyes scanning the cluttered space for signs of the woman or the kid.
He paused when he reached the bedroom, listening for sounds. The curtains were drawn and the air was stale, signs that no one had been around for hours. The bed was stripped, sheets and quilt lying in a heap on the floor along with more clothing and a few broken toys. Steve knelt down, unable to stop himself from checking under the bed, but no one was there.
Senses on alert, he rose to his feet and headed towards the kitchen. He had a bad feeling about this. Whoever Doyle worked for must've been angry he'd lost the drugs and had likely retaliated against his family.
A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Danny's advised him to be careful. He ignored it. Danny wasn't there. Danny was no longer his friend.
He stepped over plates and cutlery, surveying the damage. Whoever had trashed the apartment had done a sloppy job. They were either in a hurry, or had purposefully thrown stuff out to make it look like a break-in. So far there wasn't any sign that they'd left anyone or anything behind, but there was one last place to check. The bathroom.
Steve inched closer, noticing the door was closed. He adjusted the grip on his weapon and pushed it open.
A sour, metallic scent was the first thing he smelled and his stomach roiled in reflex as it temporarily smothered his senses and suffocated his breath.
Kat Morris' body was lying limply inside the tub in a pool of congealing blood, limbs at awkward angles and a dark red hole in the middle of her forehead. Bruises marked her arms, face and torso and brain matter stained the white tiles behind her head.
His eyes tricked him with images of his partner's still form and Steve took a step back, startled. He shook his head and reached for the sink with his free hand, blinking a few times to will the memories away.
Alive.
Danny was alive.
Danny was…
Breathe in, count to four.
Hold your breath, count to four.
Exhale, count to four.
Relying on the technique he'd learned in SEAL training, Steve let his heartbeat slow back to normal so he could focus on the crime scene in front of him.
The woman's mouth hung open, frozen in an eternal grimace, her lifeless eyes wide with the fear she had experienced in her final moments. Long auburn hair, matted with blood, were framing her ragged features.
He leaned forward, his warm hand soft on her cold skin as he closed her eyes. She might have been beautiful once, carefree even, before wrong habits and bad decisions had irreparably changed her.
Unable to tear his eyes off the macabre scene, Steve slid the gun back in its holster and raked a hand through his short hair. His heart ached for the kid he'd held in his arms just a week before, and who had now lost both his parents. He'd seen too many of them put into foster care, malnourished and physically abused, bouncing around from family to family until they ended up with a juvie record or worse, dead. It wasn't a pretty picture. When this was all over, he would speak to CPS and ask to personally supervise Kevin's case to make sure he ended up with the right people
For a few moments he just stood there, contemplating the unexpected development in the case and considering his next move. Kat Morris was supposed to be the link to the next piece of the puzzle, the one who would lead him to whoever was pulling the strings. This changed everything. And not in a good way. How was he supposed to find him now?
He strode back into the living room, gaze sweeping over the chaos that he now knew had been the result of a struggle. A bright red model car sitting upside down under a chair caught his attention. It was one of those remote-controlled toys that delighted kids and annoyed parents. Charlie had a few just like that, and Danny always complained about finding those damn things all over the house and how they hurt if you stepped on them with your bare feet.
A small smile curved his lips and Steve bent down to pick it up, holding it between his hands as he remained in a crouched position. Fond memories of a happier time that was now only a distant thought made the lump in his throat grow in its size until he shifted his eyes to look down at the floor and spotted something else. A cell phone, half hidden by one of the couch cushions.
He reached into one of his pockets and took out a pair of black nitrile gloves, using one to pick the phone up. Holding his breath, he touched the screen and was relieved to find out it was on, and had no password protection.
Kevin's smiling face stared back at him from the screen. Steve did his best to ignore it, focusing instead on finding a clue that would steer him in the right direction.
A quick scroll of the call history revealed several calls received from the same number in the last few days, and that person had also texted with a location and a time the day before.
He needed to find out who it was.
Shoving the phone into his pants pocket, Steve took one last look around and got out of the apartment. He might not have a direction, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find one.
TBC
