Chapter nine
A/N: Ready for some action? After last week's cliffhanger, let's see if I can make it up to you guys with this chapter… I smiled when I read your comments, some of you actually guessed right regarding the thing Steve forgot before heading towards the building. Great minds think alike!
As you read, bear in mind that Steve is not in the right mindset to be going after this guy. At least not by himself. He's not 100% focused and in control like he thinks he is, and that explains what's going to happen. I deliberately chose to go this way. I didn't want to paint superhero McGarrett in this story, but the man's vulnerabilities behind that persona. He is not always infallible. He makes mistakes and has lapses in judgement like everyone else. And his behavior in this story proves just that.
Part of the scene/dialogue in this chapter was inspired by my very first TV obsession, a show called "Third Watch". It was the first fandom I ever wrote for, and it featured another damaged hero I quickly fell in love with.
I'd really, really like to know what you think about this one so please drop me a line when you're done reading. Thank you.
If there was ever an advantage to being a member of Five-0, other than being blessed with unconditional love and life-long friendships, it was the ability to bend all the basic rules of law enforcement and traffic.
As he raced back to Headquarters to gear up and get Junior and Tani, displaying old school Chicago skills that would make McGarrett proud, Lou Grover thought about the promise he'd made to Danny and wondered if he would be able to keep it.
They had their guy. A security camera outside one of the hotels downtown had shown Whitmore getting inside a silver sedan two hours before, and satellite images had spotted the same car at the location on the dead woman's cell phone. They just needed to beat Steve to it.
Steve, who had at least a two-hour head start on them and had disabled the GPS in his truck. Who believed he had failed them all and like a good sailor, was willing to go down with the ship. In his eyes, bringing down Whitmore was the only way to redeem himself. He would not stop until he brought the man down and that made him unpredictable, erratic. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, what he saw was just the end goal. Do or die. He didn't care otherwise.
It was up to Lou and the rest of the team to convince him that there was more to it, and that the life he was so carelessly willing to sacrifice was still worth living.
Screeching to a halt in front of the Palace, Lou said a silent prayer that just this once, things wouldn't go downhill and that he wouldn't have to make Williams' life even more miserable.
There's a moment of sheer clarity that comes right before going into battle.
A moment when everything falls into place and every doubt dissipates. Steve had experienced it many times as a soldier. Thousands of miles away from home, in the direst conditions, it's easy to forget what you're fighting for. Right until that moment, when you're reminded of what really matters.
As his finger curled around the trigger, Steve focused on the answer to that question.
Danny.
Danny mattered. He was doing this for Danny.
Eliminating Whitmore's cohorts was the first order of business. With them gone, he could concentrate on exacting his revenge. It would be easy to end him now, he thought as his eyes tracked the man's sleek silhouette. A bullet to the head. He wouldn't even see it coming. But Steve wanted him to suffer, to realize that all his money wasn't going to help him. He wanted him to learn Danny's name, the name of a good man who didn't deserve to suffer just for doing his job.
Then, and only then, Steve would finally kill him.
Taking a deep breath, he stuck his head out around the corner and aimed at the thug on Whitmore's left. One bullet, center mass. The man was dead before he even hit the ground.
The stark sound of the gunshot filled the air.
Four heads turned around, eyes wide, wondering what the hell had happened. In the few seconds it took the three guards to regroup and gather around their leader to escort him back to the building, Steve pulled out a grenade and threw it under the Mercedes. He couldn't let them leave. One way or another, this is where it was going to end.
The blast was as powerful as he'd expected, the car going up in a fiery ball of yellow flames as Whitmore and his thugs hit the ground and Steve ducked back to take cover.
Expensive suit and good mood ruined, the businessman rose to his feet a few seconds later and staggered inside the building with two of his men. The third one headed in Steve's direction, weapon at the ready.
Holstering his SIG, the Five-0 leader crouched as low as he could and waited for the man to pass his hiding place, then slipped up silently behind him. His fingers reached around the man's neck, pressing hard to cut off blood flow until his eyes rolled back into his head. With a satisfied grunt, Steve eased the body to the ground and picked up the automatic rifle, pleased to find out it was fully loaded.
