Hi all. Long time no see. Real Life is great but has been kicking my behind time wise for a while now. I've several stories started but can't ever get the time to finish and publish. When I have time I lack energy and when I have energy and time I lack inspiration - poor me! lol! ;-)

This is set as a kind of tag to season 1 episode 11 - Palekaiko, where Steve is told his Mother's death wasn't an accident. I don't know why the muses want angst I have a fluffy nonsense of a chapter almost done, but this was quicker. This is supposed to be a wee two parter, I have the second part started but it isn't turning out right - grr! Thought I'd post this anyway as I reckon it can stand alone.

I don't own them, would that I did. Also I am being naughty and publishing this without it being beta-ed - forgive the many mistakes I have missed! (I like commas..)

"Uncle Steve?" Grace froze in the middle of the living room.

She had leapt from her father's car and sprinted to the house, eager to begin her day of fun with her favourite Uncle Steve. It had been all she had been talking about all week.

Yet now, as she crashed through the unlocked front door, (Danno could lecture her about that later) she was confronted by a sight she had not expected.

Danny, coming through the door slightly behind his overly excited daughter tensed at her tone. He had had a slight feeling something was off as they had pulled up, the curtains were shut; they were never shut at this time as Steve would already have completed his decathlon. However it was only a tiny niggle and he had been too slow to stop Grace's dash to the house. Now he too pulled up short at the sight of his partner passed out cold on the couch in front of them.

He was wearing what he had had on when he had left the office the night before. His face looked haggard and drawn even in sleep. There was an old cardboard box on his stomach, Danny could see form his position that it was all filled with photographs. A few lay face down on Steve's chest, obviously the focus of his attention before he'd; 'Before he'd what?' Danny's brain drank in the scene deducing rapidly, 'Fallen asleep so suddenly he couldn't put them away in his usual Freaky OCD Military Way? Been drugged?'

The fear that made Danny's hand reach on instinct for his non-present gun lessened slightly when he noticed the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting in the middle of the coffee table, a glass still clutched in the sleeping man's hand; it's contents an evaporated puddle on the wooden floor.

Ok, so drunk then, not poisoned. Danny could work with that. However in their all be it short but intense friendship, Danny had never seen his friend drink more than a couple of longboards in one go. A little happy was the most drunk he had ever seen the former Navy man. Never enough to dull his awareness of what was happening around him.

That was what was most disconcerting about all of this; that Steve hadn't actually jerked into action and killed them both with his pinky finger. Before Danny could follow that train of thought any further the instincts that Danny was pondering seemed to kick in and the man went from sleeping to full alert. The change was so rapid Grace and her father both took an involuntary step backwards. The box thudded to the floor, photographs cascading across the floor and under the couch, unnoticed by the now wide awake man.

Steve's hands were fisted at his sides as he scanned the room for potential danger.

If the whole thing wasn't so unnervingly unlike Steve, Danny would have laughed. He was grateful Steve hadn't drawn a weapon, though he thought darkly, his freak SEAL reflexes made one unnecessary. He unconsciously moved himself in front of Grace who let out a little gasp of surprise at the speed of Steve's movement.

"Hey, hey, steady as she goes there, Popeye."

"Danny?" he croaked, blinking furiously and scrubbing a hand across his face.

"Yea! Stand down, you Idiot!"

"Uncle Steve?" Grace repeated again, a little nervous giggle escaping her at his uncharacteristic behaviour. "I didn't mean to wake you up!"

"Grace?" Steve went from high alert to boneless in seconds, sitting down heavily and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I wasn't...I mean..I uh..I must have..I wasn't expecting you guys until..." he blinked at his watch, "I must've just dosed off..." he met Danny's gaze steadily daring him to comment. Impressed that Steve was able to attempt intimidating so quickly after being a drooling mess, Danny kept his mouth shut.

Grace however narrowed her eyes and stared hard at her Uncle. "Are you sick, Uncle Steve." she moved closer, still a little unsure. She looked at Danny sadly, "If you are sick and you need us to go away, that's ok..."

Steve seemed to give himself a little shake, "Are you kidding me? And miss our day at the beach? Never! I was just going over some things and lost track of time!" He shot her one of the big smiles he only ever seemed to smile at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Are you sure you are ok? You look..." she tilted her head slightly to one side still appraising him, "Sad..."

"Sad?" Steve put on a good show of incredulous but Danny wondered if perhaps his beautiful daughter had hit the nail on the head.

"On a sunny day with my favourite surf parter and her grouchy dad here? Never! I must Have…" He passed a hand over his eyes, waving the other vaguely in the direction of the couch, "uh, dosed off."

He seemed to suddenly remember the pictures, bending down and grabbing at those easily in reach. I'll just go, um, and, you know..." he ineffectively scrapped at the scattered pictures, within his reach. Slightly flustered he gave up and gestured upstairs. "I'll just go, um, and, you know..."

