You Owe Me

by njborba

Steve thinks he's finally ready for a future with Catherine, but nothing goes as planned.

10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Hawaii Five-0.

---

You Owe Me
Part 10

By
N. J. Borba

---

He watched her from across the room.

The expansive hall was lively, bustling with people of all ages dancing and chatting. Two other women were seated with her, but he barely noticed them.

Attending the joint military-civilian ball had been low on his list of desirable activities for a free Saturday night. But somehow his buddy had talked him into going.

She wore a black dress that was tastefully modest even though it clung to her lithe figure in a manner he found intoxicating. It was adorned only by a simple gold necklace. Her dark hair was pulled up in a fancy twist, a few tendrils hanging loose, framing her face. He watched as the other women she was seated with got up and tried to get her to go along with them. Her head shook as she shooed they away with a slightly annoyed look. Just as her hand reached for the bowl of mixed nuts on the table, he decided to make his move.

"You know those things are fattening," he remarked, standing beside the table.

Her head turned and she glanced upward. She immediately noticed his dress blues and her eyes rolled. But a small smile also crept across her face as she admired the way he stood, arms at ease and a lopsided grin that complimented his blue-gray eyes. "Nuts tend to get a bad rap," she replied. "They contain essential vitamins, beneficial fatty acids and they're high in protein. Such as this walnut right here," she popped it into her mouth and chewed unabashedly.

"Sure," he nodded, "I just wouldn't want you to ruin your gorgeous…" his eyes made no attempt to hide the admiring glance they made up and down her body.

She tossed a nut at him, which bounced off a shiny button on his uniform.

"Wow," he chuckled, "Tossing walnuts at me, very classy."

"That was an almond."

"I stand corrected," he acknowledged, mesmerized by her brown eyes, "I'm leaning so much about nuts tonight."

"You know, I'm not the one who showed up here in a fancy uniform with a funny little… what do you call that thing on your head," she waved a hand at his cap. "I can only assume you spent so much attention to detail tonight in order to woo some poor, unsuspecting female. Probably with the intent of getting laid," she retorted.

"This gathering happens to partially be a military ball," he countered, pointing a finger over his shoulder to indicate their location. "And this right here," he pulled his hat off. "This is referred to as a cover, part of my Navy uniform. All of which has significant meaning. And I can only assume you're here tonight to troll for a good looking sailor. Why else would you be here in a black dress that is… well, it's obvious that your prickly nature is the reason you're sitting here all alone eating fattening walnuts and almonds."

"For your information, every morning I do fifty push-ups, two hundred sit-ups and run five miles. And at night I ride a stationary bike for an hour before bed."

"Do you sleep well?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" she was more than a little confused, and slightly put off by his behavior.

"Do you sleep well?" his question was repeated.

"Well… no… not always," she admitted.

He nodded, "I kind of figured. It's probably all that exercise, the strenuous activity before bedtime. I remember reading somewhere that it can actually be a bad thing. It gets you all worked up, heart racing… makes it hard to fall asleep."

"Really?" she frowned. "Did you read that in a magazine? I've heard they have articles in Playboy," her frown began to fade as she teased him. "It's an interesting theory, though, truly. But tell me this then, why do I always sleep so blissfully after sex?"

"Uh," he swallowed. "Well…"

"Okay, I have to admit you are kind of cute when you blush," she stated.

"No, no… I do not blush. This is not… Navy SEALs do not blush."

"Sure you don't," she chuckled softly.

His head shook as he exhaled, more than a little flustered by her, which was not the norm for him when dealing with women. "Look, maybe I started off on the wrong foot. I can admit that," his right hand extended. "I'm Steve McGarrett," he introduced himself. "Lt. Commander in the U.S. Navy."

She grinned a little bolder. "I already figured out the McGarrett part," one hand gently brushed against his, the other one pointed to his nameplate.

"Right," Steve nodded. "It's on the uniform." He let his fingers caress the soft flesh of her palm. "Do you have a name?"

"Catherine Rollins," she finally revealed. "But you may refer to me as Lieutenant."

He dropped her hand, his mouth hanging open for a moment. "You… uh… Lieutenant?"

"Navy," she grinned, enjoying the way he'd stuttered.

"You're out of uniform," Steve said.

Her eyes rolled. "Maybe you were off on some classified SEAL mission when the memo was sent out, but since this is not a typical military affair, the Admiral gave us special dispensation so we could wear a pretty dress if we wanted," Catherine relayed.

"Shoot, I left all my pretty dresses back home," he quipped. When Catherine smiled Steve knew it was something he hoped to see again many times.

"Your dress blues aren't so bad," she remarked. "They… fit you well."

"Not so bad? Fit well?"

"Of course I'm sure I'll be getting out of this dress before too long," she added, trying not to laugh as his tongue nearly flopped out of his mouth. "You know, because of the nuts," she watched his jaw completely drop. "I was referring to your comment about me getting fat, therefore the dress not fitting anymore."

He gulped.

"Can't imagine what you had in mind," she chuckled.

Steve knew at that moment he had to find a way to spend more time with her. It wasn't every day that a woman could render him speechless. In fact, it had happened exactly never before. "How about a dance?" he proposed.

"I don't think so," she instantly turned him down.

"Come on, what's wrong?" Steve prodded. "You afraid to dance with a Navy man? Let me guess, you made some silly promise to yourself to never get entangled with a guy in uniform, afraid it will be too messy. Afraid of the fraternization rules. Or, maybe… maybe you're just worried you might actually have a good time."

Her head shook. "Doubtful."

"That was kinda harsh," he smiled as he said it, taking her dubiousness as a challenge. "Okay, you had your fun with me. You already knew my hat was called a cover, and you've watched me squirm. Now dance with me, just one dance. And when it's over, if you feel absolutely nothing… we both walk away."

"And if I feel something?" she swallowed nervously.

He shrugged. "I guess we keep dancing."

Catherine wiped her hands on a cocktail napkin and stood, "You're on, sailor."

"Maybe she wasn't even on the flight," Danny offered as they entered the Palace and took to the stairs.

Steve was pulled from his memories by Danny's comment. He wanted to think like his partner, but he also needed to be realistic. He needed to figure out what was going on without jumping to illogical conclusions. "I spoke to her earlier, Danny. She was on that plane. She gave me the flight number. They were taxiing when I hung up," he relayed. The ring box in the lower left pocket of his cargo pants shifted with each step he took, a constant reminder of how much closer he was to proposing to Catherine.

"You also said Catherine mentioned a delay due to the weather. Maybe they transferred her to another flight. Or maybe," Danny wasn't ready to stop theorizing yet. "Catherine might've given you a wrong flight number on purpose. Billy mentioned they were worried about the news media finding out where they were taking Catherine and the ambassador, right?" he watched Steve nod, "So if she thought anyone was listening to her phone call she might've intentionally tried to throw them off."