Vibrating with tension as his body readied itself to strike, he raised the weapon and sprinted across the open expanse of asphalt towards the building's entrance, pressing himself close against the steel door. Footsteps echoed inside. If he could surprise them—
His intentions were short-lived, for as soon as he stepped inside he found himself face to face with one of Whitmore's thugs. The man grinned, lifted his M-16 and took aim. Steve ducked and dove to the floor a fraction of a second before a hail of bullets hit the space where he'd been standing.
Adrenaline pumping, he rolled twice before coming up to one knee and returning fire, hitting his target twice. Two down, two to go, he thought to himself as he crept past the still form, checking left and right.
A shadow caught his eye, a flash of movement, and he spun around to see another gunman come out of one of the empty offices. He fired two quick rounds into the man's heart and watched him slid down the wall into a sitting position on the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind him.
The smell of burnt gunpowder brought him back to his days as a SEAL. They had trained him to keep his focus under impossible circumstances, to ignore the ringing in his ears that came after each shot and concentrate solely on the target, tuning out everything else. What they didn't teach him was to deal with emotions, with that human component that could sweep away decades of training and break even the most resilient soldier.
"Give it up, Whitmore," he yelled. "I got back up on the way!"
It wasn't technically a lie. The explosion had surely drawn attention, HPD couldn't be far behind. Receiving no answer, he squinted his eyes for a better look and swiftly moved on.
A fist came flying out from behind one stack of crates, connecting with his skull, and sent him crashing into another wooden crate. Steve managed to keep himself upright and slammed into his attacker full force, knocking him sideways. "Five-0! Put your hands up!"
The man's rifle flew out of his hand. He threw a punch, catching Steve's chin, but was forced down by a knee to the gut. He kicked Steve's legs out from under him as he fell and they both hit the floor hard. Momentarily stunned, the former SEAL dropped his own weapon. Time seemed to stand still as they fought, trading blow for blow until a well-placed punch to the attacker's left kidney gave Steve enough time to get to his feet and reach for the pistol at his side. Aiming to kill, he didn't think twice before squeezing the trigger and adding another nameless face to his extensive list of war and job casualties.
Silence descended upon the building.
Steve took a moment to catch his breath and tested his body, grateful for the fact that besides a few bruises and a bump to the head that would result in one hell of a headache later, nothing seemed broken.
His eyes quickly scanned the perimeter, looking for the remaining target.
"Frank Whitmore!" he called out. "Come out with your hands behind your back!"
A shot suddenly rang through the air.
Steve fell backwards as a bullet ripped through his left thigh, knocking him off balance. He blinked wildly as his vision dimmed for a moment, fracturing into shards of grey and black, and blindly aimed the SIG at the space in front of him.
No.
This was not how it was going to end.
Get a grip, McGarrett.
Control the pain. Push through it.
Eyes frantically darting around, he forced the burning feeling to the back of his mind and focused on the sound of approaching footsteps.
"That wasn't a smart move, Commander," Frank Whitmore said, calmly stepping out of his hiding place and moving closer. His shoes made a rhythmical noise against the pavement as he walked, and the grin was back on his face. He was holding a Beretta 9mm, pointed straight at Steve. "Revealing your position to the enemy. I thought you were smarter than that."
Steve straightened up, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I think we're way past caring about that now," he gritted out, face set hard as stone. He couldn't suppress the thrill that ran through him as he finally found himself face to face with the bastard who had ruined his life. And now that he had him, he wasn't going to let him out of the building alive. Whatever it took.
Determination steeled him, and he tightened his grip on the gun. "I have to say though, I'm surprised you know who I am."
Whitmore smiled even wider. "I am a man of many resources. I like to know who interferes with my business and you, Commander McGarrett, have cost me quite a lot."
I can say the same of you, Steve wanted to reply. You cost me my family.
"How is your partner, Detective Williams? I hear he might have to consider a change in career."
"Shut up!" Steve bellowed, firing a round to the man's left. "You don't get to say his name!" Ignoring the stickiness of his bloodied cargo pants on his skin he limped closer, advancing a few steps. "Put down your weapon," he ordered, aiming another shot at the space between the wall and the man's right shoulder.
