Over. It was over. He could collapse now, and let everyone else take over the challenge of breathing and standing upright and generally remaining awake to interact with the world. Danny Williams had had a tough day and was ready to pack it in. He grabbed at the back of the chair; okay, maybe he wasn't quite ready to fall down on his face. The whole concept sounded as though it would hurt. He'd had enough of hurting to last a lifetime.

Others weren't so ready to quit, Judge Hardaway among them. "Mr. Wing," he said clearly, so that his voice rang through the courtroom, "I believe you and I have a discussion to conduct, something about the whereabouts of another witness? I will see you in my chambers now." He scanned the crowd. "Detective Kelly, I'd like you to be present in that discussion, to tell me what information you gave to Mr. Wing regarding this case."

Chin developed a crooked smile. "Yes, Your Honor. My pleasure."

Judge Hardaway turned to Danny. "Detective, you might want to sit down. You don't look as though standing is in your best interests."

"Yes, Your Honor." Was that his voice saying that, or his wobbling knees? It didn't matter; not one body part seemed willing to obey his brain which was screeching get your ass perched on something solid before we fall!

Danny saw a dark shadow moving in on him, felt someone take hold of his arm. Damn, but he wished his eyes were working better. The worried chuckle told him that the dark shadow was Steve. "Time to let go, Danno."

Not that Danny could see that far away, but someone in the spot where Peter Hanolo was located jumped to his feet. "You can't do this!" he shouted at Judge Hardaway. "I'm innocent! I'm innocent!" He pointed at Danny. "He's the one who's lying! Put him on trial!"

Judge Hardaway rose more sedately from his chair from behind the bench. "Bailiff, escort the prisoner back to his cell."

"Yes, sir." The bailiff started forward.

"No!" Hanolo shoved his defense attorney aside, slamming away the desk in front of him. "No, you're not taking me!"

"Hey!" the bailiff objected. "Settle down!"

Hanolo's reply was unprintable. Hands still manacled, he grabbed his own chair and swung it at the bailiff.

Trouble. Steve's strong support was suddenly gone, headed for the greater danger, leaving Danny clutching for the chair once more. Danny blinked, trying to keep track of the action, wishing his brain would cooperate with the process of thinking.

Screams: the onlookers were scrambling to escape.

Steve: headed for Hanolo. Bailiff on the floor, blood on his face but getting up.

Chin: moving toward the back of the room. The back? What the—? Crap; three more mountain-sized goons were rumbling forward. And Chin thought he was going to stop them, all by himself? Chin Ho Kelly was crazier than Lt. Commander Steve Coconut-Brain McGarrett!

Danny had to do his part. He was a cop, wasn't he? This was a courtroom, and a fight was in progress. It was his duty to keep the peace. He forced his leg to take a step forward—and sank to one knee.

Someone in a dark robe brushed by him—was that…?

Hell, yes. It was Judge Hardaway, silver in his hair and fire in his eye.

This was going to hell in a handbasket. Steve McGarrett did a rapid sit-rep: Hanolo, manacled but still dangerous. Bailiff with minimal injury, getting up to subdue the prisoner. Chin headed for the three bogies storming in from the back of the courtroom, all three of the bogies weighing in over three hundred pounds. Muscle? Some, but not much. Mostly fat.

However, when there were six arms and six legs, it didn't much matter whether it was backed by muscle or blubber. Hell, one of 'em could sit on Chin while the rest took him apart. Sorry, Danno. You're going to have to sit this one out. Literally sit this one out. Steve left his partner clutching the furniture, trying not to fall, while Steve himself headed for the greater problem.

First step: yank the wood chair from Hanolo's meaty hands. Palm strike to the sweet spot; Hanolo's face went white as the breath left his chest in a whoosh. The suspect wouldn't be breathing for another two to three long minutes, enough time for the bailiff to get himself up off of the floor and get his prisoner under control.

Step two: subdue the three clowns. Chin had already thrown his sling down to the floor; no sense in letting one of the goons grab it and try to strangle the cop. An objection from his own arm reminded Steve that he had yet to get the knife cut from Hanolo's man back in the Kahana Preserves tended to.

Not going to bother right now. Steve McGarrett had a few things more important to deal with. Three of them, in fact, and all three wanting to remove their boss Peter Hanolo from his predicament.

Steve waded in, throwing his first punch at the closest thug, aiming for the same sweet spot that had collapsed Hanolo. No good; his fist simply sank into blubber. It hurt, but not enough. The man roared and lashed out with his own fist, grazing Steve's cheek and drawing blood with a gem-encrusted ring.