That possibility certainly seemed well within Catherine's ingenuity to pull off, but Steve remembered the sound of her voice. He recalled how tired she'd seemed the night before and even more so that morning on the plane. She'd even sounded a little scared. "I don't know, Danny. I'm almost certain she was on that flight."

Both of the HQ glass doors were opened simultaneously, one by each man. They entered the control area and found Chin there.

"I just got back here," Chin Ho said upon their entrance, though he didn't look up, "Pulling up the tracker program now."

"Sorry about your date," Steve sighed as he pressed his palms against the command table.

Chin finally looked up and caught Steve's eye, "Catherine is 'ohana," he simply stated before returning his attention to the screen.

"Don't you need to zoom in and out like before?" Danny asked as he stared at the overall map of the world. The planet had never seemed quite so big to him before as he thought about the very real possibility of Catherine being lost somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

"No, the only reason I did it earlier is because we were pretty certain where Catherine was," Chin answered as he continued to tap several controls in a repetitive manner. "Right now I have it set to automatically zero in on her tracker's location."

"Why isn't it working?" Steve asked, noticing that his friend kept hitting the same commands over and over. He'd seen the program in action before and knew the image would shift on its own to wherever the pingback came from. "That thing should be able to transmit up in space. Where is it? Where is she, Chin?"

Trying not to let Steve's worry rattle him, Chin attempted a slightly different tactic. When that failed, he sighed in defeat. "I don't know," Chin swallowed. "I checked to make sure I had the right frequency set. It's definitely Catherine's tracker I've got programmed in, but… it's not pinging back," the man informed them in a frustrated tone.

The three of them stood around the map for another ten minutes, willing the thing to shift, to ping, to blink – anything.

"Her tracker was destroyed," Steve finally concluded as he pushed away from the table. He looked to Chin first, Danny second. "Someone knew it was in her phone and they destroyed both of them," his words were matter of fact. "Either that or the crash demolished them."

Danny gulped. "And if it was the first option? What do you mean by someone?"

Steve was grateful to his friend for picking the first option to dwell on. "We need to think about the attack at the ice skating event," he began. "Some guy decides to go after the Brazilian Ambassador because of Brazilian Soy Worker Rights? That seems kinda farfetched," he declared. "So what if this guy wasn't after the ambassador at all? What if he attacked the person he'd been after from the start?"

"Catherine?" Chin and Danny both asked at the same time.

"Exactly," Steve replied. "Those photos of her stopped at the end of the year, right about the time Wo Fat was originally due to be released. Then we had a few weeks grace period, made to lull us into thinking the threats had stopped, over and done. But then this happens, something that seems completely unconnected," he pointed out.

"I guess it's possible," Danny licked his bottom lip, stuck in thought for a moment.

"Of course it's possible. This attack has got Wo Fat written all over it," Steve growled as he stared at the computer, arms crossed.

"Okay, so you're saying Wo Fat took down a plane full of 115 passengers to get to Catherine," Chin sought some clarification.

"No," Steve's head shook, "To get to me."

"He's locked up," Danny put in.

"Do we know that for sure?" Steve eyed Chin, "No offense to your CIA contact but one surveillance photo and we're just supposed to believe his slimy ass is behind bars? What did you find on the Colorado guards, is there any possibility they helped him while he was in lock up there?"

Chin Ho Kelly prided his self on performing a job to the highest degree; not leaving any stone unturned if it was within his power to do so.

He was grateful for the chance to leave the topic of Catherine's tracker behind for a moment. He pulled up a split screen image, one man's photo on either side. "Guy on the left is George Hanson, 42 years old. He's been working as a maximum security guard for eighteen years. Has a wife of twenty-four years. Three kids, one in college and two in high school. The guy works twelve-hour night shifts and spends any free time he has coaching his daughter's basketball team and his son's baseball team."

"So he's clean?" Steve pressed.

"Financials don't show any recent increases, nothing to indicate he's ever taken a bribe," Chin concluded.

Steve nodded toward the screen, "And the other guy?"

"Eugene Vincent," Chin began the second rundown. "He's younger, twenty-nine, served in the Army for ten years after graduating from high school. He took the guard job in Colorado soon after he was discharged from the service. Army record shows model behavior. He married two years ago, has a three-month-old son. Video surveillance I pulled from the last few weeks of Wo Fat's incarceration in Colorado reveal Vincent showing up for the day shift looking about as tired as I imagine any new dad would be. His financials are clean as well."

Chin sighed, "If either of these guys was helping Wo Fat I can't determine how, or that they were paid for it."

"Who else would do this?" Steve couldn't seem to shift his focus from Wo Fat. "Who would blow up this plane and destroy Catherine's tracker in order to get to her?"

"You're assuming again that this was about Catherine," Danny spoke up. "If we go back to the original attack… I still say this is about the ambassador."

Shaking his head, Steve eyed Chin again. "What do we know about the guy who stabbed Catherine?"

"I don't even have a name," he shrugged.

"You have that," Steve pointed to the smaller monitor that was still flashing continuous CNN coverage. An image of the male attacker was being shown on air at the moment.

Chin initiated the screen capture mode and pulled a fairly clean shot of the man from the TV. He speedily loaded the image into their facial recognition program and waited as the main screen began to flash through dozens of photos. "You know our international databank is pretty limited," Chin reminded his partners. "Unless he's a high-priority international criminal, the odds of this guy being…" the program chirped even as Chin spoke the last word. "Fernando Alves," he read the data. "He's got a driver's license issued by the state of California."

"So this guy's not even from Brazil?" Danny was surprised.

"Still could be. But according to this, Fernando has a U.S. address in Merced, California," Chin relayed.

"I don't get it," Steve stared at the image. "What the heck was he doing in Russia claiming to be part of a Brazilian Rights movement?" he glanced at his watch, "I don't have time for this right now. Chin, I need you to dig into this guy's life. And see if you can contact Billy, find out what more he knows, he's probably part of a team questioning the guy," Steve headed to his office with Danny right behind him. "I have a flight to catch," he said without looking up to see Danny watching him.

"Steve, maybe you going to the crash site isn't such a good idea," the detective voiced, having overheard his partner make the arrangements on their way back to HQ.

He spun the dial on a small safe behind his desk, left, right, and left again until it clicked and opened. "I know your opinion, Danny, you already told me," Steve grabbed his passport and stowed his weapon inside the safe. He stood to face his friend. "The USS Harry S. Truman is already at the crash site. I'll be in D.C. within twelve and a half hours and I've arranged for a helicopter to ferry me to the carrier. I need to be there, Danny. I can't sit back and do nothing."