If Whitmore was startled by the bullet whizzing past his ear, he didn't show it. "Or what? You're going to arrest me?"
Steve shook his head. "You're not getting out of here."
"Are you going to 'accidentally' shoot me?"
"Make a move," Steve growled. "Just give me a reason."
"I don't think so. I'm a smart guy. I surrender."
"Just like that?"
"Why not? My lawyers will have me out before the ink on your paperwork dries." He made a show of lowering his weapon, only to stop halfway through it. "On second thought…" he sneered, training it back on Steve. "You must know, Commander, people like you never beat people like me. A battle or two maybe. Never the whole war."
Steve raised his SIG, intent on stopping him once and for all. This was dragging on too long. It was time to put an end to it.
He didn't get the chance to squeeze the trigger.
The sharp pain that tore through his side was so much stronger than his other aches and so unexpected that Steve actually stilled. Mouth agape, he let the gun clatter to the ground and looked down, staring at the growing red stain on his navy-blue shirt.
Shit. The son of a bitch had shot him again.
Biting through his lip, Steve held back the cry of pain that tore from his throat and welcomed the feeling as proper punishment for losing focus, for allowing the enemy to prevail.
Sounds muted around him. Colors paled. His injured leg gave out and he fell on his knees, pressing one hand to the wound to stop the blood from seeping steadily out of it. The touch brought fire to his entire body and what started as a shocked gasp in reaction to it quickly turned into a coughing fit.
Thick, red blood splattered on his lips.
Fuck.
He remembered the uneasiness that had stopped him on his way to the building, the gut instinct that he'd missed something important, and it finally dawned on him: the vest. He'd forgotten to wear his tac vest. Danny's voice in his head called him an idiot and Steve almost smiled as he imagined the familiar rant coming out of his best friend's mouth if he'd ruined his liver.
Ex-best friend, he corrected himself.
Danny would be so ashamed of him right now. He was failing all over again.
When the dizziness cleared enough for his brain to start working again he looked up at Whitmore, who had his weapon still trained on him and victory plastered on his face.
"I don't think that backup's coming after all," the businessman snickered, coming to stand only a few feet away from Steve's hunkered form.
The Five-0 leader watched him darkly, teeth clenched tight as he tried to convey all his hatred and disgust. Panting shallowly, he stood still and gathered his strength. The effort to stay upright was exhausting and he was feeling lightheaded, but he knew that this was his only chance, and defeat wasn't an option.
Physical limits could be broken, they'd taught him. Pushed beyond endurance.
Pain is in the mind. Control the mind.
Focus on your goal. Nothing else matters.
Feeling the adrenalin course through his system, he silently pulled his combat knife from his boot and gripped it tightly, concealing it from his enemy's sight.
"I think I'm going to walk out of here now," Whitmore said, looking down at him. "I got a plane to catch."
Hell, no.
The only way you're getting out of here is in a body bag.
"Not . . . g-gonna happen," Steve panted, his voice low but threatening.
Fighting against every instinct in his body screaming at him to just lay down and rest, he pushed himself to his feet. His vision swam in and out of focus, the ground shifting beneath him as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He swallowed convulsively and spit a mouthful of blood to the floor.
Whitmore smiled, amused by his opponent's resilience. "You just don't quit, do you?" His dark eyes stared hard at him. Despite the hunched posture and the blood dripping steadily from his wounds, the man looked menacing enough to scare an attacker into submission. Only he had no weapon to back those threats up with, and the businessman doubted he could even partake in a physical fight even if he wanted to. The Commander would bleed out soon. And by the time the police found his body, he would be on his way back to San Francisco.
Steve had considered death as a possible outcome.
He had accepted his fate years ago as a trained soldier and was okay with it. Given the circumstances, it might even be better than a life without his best friend. What he couldn't, wouldn't accept was unfinished business. Quitting before the mission was complete.
Men like Whitmore were used to having their own way with the snap of their fingers and a well-delivered threat. They thought the world revolved around them and did not spare a second glance to anyone they didn't consider a threat.