He pushed the now only half full box under the couch and stood. His legs seemed slightly unsteady as he made to move upstairs, in-perceivable to most but Danny noticed. His frown deepening as he and Grace stood in silence and watched his departure. The door to the bedroom closed.

"Well that was weird, Danno." Grace dropped her backpack at her feet. "I do think he looked sad, don't you?"

"Well," The voice in his head agreed wholeheartedly, but he wasn't about to share that with his sensitive daughter. "If Uncle Steve says he isn't then..." he trailed off slightly deciding to change direction, "Who could be sad with a monkey in the house?" He tackled his daughter tickling her and lifting her high before dumping her on the couch. He eyed the bottle of spirits over her giggling head.

"You stay here, Sweetie. Maybe gather those up for Uncle Steve?" He gestured the scattered photographs. I'll just make Uncle Steve some coffee."

He scooped the bottle and glass up and away from innocent eyes. He moved into the kitchen and barely kept his curse from reaching Grace's ears. The contents of the champ box, were spread across the kitchen table. He raised his eyes to the ceiling through which the distant sounds of the shower could be heard.

"The gift which keeps giving," he muttered.

With a sigh he scooped the grisly crime scene pictures up and put them back in the red box before his daughter happened upon them. He didn't know what had triggered his partner's uncharacteristic behaviour this morning but he felt his stomach tighten at the idea that it was connected to the champ box. Whatever John McGarrett had been investigating, one thing was sure his quest to unlock his father's last secrets always ended in a kick in the teeth for Steve.

Chin. Danny suddenly remembered. Steve had left slightly early the previous evening after talking to Chin in his office. He'd had that intense look he got sometimes but Danny had chalked it up to the events from earlier in the day - taking down serial killers following high speed car chases would do that to anyone. Well, anyone normal.

Sighing again he lifted his phone out of his pocket and hit his speed dial for Chin Ho Kelly. Maybe he could fast track the usual lengthy SEAL diagnosis process.

Steve let the water roll over him, his conversation with Chin Ho Kelly playing and replaying in his mind. His mother was murdered.

She had been deliberately taken away from them.

Murdered.

His father had been investigating her death when his own occurred. He felt sixteen again.

His mind flashed back to the moment he opened the door to the HPD on the day that shattered his family. He shook his head, sending water cascading across the cream tiles.

Everything seemed to be in flux. Again. Everything that had been true when he had got on that dreadful flight home to bury his dad seemed changed. He shut off the water and scrubbed the water almost viciously from his eyes.

Sleep had evaded him as he rifled through his father's mystery box; the photographs of the burned out wreckage already familiar now nauseating. He didn't even remember when he had moved from the kitchen table to the sofa; from crime photographs to rummaging through the old box his mother had dropped pictures into before she would painstakingly label and put them into albums.

Another flash, this time of his mother bent over the kitchen table, riffling thorough the box bemoaning that she'd not had any time in ages to get them sorted and the box would be filling up with pictures of her grandchildren before she could get them into albums. He'd rolled his eyes and huffed an embarrassed, "Mom!" and she'd laughed, standing and ruffling his hair even though she now had to reach up to preform the affectionate gesture; Reaching him a glass before he could swig the juice from the container.

He closed his eyes, trying as he had so often in the past to remember the exact sound of her laughter that day. Thinking how she'd insisted on taking a picture of him in his football uniform later that day and he'd moaned about it. She'd laughed again, teasing him that she wanted the memories for when she was old and infirm.

She'd died a few months later.

That photograph of him before his big game now lay face down on the floor under the couch. Never sorted.

He forced himself to step out of the shower onto the cool tiles.

While he always loved spending the day with his honorary niece, he was angry at himself for letting Danny catch him in such a vulnerable position. Another flash of his father's face; Mary's hysterical sobs.

Mary. What would he tell Mary?

He scrubbed at his body, the harsh rub of the coarse towel pulling him back from more memories. His head was pounding in rhythm to his heart. Been a while since he'd had a hangover. He chuffed out a humourless laugh - "Lightweight" he said to himself in the mirror. He sighed deeply, hand squeezing his temples as he pulled open a drawer and dry swallowed couple of painkillers.

He stood a moment leaning on the sink, his head bowed. He'd indulged himself with grief and alcohol last night, a luxury he rarely allowed himself; couldn't allow himself. A sudden squeal of laughter cut through the silence of the bathroom.

Grace.

He gave a little half smile despite himself. Pushing the dark memories back into the secret recesses he kept them. He gave himself a shake and prepared to spend the day with his "niece."

There. Hope that is ok. Please leave me a review, they make me so happy. Always interested to know what you guys think; is this worthy of two part status? Pure fluff also to follow fairly soon now I find myself with a little time (hopefully).