Oahu State Prison hadn't changed much in the years that McGarrett had been in charge of Five-O. About the only real change was the addition of the new maximum security wing, built fifteen years earlier, to house those convicts deemed a security risk. Big Chicken had been one of it's first inmates. He had been sent there as soon as the new wing opened for his part in an attempted jail break that had left two men badly injured. McGarrett had negotiated a peaceful end to the situation with the help of an inmate named Charlie Swanson. Swanson was out now, having used his time in prison to educate himself and to learn a trade. He now owned a small construction company that mainly employed ex cons looking for a fresh start. At few good things came out of that whole debacle, Steve thought, Swanson got rehabilitated and I got to break Chicken's jaw.

There was a new warden these days, the third since the hostage standoff. Oahu State was a security nightmare and a haven for corrupt officials. McGarrett went straight to the warden's office. He hadn't met the man yet. He hoped this one had better luck keeping order than the previous ones did.

"Warden Tomlinson will see you now, Mr. McGarrett," said the receptionist, who looked about twenty and was doing a five year stretch for selling methamphetamine across the street from a schoolyard. The kid escorted him into Tomlinson's office. The new warden was a beefy man of Portuguese descent with graying hair and baggy eyes.

"Mr. McGarrett," he said, standing up and reaching across his desk to shake hands, "my predecessor has told me a lot about you. It's good to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. I wish this were a social call."

"Unfortunately, it's not. Look, I'm as unhappy about this deal with the Supreme Court as you are. The lawyers from the ACLU were here about five minutes after that bunch in California made their decision. They handed us a whole list of criteria for the parole hearings, and your man Rhodes hit all of them."

"Leave it to Chicken to manipulate the system. Everything in place?"

"He's waiting for you in a visitors room, shackled, as per your request. His lawyer is with him and everything is going to be on videotape. His cell is being searched even as we speak. It's being done loudly, too, so word gets out."

"Good," Steve said, "Let's get this over with. The sooner I'm done dealing with Chicken, the better."

McGarrett followed the warden and a guard to the visitor's entrance of the maximum security wing. He emptied his pockets, surrendered his service revolver, and stood still while a metal detector was passed over his body.

"All set," the guard said.

McGarrett nodded, took a deep breath, and walked into the prison.

It was safe to say he hated the damned place.

The guard took him to the visitors room. "There's a button by the door. Buzz us when you're ready to leave."

McGarrett nodded. He opened the door and walked in.

If anything, Big Chicken had gotten bigger. He was fat before. He had bulked up by pumping iron three hours a day and had shaved his head bald and from the look of it had rubbed down in baby oil. He still had the same smirk on his face he'd had when he'd held a gun to McGarrett's head. McGarrett felt his hand involuntarily clenching into a fist. He forced his fingers to relax.

"Ah, Mr. McGarrett," Chicken began, "It was so good of you to come."

"What do you want, Chicken?" He wasn't in the mood for conversation.

"To beg your pardon, Mr. McGarrett," Chicken said, oozing with contrition. "I want only to ask your forgiveness for the little incident that happened all those years ago, when I was young and foolish. You see, I've already forgiven you for locking me up in here. As it turned out, it was a blessing in disguise."

"You want forgiveness from me? Brudah, you got the wrong man. That is not my job. My job is to lock creeps like you away and make sure they stay locked up."

Chicken's lawyer stood silently in the corner, observing everything. Chick was shackled by wrist, waist, and leg chains. He sat in straight backed wooden chair, his hands folded prayerfully. McGarrett wasn't buying a bit of the piety act.

"But, Mr. McGarrett, a leopard can indeed change it's spots. Truly. I have changed. I've found the Lord and have been forgiven. God has granted me the gift of eternal salvation. Once I have been released from this prison I will begin work as a minister of the Gospel, to help those who seek guidance to avoid the path that lead me here." Chick said, giving McGarrett a beautific smile that made him want to knock Chicken's teeth down his throat.

"You're not out yet, Chicken."

"It's all but a done deal, Mr. McGarrett." Chicken said, gloating as only he could gloat. "I've been a model prisoner these past ten years. I've attended all the counseling sessions and group therapy sessions and taken all the right classes. And then I discovered God, or God discovered me in my hour of need. When I was at my lowest point, God called to me. Maybe, Mr. McGarrett, when you've reached your lowest point, God will call to you."

"Don't hear a thing." McGarrett said. "Any place with you in it is the lowest point and I'm not hearing a word. If the parole board lets you out, just remember, I'll be watching. One step out of line, and you'll be back here so fast you won't know what happened. Good day." He turned to leave, reaching for the buzzer by the door.