"Then I'm going with you," his partner declared. "I know you arranged for two passengers so…"

"No," Steve knew his friend would go in a heartbeat if he'd let him. "I need you here. Without Kono or me, you and Chin are all Five-0 has got right now. If something comes up here, the island needs you more than I do. Besides, there's someone else I need to take with me."

"Steve," Danny sighed, feeling a bit helpless, "You know we're here for you."

"I know, Danny," Steve nodded. "Thank you."

000

"How you doing?" Steve asked over the headset as he faced the passenger beside him.

"I am not afraid to fly in something like this, if that's what you're asking, commander. We have flown on a helicopter together before," Max relayed in typical Dr. Bergman efficiency. The man looked out at the ocean below them, seeing nothing but a dark rolling sea for miles. "However, a leisurely tour along the Hawaiian coastline in Kamekona's sightseeing helicopter is a bit different than this trip over a much choppier, much colder ocean."

Steve nodded. "Just making sure you know what we're getting in to here," he replied as the Navy Seahawk helicopter dipped and he spotted the aircraft carrier about a mile off.

"How far have we traveled?" Steve asked the pilot.

"Three hundred and seventy-two miles since we left D.C., sir."

"Not exactly the five-hundred miles those reporters mentioned," Steve mumbled mostly to himself as they prepared to set down on the carrier. They exited the helicopter a few minutes later and Steve guided Max away from the aircraft as a refueling team advanced. He watched as the aircraft carrier's executive officer approached them with a young Ensign at his heels. "Commander McGarrett," the senior officer spoke first.

"Captain Marshall," Steve snapped to attention and saluted, even though he wasn't in uniform.

The older man saluted back. "At ease," he instructed. "When I saw the name McGarrett my attention was peaked. My older brother, Lucas, served in the Honolulu Police Department with a man named John McGarrett for several years before he retired. Lucas always said McGarrett was the finest leader he'd ever worked with, military or otherwise."

Steve nodded. "He was my father, sir."

"Was?" the XO caught his use of past tense.

"He was killed about four years ago, sir," Steve relayed.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. I also understand that you were granted permission to be here from over my head. In addition to having an exemplary record in the Navy SEAL program, you obviously have connections," Marshall noted. "There was someone aboard flight U8517 that you knew?"

"Yes, sir, retired Navy Lieutenant Catherine Rollins," he replied with as much courtesy as he could muster, hating the way the XO had said the word knew - past tense.

"Rollins?" the XO mulled, "Any relation to a David Rollins?"

"Rear Admiral David Rollins," Steve nodded. "His daughter, sir."

"Damn," Marshall relayed regret over hearing such news. "I served with Rollins in Kuwait many years ago, remember a little girl with big brown eyes in a picture he carried everywhere with him. Couldn't recall the little girl's name, sorry I had to be reminded of it under these circumstances," he shook his head regretfully. "Small world," he muttered.

With as few words as possible, Steve introduced the man beside him. "This is Dr. Bergman, the one I mentioned I'd be bringing along."

"Glad to have you aboard," Marshall aimed his words to Max, "As you may already know, our presence here, including inviting a civilian doctor aboard isn't entirely normal operating procedure for us. But our instructions are to aid the NTSB in any way possible. Our hospital unit is small and basic, but we've set aside a mess hall and wardroom for your use. The first wave of salvage has already been taken there. Ensign Wildman can show you the way," he offered.

Steve nodded for Max to go with the Ensign. "We'll catch up later," he assured the doctor. To the XO he asked, "What do you know?"

"I know that CNN has been broadcasting reports for the last twenty hours that are almost all false," the XO didn't shy away from telling Steve the truth as they walked. "From what we've discovered so far there was no cruise ship within range for eyewitness reports. And, frankly, there's no way flight U8517 was broken in half when it crashed. We've got at least a twenty-mile radius mapped out with wreckage. No pieces bigger than a tail fin. That craft had to have exploded in more than just two halves."

Not the sort of thing Steve had been expecting to hear. "Survivors?" he asked.

The XO halted his step and turned to face Steve, a fierce winter wind blowing across the carrier's deck, "Commander, this has never been a rescue mission - recovery only. We're working with NTSB and CIA to ID as much debris from the wreckage as possible. We've got a database being compiled as I speak, gathering DNA and dental records for all those aboard the flight. The USS Scranton arrived just before you did; they're preparing to dive in twenty. They have a DSV riding piggyback which should be able to gain us full depth to the wreckage that's sunk already," he explained. "Our primary goal at this point is to determine what caused that craft to go down."

"I'd like to be aboard the Scranton when they dive," Steve requested.

"Commander, I know you're still in the reserves but you're here as a favor right now, not in any official capacity. I appreciate that someone you care about was on that flight, but…"

"I'm a Navy SEAL. I have pressure and escape training," Steve interrupted. "I've been on a number of watercraft and other submersible missions. And, yes, this is personal," he finally admitted. "But it's also about getting a job done, and that's what I want to do, Captain. It's why I brought Dr. Bergman here, because he's the best and I trust that he'll make sure everyone aboard that flight gets a fair shot at being identified for their families' sake."

Captain Marshal couldn't help be moved, but he remained firm, "I'm sorry, Commander. I can't allow it."

"Then at least put me in the water, get me on one of the salvage dive teams," he wasn't ready to give up. "I can't just sit on this ship and do nothing, sir," Steve knew he was walking a fine line making such a demand from an executive officer, but desperation was settling in.

The OX was clearly not amused, but he nodded, "Dive team eight is suiting up now, if you hurry you can join them," Captain Marshall finally gave in. "I'll radio the team leader. You'll be under his command, McGarrett. If he sidelines you for any reason, I better not hear that you abused this privilege."

"Understood, sir," Steve snapped off a salute before he jogged away.

000

Almost twelve hours later, Steve stood in front of a laptop monitor rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He'd helped the dive team bring several loads of wreckage aboard the carrier. Just beneath the water's surface he'd been able to suppress his wandering thoughts, focused completely on the single task of collecting salvage. Now, topside again, his worry and fears were starting to eat him up inside. But worst of all, doubts were beginning to creep in. The shear amount of destruction he'd seen scattered along the ocean's surface made his gut tighten and his heart ache.

"Did you find anything more on Fernando Alves?" Steve asked the blurry images of Chin and Danny on his Skype cam. "What about Billy? Have you been in contact with him?"

"Billy hasn't responded to any of our calls yet," Danny relayed.

"But I dug up more information on Alves," Chin spoke. "He's thirty-seven, was born in Brazil but gained U.S. citizenship about ten years ago. His older brother's, Martin and Arturo still live in Brazil and they both have ties to the BSWR movement that claimed responsibility for the attack at the Olympics."