And that would be his downfall. Underestimating just how far Steve was willing to go to avenge Danny and his family.
One last effort.
One last push so there would be no regrets.
He could face God, or meet his teammates' eyes, and be sure he'd done everything he could.
Steve took a deep breath and pulled every bit of strength he could muster from within himself.
One last effort…
Against his chalky-white skin, his blue eyes were cold as ice. He focused them on Whitmore and smiled through blood-red teeth.
"You'll never win…" he whispered darkly.
"I already did. Enjoy the limited life you have left, Commander. I'll make sure to stop by Detective Williams' room and tell him how you died."
A surge of anger flooded him at the mention of his partner's name.
His hand steadied.
His gaze cleared.
Without hesitation, Steve launched himself at the man, his arm snapping up and plunging the knife deep into his gut, twisting it with all his might. Whitmore's face lost his grin and slacked in shock as he swayed on his feet, staring down in disbelief at the handle sticking out of his chest. Then he fell on his back, crumpling like a puppet released of its strings.
Steve didn't bother to check on him.
The threat had been neutralized.
He'd won.
He closed his eyes wearily. The adrenaline was ebbing from his bloodstream, leaving him lightheaded in its wake. Sounds and sensations that had been muted only moments before came back to life and he doubled over, almost dropping to his knees as all of his senses floated back into place, magnifying the pain he had so fiercely tried to ignore.
Tires screeched outside.
Backup had arrived.
Steve concentrated on his breathing, trying to will his mind to focus on the next task at hand: walking out of the building. His team would be there within seconds, he needed to brief them and coordinate with HPD… and then there was Danny… he needed to tell Danny…
Staggering on unsteady legs, he took one wooden step after another, mechanically bringing himself towards the double steel doors and away from Whitmore's dead body.
He heard Lou's voice calling his name, an urgency to it that he couldn't quite place. Everything had gone according to plan… why was he worried? And suddenly the man was there, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.
Steve would never know it, but the sight of his friend's battered body would haunt the ex-SWAT Captain for weeks to come. Climbing out of the Suburban before it even came to a complete stop, Grover had rushed to the concrete building and stared with increasing fright at the pile of bodies lying on the ground. Behind him, Junior and Tani were already instructing the HPD officers to secure the scene and call the fire squad.
The silence around him was deafening. Whatever had gone down inside these walls was over. Lou frantically looked around, heart hammering inside his chest, until he spotted a familiar figure coming towards him.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Steve was limping from what appeared to be a gunshot wound to his left thigh. One hand was cradled protectively across his chest, and he moved like he was trying to keep himself from falling to the ground. His complexion was ashen, and a few multicolored bruises were already blossoming on his face. A split on his right cheek was coating his neck with blood and the rest of him, from what he could see, had endured the same treatment.
Lou's gaze traveled over his friend's body, coming to rest on the hand hanging limply at his side. Blood was dripping from it, leaving a steady trail on the pavement. Too much blood for a leg injury.
And then he saw it. A tear in the man's shirt. A shirt that was suspiciously much darker around his chest area.
"Steve?" he called, unable to help the quiver in his tone.
A faint smile touched Steve's lips. "I did it, Lou... I took care of it." He stopped a few feet from him. And started to sway.
Lou hurried over to catch his friend before he fell. His eyes seemed entirely out of focus, as if Steve was looking right through him, and his breaths were coming in quick, shallow gasps. "You sure did," he said gently as he tried to lower him to the ground. "Why don't we sit down for a minute?"
Steve struggled feebly against Grover's hold. The effort to stand and the blood loss had drained almost all of his strength, and the pain had increased to such a level of intensity that he could feel the darkness beginning to close in around him. "M'fine…" he blurted out. "I just… I need to see Danny…"
"It's alright," the older man reassured him. "You're gonna get checked out first, and then you can see Danny."
"I n-need to tell him…" he breathed, his voice almost imperceptible, but was unable to finish his sentence.
The air that was supposed to fill in his lungs didn't.
The words that were supposed to come out were lost.
Steve closed his eyes, and went limp in his friend's arms.
TBC