"How is Sergeant Alden, Mr. McGarrett?" Chick asked.

McGarrett froze, palm poised above the buzzer. He'd heard the phrase 'his blood turned to ice' more than once. He'd always thought it was an exaggeration. Now he knew it wasn't. "Who?" he asked, turning to face Chicken.

"Oh, come now, Mr. McGarrett. You know who I'm talking about. That pretty little Army sergeant. Such a nice lady. I understand she was injured in that little fracas out in the desert."

"What are you playing at, Chicken?" he asked, his voice like ice.

"Why nothing, Mr. McGarrett." Chicken continued in a smarmy, oily voice that was making McGarrett's skin crawl, each carefully chosen and evenly spaced word sending daggers into his heart. "It's just that I wanted you to know I will be praying for Sgt Alden. Such a pretty little thing. And that tall blonde friend of hers, Sgt Yablanski, I believe is her name. If sergeants had been that pretty when I was in the Army, my life may have turned out differently. But, alas, I digress. I hear all the time about soldiers who survive a war and then meet some unfortunate accident when they get home. I shall pray that nothing like that ever happens to those two pretty sergeants. Or that cute little sailor that seems to have piqued young Officer Williams' interest."

McGarrett was across the room in two strides. Before anyone else could respond, he had Chicken by the collar, yanking him upward until Chicken's face was inches from his own. "If she so much as breaks a nail," he said through clenched teeth, "and I find out you had anything to do with it, there won't be a hole on this earth deep enough for you to hide in. Do I make myself clear?"

Chick's lawyer was shouting for the guards. Two of them grabbed McGarrett by the shoulders and hauled him back.

"Enough!" said Warden Tomlinson, who'd been waiting in the corridor. "Calm down, Mr. McGarrett."

"He just threatened the wrong people," McGarrett said in a calm and deadly voice.

"No, he didn't," said Chick's ACLU lawyer. "He simply stated that he would pray for the safety of two army sergeants and that sailor. Not an unreasonable proposal, given the history of violence in some of our veterans."

"Have you gone insane?" McGarrett asked, looking at the lawyer as if he'd grown an extra head.

"I assure you I have not. Who are these women anyway?"

"Women who had better remain healthy." he said. "You're on notice, Chick. Stay away from them."

The guards ushered McGarrett into the hall. "What was that all about?" asked Tomlinson. "Who is he talking about?"

"Three women I happen to care about. Two of them are stationed at Ft Shafter. The third is training at Quantico." McGarrett said. "How did he know about them? What did you find when you tossed his cell?"

"Usual stuff," said Tomlinson. "Didn't see anything about any army sergeants or sailors."

"Look again. And keep me posted. I want a copy of that videotape sent to my office. If the DA says there's a threat anywhere on it, he can kiss his parole hearing good-bye." He strode out of the prison, pausing only long enough to reclaim his service revolver.

McGarrett tried to calm down on the drive back home. He didn't give a damn what that damned lawyer said, he knew a threat when he heard one. He started ticking off the list of things that he needed to do to keep her safe. More HPD patrols by the house, an alarm system for her car, getting the beach patrol to cruise the beach more often. Co-ordinate with the MP's on Fort Shafter for stepped up patrols by her office. Get her a concealed carry permit and a gun. Handcuff her to his wrist. She probably wouldn't go for that last one, although it might be fun to try.

The house was too quiet when he let himself in. She didn't answer when he called her name. Garage, he thought, she must not have heard me drive up. The door to the garage was just off the kitchen on the southwest side of the house. It was obvious the movers had been there earlier. The garage was full of boxes, what appeared to be enough furniture to furnish a two bedroom apartment and an entire set of nursery furniture in unopened boxes.

Maggie was sitting in a rocking chair in the middle of the boxes, wearing a olive drab flight jacket made to fit someone much larger and clutching a framed photograph, tears running down her face.

"Maggie, sweetie," he said, going to her and kneeling in front of her, "Baby, what's wrong?"

There was a name tag on the flight jacket that read MSG Micheal T. Alden. Her husband's jacket. Lu had packed up her quarters in Germany while Maggie was still at Walter Reed. Now that the stuff had arrived in Hawaii, she was being bombarded by memories. He laid a gentle hand on her cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb. "It's okay, baby. I'm here, everything is going to be alright. Want me to make you a cup of tea?"

She nodded. "You are too good to me," she whispered.