"So he is connected," Steve sighed.

"I'm not entirely convinced," Chin replied. "He works for a fruit packing company near Merced, California, has a wife and two sons. Pays his taxes, is an active voter and even does a lot of volunteer work. At least he did until this past year. His youngest boy, six-year-old Leo, has a rare form of bone cancer. Medical treatment is sky high. Fernando doesn't have much in the way of benefits, but he does have a fifty-thousand dollar life insurance policy through his company."

Steve had a feeling he knew where Chin was headed with that train of thought. "Guy is worth more dead than alive. So maybe that's the key to him agreeing to some foolish mission in Russia. His brother's talk him into it, and he figures he'll be killed in the process, which leads to his son getting the life insurance money for treatment." Steve sighed.

"And there's definitely something to this BSWR movement," Danny added. "BSWR has been very actively seeking better factory rights, and not always in a calm orderly protest sort of way. They've set fires, broken windows. Chin and I also found out that Lenore Silva's main ambassadorial bent has to do with agricultural dealings. She's very vocal in D.C. about being pro-exporting for her country. She wants to foster better export-import conditions between Brazil and the U.S."

"Then the attack and the crash being about her is the most likely scenario," Steve said the words, but still wasn't entirely convinced. "What about the flight manifest?"

"Took us a while to gain access, my French is a bit rusty," Chin responded, trying to lighten things up a little. "Danny and I have gone over the departure logs and the airport boarding gate videos," he noted. "All 115 passengers, including the eight crew members, boarded flight U8517."

"Catherine?"

"She boarded with everyone else," Danny relayed.

"You have video?"

"Sending it through now," Chin confirmed.

Steve waited for a moment for the video feed to load. Then he watched as Catherine approached the gate. She stood there for a while, left arm in a sling. He could see how tired she appeared, but Steve also noticed her scanning the area, still very much on duty. Her right hand rested against the shoulder of a young girl, about twelve. A young boy's ticket was scanned and then the girl's. The children were followed by a man, and finally a woman who Steve recognized as the Brazilian ambassador he'd seen on the news.

Catherine watched her charges closely as they entered the sky-bridge. She took one last glance around the area before her ticket was scanned and she followed them.

The video ended with a freeze-frame focused on the back of Catherine's head.

He stared at it for a long time.

"Go back over the footage of all the passengers, look for anyone boarding that appears fidgety or suspicious, specifically anyone traveling alone," Steve instructed. "I want you to get background for everyone on that fight, find out who they are, what they did for a living," he needed to keep calling out orders in order to stop dwelling on Catherine. "I want to know if any of them have a criminal history, heck, I want to know if they've ever defaulted on a student loan."

"Technically, we have no jurisdiction on this, Steve," Chin remained level-headed even as his friend was clearly grasping at straws.

"It was a U.S.-bound flight departing from Europe, transporting a Brazilian ambassador as well as a former Navy officer. That's more than enough to make this an international incident," Steve pointed out, "NTSB, the Navy, CIA… several agencies are working on this and they'll take note of anything we find if it's significant enough," he insisted.

Chin and Danny nodded. "Got it," they said before signing off.

000

"You seemed a little upset when your friends left earlier," Steve remarked.

He held her close, left hand clasping her right. His right hand against her waist, her left hand resting gently aside his shoulder. Steve could smell her perfume, picking out hints of jasmine and vanilla. He concentrated on the way her palm was pressed against his, her soft fingers curled against his rougher paw. A gentle pulse beat between their hands, connecting them. He wasn't prone to romantic thoughts, but her presence made him feel vulnerable in a manner he'd never experienced.

"They wanted me to go outside with them to smoke," Catherine replied.

Steve noticed she seemed a bit uncomfortable with the topic, but he was curious, "And you hate smokers?"

"No," her head shook, "I'm trying to quit, which is the reason I was munching on nuts. And, yes, I have gained a pound or two the last few months."

"I'm sorry I even mentioned it," Steve immediately felt bad. "Trust me, you look great," he assured her. "So, why did you join the Navy?" Steve asked, trying to quickly switch topics.

"My dad," she responded.

"Ah," his head bobbed. "So it was a rebellious thing on your part? Or maybe a punishment on his?"

Catherine pulled back a little to look him in the eye. "Contrary to what you may be hoping, I'm not some rebellious bad-girl type. My father happens to be a Navy Captain. He'll likely be up for promotion to Rear Admiral in the very near future," she informed him. "I'm a Navy brat - grew up eating, sleeping and breathing military life. But that's not why I joined. I joined because I wanted to be the same sort of person my dad is, hardworking, loyal, courageous, calm under pressure… and willing to accept any failures."

Steve smiled, impressed by her obvious love and dedication to family.

"How about you? Why'd you join?" She watched his eyes cloud over for a moment, something clearly upsetting in what she'd just asked of him. "Never mind, you don't have…"

"I grew up in Hawaii, but after my mom died I was sent to California. Attended the Army and Navy Academy, a boarding school where I didn't know anyone after being top-dog quarterback at Kukui High," Steve found himself letting it all out, words he'd never spoken to another friend aside from his fellow SEAL, Freddie. For some reason he felt comfortable talking to her. "After that, joining some branch of the armed forces seemed like the thing to do. My grandfather died at Pearl Harbor, so I went Navy. To honor his memory."

She smiled, touched that he'd been willing to share such a precious memory. "Sorry if I made it seem like I had something against SEALs earlier. I really don't."

"We do have a bit of a hot-shot reputation," he freely admitted. "What about you, what's your specialty?"

"Intelligence," Catherine let him know.

"I can see that about you," Steve nodded.

Her eyes remained solely focused on him as they narrowly missed bumping into another couple on the dance floor, "You don't even know me, Commander."

He smiled. "I know you're the prettiest woman in this room, and that you probably hate me for saying that. I also know getting you to dance with me was trickier than any maneuver I learned in SEAL training," Steve concluded. They'd both been too busy talking to realize the music had ended until a new song started. "Technically, the one dance you agreed to is over," Steve said as he stepped away from her. "And your verdict is?"

"We only came in on that song about half-way," Catherine shrugged. She hated the way he'd so easily read her, and the way she'd so readily dismissed him as being a big-headed Navy officer. She hated that her years spent in the Navy dealing with chauvinistic men had made her so cynical. "We should probably give ourselves a full song to really make a proper judgment call." She also hated the way he made her heart tighten and her stomach flip-flop.

"You're in full command of this op, Lieutenant," he smiled, taking her back in his arms as they continued to dance.

Steve groaned and stretched.