Boxing wasn't going to work. This opponent would simply soak up the punishment and come back for more. Judo? Doubtful. The man's center of gravity was so low that it would take a bulldozer to knock him off his feet. Even trying for a chokehold meant wrapping his hands around the man's neck, and Steve didn't think that his hands would reach. In the meantime, there were only two Five-O men capable of doing more than throwing a dirty glare, and three of the enemy.

Steve was going to have to carefully place his blows. Jab to the nose: blood flowed, and the man staggered back. Hanolo's man recovered too quickly, though, roaring and throwing all of his not inconsiderable weight into the short run forward.

He grabbed Steve by the waist, bowling him over. The pair crashed into more chairs, going down hard to the floor, Steve underneath—just as his opponent wanted. The breath whoofed out of him, and Steve saw stars.

Hadn't someone called for help yet? There had been two additional bailiffs for the earlier portion of the arraignment, Chin had told him, and their presence was sorely needed now. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw one of the other of Hanolo's men grab Chin by his arm—the arm with the white bandage on it. The man had correctly deduced that applying pressure to the wound would result in a positive result for Hanolo's cause. He applied a lot of pressure.

He was right. Chin wilted, and the man landed a jawbreaker that sent Chin flying.

This was getting out of hand. Steve and company were the good guys! They were supposed to be winning, not being taken down by a bunch of two-bit thugs with an overweight piece of slime for a boss. Another piece of slime was on top of Steve right now, punching with pudgy fists, doing his best to inflict damage. The fists didn't—but the damn ring was gouging out chunks of flesh!

Time to take control. Summoning up all his strength, Steve heaved the mountain of blubber off of him, rolling over onto his hands and knees. He shook his head hard, to clear away the cobwebs, hard and fast because Jumbo over there wasn't going to give any more time than he had to. Jumbo too lumbered onto his hands and knees, clambering up into a standing position. Jumbo aimed a kick designed to separate Steve's ribs from his spine.

No more Lieutenant Commander Nice Guy. Steve lashed out with one long foot covered in a hard hiking boot. The boot had worked well for hauling his partner out of the Kahana Preserves, and it worked equally well for reminding Hanolo's man that Steve McGarrett wasn't going to take this lying down. The boot connected with an extraordinarily sensitive organ, and the man screeched in suddenly soprano distress.

That gave Steve the moment's breathing room that he needed. No more punching. This called for flat out strikes designed for immediate take downs. Heel of the palm to the nose, and the man went from clutching below to clutching his nose. Double strike to both ears; the hands flew to that damaged part.

Almost home. Taking a deep breath to lend him power, Steve launched an uppercut to the jaw.

It was almost comical. The man's eyes slowly rolled up in his head. He swayed back and forth, uncertain of which direction the mighty oak would fall.

Backward. Three wooden chairs failed to break the man's downward momentum.

Steve staggered around to scan the remaining field. One down, two to go, and it wasn't fair! This one thug had sapped almost all of his strength, and they expected him to do the same for two other massive mounds of men? Number Two had Chin locked in his grasp, while Number Three was proving that he could do a better job than meat tenderizer in pounding muscle into jelly. Then—

A feminine yell erupted from behind the two men beating up on Chin. Number Three yelped, and his knee went out from under him; he dropped half way to the floor.

It was Kono. Coming in from the back, she had instantly figured out what was going on—and she was pissed. Snap kick to the back of the knee, and Number Three's head was suddenly low enough for her to reach.

A punch with a rock hard fist wasn't going to do it. She'd figured that out by watching her boss take a pounding. A spinning back kick fueled by fury to the thug's jaw did a much better job.

Number Three crashed to the floor.

That left Number Two. He let Chin slide bonelessly to the floor, ignoring his victim as someone who wasn't a threat any longer. There were only two people that Number Two needed to concern himself with: a wiped out lieutenant commander and a tiny slip of a girl that he out-weighed with another ten inches of reach as well. Oh, and did he mention that he out-weighed the chick cop by more than twice her weight? Without surprise to back her up, the bitch hadn't a chance. Steve took a step forward, trying to insist that his exhausted supply of adrenaline restore itself so that he could counter this last threat. He could do this. He could. Right.

Black fabric swished past Steve, and it took him more than a dazed moment to figure out who it was: Judge Hardaway. It was actually Judge Hardaway with a baseball bat in his hands and fire in his eye. Judge Hardaway apparently kept the bat beside his chair and under cover for just these sorts of occasions.

Hardaway swung the bat like a home run hitter, catching Number Two in the shoulder.