"It's because you deserve it. Chamomile tea?" he asked. She gave him a barely perceptible nod. "Coming right up." He kissed her on top the head as he went out, relieved that the thousand yard stare he'd come to associate with the PTSD that had haunted her since the Gulf War was nowhere in sight.

He came back a few minutes later with the tea. She took a long swallow, which seemed to calm her.

"Anything you want to tell me about?" he asked.

Her eyes were the color of wet leaves. She took a deep breathe, held it a minute, closed her eyes and exhaled. It was as if she was drawing courage from the air. "I should have told you sooner. Only I didn't know how."

She passed him the framed photograph. There was Maggie, sitting up in a hospital bed, red hair done in a long braid that fell across one shoulder, dark circles under eyes that were swollen from crying. A tall stocky balding blonde man in a surgical gown stood by the bed, looking absolutely helpless. Both of them were looking at the tiny bundle Maggie was holding.

Steve brushed a strand of loose hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She held his hand to her cheek for a minute, trying to find the right words. "My little girl. Lydia Danielle. She was born way too soon. She only weighed a pound and a half. My tiny little angel." She paused to take another drink of her tea. "I'd had two miscarriages before, so when I made it through the second trimester we thought we were home free. Bought a load of baby furniture and got ready to be parents. Only something went wrong and she came way too early and then the doctors said her lungs weren't developed and there wasn't any hope, that she was going to die and there wasn't a thing they could do. So I told them to take her out of the isolette and bring her to me, and we held her until her tiny little heart quit beating. And that was the nine hours and thirty-two minutes that I was a mom." She swallowed hard. 'I should have told you sooner, I just didn't know how. Your sister knows. We talked the day before the party. She told me about Tommy and I told her about Lydia."

Now he understood why Maggie and Mary Ann had bonded so quickly. "It's okay, honey, I know now. Why didn't you want to tell me sooner?"

Her voice sounded so far away it was frightening him. "I had her for such a short time, it's as if when I tell people about her, I give a little bit of her away, and she was so tiny and so fragile I was afraid I'd give all of her away and there wouldn't be anything left for me."

'I love you," he said. "You should have told me sooner."

"I didn't know how." She was still crying. "Want to hear the rest?"

"Might as well tell me everything at one time. Get all the tears out of the way at once."

"She was born five months before that damned war started. My doctor's advised us to wait at least six months before we even thought about trying again. So I was taking those horrible deprovera shots. One shot and you're good for three months, not that we did much of anything for the first one. It just wasn't happening. Finally Lu got tired of us blaming ourselves and each other and told us nothing was going to get any better until we started acting like adults and accept what happened. So I took the damned shots and then the war started and I got hurt and Michael got killed."

She finished the tea and set the cup on a box. She reached out to stroke his cheek. "I love you dearly but, honey, why have you never asked me about birth control? Or why I haven't had a period since we met?"

She could have sworn he was blushing and loved him even more for it. "I suppose I thought that at our age it wasn't an issue."

"I've had nine periods since the war, and none since I've been here in Hawaii. I should have told you this sooner. Only I as afraid of losing you. The doctors at Walter Reed said I've got about a million to one chance of ever getting pregnant again, and the chances of ever carrying to term are worse than that. There was a lot of internal damage and a lot of scar tissue. There's a very good possibility that we can never have children." She covered her face with her hands. "If you want to call of the wedding, I understand," she said, her voice thick with tears. "All I ever wanted was to be a mom. That damned war even managed to take that."

"Hush," he whispered, taking her in his arms. "Is that why you keep making excuses not to set a wedding date?" She nodded, not wanting to look at him. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter. If it happens, it happens and I'll be the happiest man on this Rock. If it doesn't, then it doesn't and I'm still the happiest man on this Rock because I've still got you. Now quit crying. Unless there's something else you haven't told me that could be important."

"Only that I love you."

"I know that already." he said, kissing her softly, tasting the salt of her tears. "Am I going to come home tonight and find you sitting in the middle of the garage crying?"

"No, honey, I think I'm done for now."

"That's good, because I have to go back to work. I'd feel better if you'd call me every couple of hours to let me know you're okay."

"Your sister was right. You are a worrier."

"Only about the people I care about and you're at the top of the list. Call me or I'm sending a patrol car out to check."

"You wouldn't," she said.

"Try me and see." He didn't think Chicken would try anything so soon, or at their house. He wished he could be certain.

"Okay, Commander, I'll call. I love you."

"I love you, too. I have to go back to the office. I'll see you tonight. And I'll be home at six."

He kissed her again and left, hoping she'd stop crying and knowing she probably wouldn't.