After forty-eight hours running on no sleep, accompanying three more salvage dive team missions and checking in with both Max, and Five-0 back home, numerous times, the XO had sent him to a private berth with strict instructions to rest. But as Steve stared up at the ceiling panels, counting the metal rivets holding each panel in place, he knew sleep was an unrealistic hope. Even if by some chance sleep took hold, Steve knew it wouldn't help. Catherine kept overtaking every bit of his thoughts.

He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and got to his feet. Steve pulled his boots back on and then glanced at his cell phone.

So far they'd managed to keep Catherine's name out of the media reports, but he knew at some point he might need to contact her parents. Those were calls he planned to put off as long as possible. He needed more information. And he needed to keep clinging to the hope that maybe she hadn't been on the flight. Failing that, maybe she'd somehow survived. Every time he'd tried to close his eyes he'd pictured her drifting at sea, clinging to some piece of the aircraft, keeping herself afloat long enough to be rescued.

A loud clang resounded against his cabin door.

Steve swung the partition open. "Ensign Wildman," he greeted the young man.

"Sir, the XO has requested your presence on the bridge."

Not bothering to ask why, knowing the Ensign probably didn't even know why, Steve clutched his cell phone and followed the young man through the ship up to the island. They arrived on the bridge within a few minutes. It was a compact area, designed for utmost efficiency, as was the case with most of the spaces on an aircraft carrier. Steve couldn't help notice a commemorative wood and metal plaque residing on the wall, bearing a quote from the thirty-third president of the United States.

"America was not built on fear. America was built on courage, on imagination and an unbeatable determination to do the job at hand." – Harry S. Truman.

"Commander McGarrett," Captain Marshall greeted him. "This is Natalie Harris, lead investigator on this case from NTSB," he motioned toward a tall, slim, very pale woman at his left. Steve shook her hand. "And this is CIA agent, Uhila Musa," Marshall introduced the equally tall, but much darker skinned man on his right. Again Steve shook hands. "I don't think we need to tell you that anything you hear or learn in this room over the next few minutes is to be kept strictly confidential," Marshall made himself clear.

Steve nodded. "Understood, sir."

"Dive team four recovered both the cockpit voice recorder and data flight recorder while you were resting," the OX revealed.

Another nod came from Steve, not bothering to tell the man he hadn't slept. He figured that was apparent by his rather disheveled appearance.

Marshall pressed a control on the command table, but it was Harris who spoke, "A preliminary analysis of the data flight recorder reveals that several electrical systems aboard flight U8517 were disrupted simultaneously, causing a sort of cascade effect of malfunctions," the woman explained. "Most of these malfunctions on their own wouldn't raise too many red flags, but half a dozen at once leads us to believe that the aircraft was sabotaged."

Steve couldn't help thinking the exploding plane was already a dead giveaway to her sabotage conclusion. He remained silent.

The captain hit another button. "This is the last bit of chatter we got from the pilots. They were not yet within Dulles air traffic control so New York Oceanic Control Center was still monitoring their passage across the Atlantic."

"NYOCC, this is U8517. Please be advised we are experiencing some technical glitches of unknown origin."

"U8517, NYOCC reading you fine. Can you expand on what sort of glitches?"

"Several things, NYOCC - our fuel system gages are fluctuating and cabin pressure keeps dipping. At least according to the readings we're getting up here, but all flight attendants claim they haven't noticed any changes in the main cabin of the aircraft. And…"

A loud beeping could be heard over the recording, followed by a long stretch of dead air.

"U8517, we lost you for a few seconds. We're reading a sudden drop in your altitude. Please respond?"

"NYOCC, we've just experienced an airlock breach below deck, attempting to compensate by bringing us lower."

Several minutes of silence followed.

"NYOCC this is U8517, airlock breach signal has returned to normal function. I don't think anything was actually breached, it's just the…"

The recording went silent again and stayed that way.

"Is that it?" Steve glared at the command table, willing it to give him something more.

Captain Marshall pressed a few other buttons. "Scranton's DSV recorded these images about three hours ago," he explained, tapping at the screen.

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing as he watched. The dark ocean water was murky but a bright spotlight on the DVS's camera picked up a distinct piece of airplane hull. It spanned along the length of it, which was only about nine or ten feet. But that was plenty enough to see the striations along the metal hull. "What do you know about explosives, Commander McGarrett?" Musa asked.

"Enough to know that hull was lined with a high density wire explosive, most likely gel applied," Steve sighed. "It was on the outside of the hull? Someone would've seen that."

Musa nodded gravely. "Interpol discovered the bodies of eight ground crew workers at Paris' Charles de Galle airport. They were stuffed into a small utility locker near a secondary runway, all shot at point-blank range. But only six of them had been stripped of their uniforms and security badges."

"So someone managed to infiltrate one of the largest airports in the world?" Steve's thoughts drifted to Wo Fat again as he continued to listen.

"Only minutes after that ground crew was found," Harris picked up, "A separate Interpol team discovered six bodies at a warehouse about two miles from the airport. They were dressed in the missing uniforms, but had Brazilian passports on their person. All six of them were killed by self-inflicted gunshot wounds."

He shook his head. "Martyrs for the cause," Steve realized.

"We've determined that the six posed as the deicing crew assigned to the U8517 aircraft. Surveillance cameras in that area of the airport were reportedly damaged a few days earlier and had yet to be fixed," Musa continued, "Which means their crew had the ability and means to infiltrate."

Harris added, "The type of gel explosive used could've easily been hidden from air traffic control tower operators by the Type IV deicing fluid which is typically dyed green for full coverage visibility. And the fact that it was foggy at the time was a point in their favor. Whoever orchestrated this was smart, ruthless, but also lucky," she concluded.

"They messed with the tech system data, throwing the pilots off the real threat," Steve mused aloud, "Which means someone else had to be close to the craft, probably on board."

Musa regarded Steve, "Fourteen people are dead in Paris as part of this cover-up," he pointed out. "And 115 were killed aboard that flight. It seems unlikely that anyone who might've been involved in this operation was allowed to escape alive, including any culprit aboard the craft."

"All technical systems were almost certainly damaged by a scrambling device planted on the exterior of the aircraft," Harris added, "Probably attached at the same time as the explosives. Such a device, along with the explosives, was likely detonated remotely," she sighed regretfully. "The only small comfort we can take away from this tragedy is that the simultaneous explosions probably meant the passengers never felt a thing."

His eyes aimed at Harris again, then Musa and Marshall. Steve was angry and not afraid to show it. "Is that going to be an official part of your investigation findings?" he asked. "No one felt a thing?" it was hard not to wonder if he'd ever come across as being that cold when dealing with a case. "What about the airlock breach?" Steve reminded them. "We should figure out what sort of boats were in the area at the time of the crash. What if someone had been here waiting for a skydiver?"