"I will not—"

A return blow to the other shoulder.

"—have my courtroom—"

Last blow, jammed deep to the gut, just above the belt.

"—disrupted!"

Number Three went down.

Judge Hardaway hoisted the bat up and onto his shoulder, glaring at the miscreants and simultaneously taking in the sorry state of the rest of the combatants.

"Ex-Army Ranger," he announced to the room with a certain grim satisfaction. "Went to law school on the GI bill." He aimed a special glower just for Steve McGarrett. "Navy. Huh."

Hot. No, cold. No, both at the same time. How the hell could he be both hot and cold?

There were voices floating over his head, too, dancing around in the cavernous room of the courthouse. He recognized one of them: Steve. Good. Steve was good. That meant that Danny wasn't in the hands of Cutler and his whip. Bastard. Danny hoped Steve took that pile of coconut shavings down hard.

Worried chuckle. "I did, Danno. I did."

"Good," Danny said, wondering if the word actually emerged from his lips. Since Steve had responded to Danny's thoughts, he supposed that he was actually speaking them out loud. Danny blinked, but the blurry figures in front of him refused to come clear. And he hurt.

It hurt to breathe. Hell, it was suddenly hard to breathe. Every breath that he tried to pull in never reached his lungs, and his ribs stabbed him as badly as Cutler had with his whip.

"Danno?"

No, talking back to Steven this time was not going to happen. Gasping for breath, yes. Talking, no.

Vision failed him completely, though he could still hear voices above him. Strong hands lifted him up and deposited him onto something cold and narrow—and flat.

Flat was not good. It made it harder to breathe, and he was already having enough difficulty as it was. He tried to sit up, but hands pushed him back down.

"Danno! Danno, listen to me! We're trying to help you. Don't fight, Danno!"

Right. You try not breathing, and don't fight to sit up. I double dog dare you.

More hands, pinning him down. Something got strapped over his chest, trapping his arms and hands beneath it. Yo, guys! It's Hanolo that you're supposed to be taking down. Me, I'm one of the good guys, remember?

I…guess…not…

"Get the medics up here!" Steve bawled, dropping to his knees beside his partner. "Danny! Danny, talk to me! Where the hell are the medics?"

Bad. It looked bad, and Steve once more wondered if he should have bagged the court appearance in favor of a fast trip to the emergency room. Little late now, genius! Any doctor in the area would have said hell, yes and followed it up with a psychiatric evaluation for one Steve McGarrett's sanity for thinking otherwise.

But Peter Hanolo was going down, and hard, and so were a number of the man's mob. That was what every cop strived for, and Dan Williams was one hell of a cop. Danny would have told Lt. Cmdr. Steve McGarrett that the trade-off was worth it in a heartbeat.

Yeah, well, Danny, your heart isn't beating very well right now. Not a real good heartbeat you've got. Even I can tell that.

"Let's get him onto the stretcher and move," one medic said grimly. "You want to tube him, Roy?"

"Nah. This one's a fighter." Roy fended off one flailing arm easily, grabbing Danny's wrist and securing it before the man could punch out the medic trying to help him. "On the count of three."

"Three," the other medic broke in, reducing the count by two. The pair hoisted Danny onto the stretcher, Steve only belatedly trying to help as he realized what was going on.

His partner was openly panicking now, mouth wide and gasping for air that wasn't passing into his lungs. The man was beyond rational, and his unseeing eyes begged Steve for help.

Steve caught Danny's other fist, preventing it from landing on the medic's shoulder. "Danno! Danno, listen to me! We're trying to help you. Don't fight, Danno!"

"Thanks." Roy didn't bother to turn around. "Pin him down; let's get his arms under the belts so that he doesn't hurt himself." Now the medic did look up. "Let's get moving, Johnny. He doesn't have much time."

"I'm coming with you." Steve stood up—and the room swayed.

The medic eyed him grimly. "Sorry. No can do, guy. No room in the ambulance, especially not if I have to do some fast work—which I might," he added. "Sorry," he repeated. He jerked his thumb at Kono who was helping Chin into a chair. "You look like you need some attention yourself, you and your people. Look after them, why don't you? We'll take care of your man, here."

There was a rustle of black robes next to him, and the next thing Steve knew Judge Hardaway had his hand on Steve's arm, pushing him onto the hard wooden bench. "More help is on the way, Navy Boy," he told Steve. "You sit there and take orders, for a change." Judge Hardaway paused. "You did good, commander; you and your people. I'm going to put Hanolo and his people away for a long time."