"You should already know that policing the ocean isn't that simple," Marshall pointed out. "Planes have to log flight plans, but boats can pretty much come and go as they please. There were no ships in the area when we arrived. It seems unlikely."

"The six men have been identified by Interpol as extremist in the Brazilian Soy Workers Rights movement," Musa noted. "They were after the ambassador and her family as a means to further their cause. Lenore Silva has been very outspoken about her wish for the U.S. to import more crops from Brazil. This was the group's final effort to stop her, and it certainly seems like they succeeded," Harris concluded.

Steve was hearing a lot of seems, unlikely, possibly - but he wasn't happy with the assumptions.

The XO pulled him aside, seeing the defiance growing behind Steve's eyes. "Commander, barring a final NTSB hearing a few weeks from now, this case is closed. And the fact that I allowed you to be privy to information you don't have clearance for," he shot Steve a warning glare, "I suggest you be happy with it."

"Happy?" Steve scoffed, his jaw tense.

Ensign Wildman approached them and stood at attention, waiting to be addressed.

"Ensign?" Marshall asked.

"Commander McGarrett," the young Ensign turned his focus on Steve. "Dr. Bergman is asking to see you."

Steve nodded and immediately followed the man off the bridge; still unsettled by the information he'd just learned, but grateful to distance himself from it. As soon as they arrived at Max's makeshift lab, Ensign Wildman took his leave. "Have you slept yet, Max?" Steve inquired, noticing the dark circles beneath the younger man's eyes.

"Every six to eight hours I sit and eat a small snack, drink half a liter of water and close my eyes for twenty minutes. Then I resume my work," the doctor explained. "So far I've successfully identified thirty-nine remains, matching them to the passenger log via dental records and DNA sampling," he reported.

"Nice work," Steve was actually grateful.

Max's expression softened a little, "Commander, why did you ask me to be here?"

"Crisis response, they needed volunteers," Steve replied. "Your area of medical examination and forensic expertise are a huge asset to this sort of investigation. I also know you get excited about this sort of thing, piecing together the remains of…"

"Please," the doctor stopped him short. "We have worked together for several years now and I know that often times you find me to be rather taciturn while performing my job. I make no argument to the contrary in that regard. I have learned to do my job with exact proficiency. I deal with the dead on a daily basis and it can lead to me not dealing with the living exceptionally well. However, I do this job to help families find peace," Max insisted.

Steve nodded; his hands balled into fists at his side, and the engagement ring box still a heavy lump in his cargo pants' pocket.

"Not being an expert in reading human emotion aside, I do believe I have come to know you rather well, commander," Max insisted. "And I know when people are lying to me. So please… Steve," his voice grew reflective as he used the man's first name. "I would appreciate knowing why you asked me here?"

"Because I trust you, Max," the words were spoken with absolute conviction. "And if…" Steve swallowed. "I need you to be the one to tell me the truth. I'll believe it coming from you."

Max glanced down and picked up a file off the table, "ID sample number thirty-nine, DNA from salvage retrieval number…" he looked up at Steve with a stricken face. "A recent DNA sample taken from human tissue found among the flight wreckage was positively identified as that matching a sample in Navy medical records for a Lieutenant Catherine Rollins."

Steve's face remained schooled, fingernails digging into his palms, "What… what sort of human tissue?"

The doctor sighed regretfully as he placed the file on the table and looked up at Steve again. "The supplies for our research and findings down here are extremely limited, which has led to us using various plastic zip bags for DNA evidence," he relayed, falling back on the comfort of his clinical efficiency to curb emotions. "Anything larger is left on the various exam tables set up in the improvised hospital wing," Max concluded.

For some reason Steve hadn't noticed them before, the rows of neatly aligned plastic bags on the table behind Max.

The doctor retrieved one of them and placed it gently on the table in front of Steve. With barely controlled emotions, Steve forced himself to glance down at the bag. It's clear plastic surface was marked by a few symbols he couldn't decipher, but a name he knew all too well stared back at him. He kept his emotions in check as he allowed his eyes to focus past the plastic. Steve stared at the item for just a brief moment before he looked to the doctor again.

They stood there for several minutes, the bag between them, until Steve finally said the only thing that seemed sufficient. "Thank you, Max."

He made an about-face turn and exited the med lab.

000

Steve enjoyed the softness of her cheek as it gently rested against his.

He vaguely registered the song that was playing and he smiled to hear her softly singing along with the lyrics. "You know this one?" Steve asked. "Chicago, isn't it?"

Catherine nodded, "I used to listen to all sorts of Chicago hits as a little girl. They're one of my mom's favorite bands. And when my dad was away, which was most of the time, I worried about him a lot. My mom knew that, even though she and he… well, she'd play her favorite Chicago songs for me and we'd dance around our kitchen. The kitchen's never stayed the same from one year to the next, but my mom was always there for me. And so was Chicago. Their songs made me feel less scared."

She pulled away from him when the music stopped, though still kept their handhold. Catherine was both surprised and a little nervous about having just told him all of that. "Was that the end of our full song?"

"Not exactly," he grinned. "We've been dancing for about three or four songs past the full one you agreed to," Steve let her know.

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie about something like that," he assured her. "Dancing really isn't my thing," Steve confessed, "My buddy, Freddie, begged me to tag along with him tonight. And he did mention there'd be women, which I'll admit is what drew me. Less than ten minutes in, Freddie took off with some girl named Kelly," he explained. "That's when you walked into my life, or… sort of sat down in it, I guess," Steve regarded her for a moment, "So, are you ready to stop dancing?"

He noticed the way her hold tightened a little, the soft squeeze of her fingers against his shoulder and the gentle press of her palm against his remained steady.

She shrugged. "I guess we could dance a little longer."

"Catherine's mother mentioned you called from the carrier," Danny stood across from his friend, still not sure how to comfort him.

Danny and Chin had met Steve and Max at the airport, but the ride to Max's place and further on to HQ had been completely quiet.

"I didn't want anyone else telling them about what happened," Steve replied with a steady voice and cold demeanor. "I tried to reach Rear Admiral Rollins first, but I couldn't get through. He was out in the field, still running training operations. So I spoke with Mrs. Jacobson… I spoke to Elizabeth," he corrected, remembering the sweet sound of her mother's voice before he'd told her the news. "Then Captain Marshall was able to patch me through to Catherine's father. So…" he looked to the two men standing before him. "That's done."

"Mrs. Jacobson called here an hour ago," Danny relayed, still uncertain about his friend's state of mind. "She wanted to let you know she's been in touch with the Naval funeral director at Pearl-Hickman. Catherine's remains are being sent here to Oahu. Her mother said this is where she wanted to be buried. Arrangements are already set for this Sunday at noon."

"Good," Steve nodded. "Chin, what have you heard from Kono?"

"Nothing," Chin Ho replied, genuinely worried about his friend. "We agreed last week that we wouldn't be in touch until we met up with them in Hong Kong. I know she and Adam were going to be staying under the radar, out of cell contact even. I haven't figured out how to reach them yet and tell them…"

"Then she probably hasn't heard anything about the crash," Steve interrupted. "When we get to Hong Kong, nobody says a word about any of this to Kono or Adam. Not until after we settle this Yakuza business and get them home safely. I don't want her distracted from the task ahead. I don't need any of us focused on anything else. Are we all understood?"

"Steve," Danny stepped forward. "Chin and I have already discussed this and… as soon as he can figure out a way to get ahold of Kono we'll tell her we can't be there tomorrow."

"Like hell you will," Steve snapped. "We made a promise to her, Danny. We're not wasting any more time on this. We get Kono out of there and back home as planned. Nothing… none of this is going to change our plans. We leave tomorrow morning, pick up Adam and Kono in Hong Kong and then fly to Tokyo. And we're back by Thursday night exactly as planned."

Danny let out a breath, "You just got back, it's clear you've barely slept… none of us expect you to take on this mission right now, Steve."

"Well I expect it of myself," Steve shot back. "Tomorrow morning I plan to be on that flight, with or without the two of you," he declared before stalking toward his office.

Chin and Danny exchanged a worried glance, obviously concerned about their friend. "What do we do now?" Danny asked.

"Sounds like we go and get Kono," Chin concluded.

000

An exchange of gunfire could still be heard in the distance as Steve holstered his weapon, "How's he doing?" Steve asked.

Kono looked up from her spot on the hard concrete floor of the warehouse. Worry was etched across her forehead, blood staining both of her hands as she held them firmly against the leg wound, "I can't find an exit wound," she replied in a fearful tone. "Bullet must be lodged in his thigh."

Steve went down on one knee beside them. He took a moment to assess Adam's injury. "Doesn't look too serious," he hoped to assure Kono. "I had something similar happen a few weeks ago to my shoulder," Steve recalled how upset Catherine had been that day, the way she'd clung to him like Kono was doing to Adam now. He pulled out the pliers on his pocket knife and looked down at Adam, "Doesn't mean this isn't going to hurt like hell," he warned.

Adam held Kono's hand and they both nodded for him to proceed.

The Navy SEAL used his combat medical training to pry the slug out of Adam's leg with minimal blood loss.

After stealthily capturing Sato from his Tokyo home, they'd questioned him at a secluded warehouse down by the docks, discovering too late that he'd been outfitted with a tracking device. Half a dozen of Sato's men had shown up, resulting in a firefight which hadn't yet ended in their favor. Sato had just been freed, leaving Adam behind with a gunshot wound. Steve began to stitch up the leg with a small sewing kit from his bag when Chin and Danny returned.

"They had too much firepower on their side for us to get Sato back," Danny conveyed.

"But, if I could pick up Sato's tracker frequency…" Chin pulled out his tablet. "They're headed west, away from Sato's home," he reported a few minutes later.

"Toward the airport," Adam noted. "We guessed they might head to my brother's compound near Mt. Aso on Kyushu, if things got out of control."

"They certainly have," Steve finished up the stitches, knowing they weren't pretty and would likely leave a nasty scar. "Chin, I need you to get Kono and Adam to Doris' safe house outside of Kyoto, the one on Lake Biwa. The three of you will stay there until Danny and I get back."

Chin nodded, "How long do we wait?"

"If you don't hear from us in twenty-four hours then get them back home," Steve ordered.

"Boss, no…" Kono stood, leaving Adam for the moment. "This was meant to be a fact finding mission only. I thought we all agreed if this thing got too hot we'd bail, but now you're about to storm a Yakuza stronghold? You can't just…"

Steve cut her off, "If we take out Michael Noshimuri's faction, and end Sato's reign of power, then the Yakuza on Oahu fracture. Everyone scrambles for a piece of the action. Revenge for Michael's death becomes a distant memory to them as they try to build their own empires, or more likely get killed in the attempt," Steve stuffed everything back into his bag and stood, "I'm going to end this, Kono," Steve assured her. "One way or another," he motioned for Danny to follow him.

Kono knew trying to stop the stubborn man would be futile as she watched them leave. She turned to her cousin. "What's going on?" Kono demanded. "Last week we were all in agreement that this wouldn't get messy. So why does the boss sound like he's got some death wish going on?"

"You're right, I don't think he really cares if he lives or dies," Chin took a deep breath as he helped Adam to his feet. He remembered Steve's request and felt bad that he'd already said way more than he should have. "Come on, 'cuz, help me get Adam to the van. We have to get out of here."

She complied, but flashed Chin a cautionary glare. "I'll find out what's going on, you know I will."

000

"Are we even going to discuss this?" Danny finally asked as he daringly looked out the window to see nothing but clouds beneath them.

Steve checked their airspeed and positioning as they approached Kumamoto airfield. It was early morning, a slight pink line on the gray sky horizon as the last bit of sunrise dissipated into daylight. "We've already been over this, Danny. The plan is to destroy Sato and Michael Noshimuri's faction."

"By any means necessary?" Danny questioned. "Don't think I didn't notice the grenades in the back. How you manage to procure small aircraft and grenades anywhere in the world, I probably don't even want to know," his head shook. Steve didn't say anything in return and Danny sighed. "Okay, well do I need to remind you that I have a daughter I'd like to make it home to in one piece…" he instantly kicked himself for the comment. "Jeez, babe, you know I didn't mean…"

"I know exactly what you meant, Danny," Steve saved his friend from feeling uncomfortable. "And I have no intention of leaving Gracie without her father. Your job on this mission is to be a lookout, a warning system for me, nothing more than that. At the first sign of trouble you get the hell out."

Danny scoffed, "And leave you behind?"

"If that's what it takes to facilitate the mission."

"Wow, could you possibly stop speaking like a robot for a second," Danny pleaded. "Is this what you want?"

"What I want right now is for Kono to be safe," Steve responded. "That means I plan to do whatever is necessary to allow her, and the rest of you, to make it back home alive."

The detective's head shook, "No, actually what I meant was, you wanting to be dead. Because that's the way you've been talking lately, Steve. Any means necessary, one way or the other," Danny pointed out. "I know that you must be feeling… hell, I don't know how you're feeling. I only ever lost Rachel to divorce and another man. I seriously can't imagine her being dead," he admitted, "But do you honestly think that's what Catherine would want for you?"

"Don't… talk… about… Catherine."

Hearing each of those words enunciated with vehement authority caused Danny to shiver. He didn't push his friend any further, afraid of the fallout. Neither of them spoke as Steve expertly landed the small plane. They took a jeep from there and wound their way slightly north and east until they made it to Michael Noshimuri's private compound. The main building was wood, three stories at the highest point. In lieu of a castle mote, a thick concrete wall surrounded the building.

"I've got Sato's tracker bleeping from inside," Danny conveyed as he studied the tablet from his safety spot in the jeep. They'd parked it behind a copse of trees and Danny had watched his friend sprint to the building and scale the wall like Spiderman.

"I have positive ID on a dozen men from Michael Noshimuri's faction inside," Steve responded over their radio connection.

Danny nodded to himself. He knew that those men's faces were only familiar to them all due to Intel Catherine had gathered for them. But he wasn't about to bring up her name again, at least not until they were all home safe. His eyes kept faithful watch until, "Shit… we've got trouble," Danny announced. "Three guys on approach, big guns, I mean huge…"

"What's their position?" Steve asked.

"About to enter from the south," Danny sat forward, his forearms pressed against the jeep's steering wheel.

"Good."

That single word from his partner didn't do much to comfort Danny as he remained in the jeep. Seconds ticked by and turned into minutes as he maintained radio silence in case his friend was trapped. Danny was just about to ditch the tablet, the jeep's safety, and screw the whole plan in favor of going after his best buddy when the radio chirped. "Danny, start the jeep and drive around to the west end of the compound."

"What?"

"Drive, Danny!" Steve's voice grew impatient. "West!"

Danny started the vehicle and tried to keep his stomach out of his throat as he hit the gas pedal. "Okay, okay… I'm headed west," he relayed, "What am I doing? Should I be looking for something in particular? Are you done in there? What the heck is…" he trailed off when the ground shook beneath the jeep. Danny could see plumes of smoke billowing upward over the massive concrete wall. "Steve? What the hell have you done?" he kept driving as another explosion rocked the area.

The steering wheel vibrated beneath Danny's hands, the whole jeep shaking as he did his best to keep the vehicle steady. The sight ahead of him was more than he'd been expecting.

He watched as his crazy friend jumped through the glass of a third story window with a roar of flames licking his backside.

"Oh, you crazy son of a…" Danny stomped on the gas pedal.

000

"Is everything okay?" Chin asked when Kono entered the main sitting room. The worry on her face hadn't let up since they'd arrived at the safe house.

The house was modest, a kitchen, sitting area, two bedrooms and one bath. The interior was sparse, typical Japanese columns, open space, curved roof lines and tiled roofing. "Yeah, fine," she took a seat on the edge of a small emerald-green sofa across from him. "Adam is feeling a lot better. I finally got him to eat some soup and some fruit, now he's resting," Kono sighed, eyeing her cousin. "So, are you going to talk to me?" she asked. "It's been more than two days and you've barely said a few words to me."

Chin Ho shrugged, "What do you want to talk about?" He had been intentionally avoiding her, mostly so he wouldn't let anything slip about Catherine, but also to be in touch with his team members. Although the last contact they'd made was more than eighteen hours ago, which added worry to his already troubled mind.

Her eyes rolled. "You know what… Steve," Kono sighed. "And why he was so…"

The exterior side door slid open, startling both of them. They each stood and reached for weapons, ashamed that they'd let their guards down.

"I really hope this joint has some beer," Danny said as he entered the house and dropped his black duffel bag by the door.

Kono exhaled and relaxed a little. She sat her gun down and went to Danny, wrapping him up in a welcoming hug. "Where's Steve?" she asked, taking a step back.

"Danny?" Chin could see the strange look on the man's face.

Danny shook his head, "Well, he's uh…"

"He's been trying to book us five train tickets up to Tokyo so we can get home," Steve announced as he entered the house. He was immediately accosted by Kono, and nearly knocked over by her embrace. Steve winced, trying to cover up how much his right shoulder was hurting. When the woman finally let go he turned a glare upon her and Chin. "It's been thirty-six hours, what are you all still doing here?" he asked.

Chin clasped Steve's hand, "We didn't want to move Adam yet," he blatantly lied.

Steve nodded, "Uh huh."

"What happened with Sato and the others?" The four of them turned at the sound of the man's voice, seeing Adam leaning against a door frame.

"They've been taken care of," Steve replied.

"What does that mean?" Kono asked, though Adam and Chin were clearly wondering the same thing.

Danny flopped himself down on the tiny sofa where Kono had been seated earlier. "It means that Superman here," he aimed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Steve, "Tossed a few live grenades into the lion's den, jumped out of a three-story window, landed in the back of a moving jeep and also singed his shoulder," Danny concluded. "Now, about that beer…"

"It means you can finally go home," Steve dismissed Danny's beer request as he looked to Kono.

She smiled, touched that her team had done so much for her and Adam. But there was still something going on that none of them seemed willing to talk about. There was sadness behind all of their eyes that caused her heart to ache.

"Now is someone going to tell me what's going on?" Kono pleaded.

000

"How long since you finished SEAL training?" Catherine asked.

"We graduated three weeks ago," he replied. "Freddie and I have orders to be in Iraq four days from now. I guess that's one of the main reasons he wanted to be here tonight, find a little comfort before he ships out," Steve hated how ridiculous those words had just sounded. "How cliché are we?"

"A bit," she smiled. "Are you scared?"

"I don't get scared," Steve responded.

Catherine could hear an undercurrent of doubt in his tone. He was overly cocky and not at all the kind of guy she imagined falling for. But there was more to him, layers she felt might take years to uncover. "I get scared," she easily revealed. "My dad always says if you head into battle without being scared then you're a fool. He claims that true courage is a matter of being scared and still getting the job done. Using your fear to drive you forward, not hold you back."

"I have a feeling I'm going to like your dad," he replied, sifting through a sea of emotions she'd brought forward with her words. "When my mom died I felt like I had to give up being scared. My dad was pretty much a mess, and my little sister, Mary… she was so young. I couldn't be scared. I couldn't let my emotions show because they needed me to be the strong one. I guess I've been doing that ever since," Steve realized.

"You know what scares me most?" her question was almost a whisper. "Losing my family, the people I love."

He wasn't exactly sure why, but Steve felt like there was more to what she'd just said. He found himself nodding, "Me, too."

"Steve?"

He blinked away the memory, trying not to think about how scared she might've been on that flight when it crashed. Unless, as the NTSB agent had suggested, none of them had felt a thing. He pushed those thoughts away as well when he spotted Mary standing in front of him. "You okay?" she asked. "That was a stupid question," his sister immediately chastised herself. "Of course you're not okay," she sighed and glanced around the cemetery. "Why does it feel like we've spent most of our lives in cemeteries like this?"

"You didn't need to be here, Mare," he felt sick to see how miserable she looked.

The bright shiny sun overhead wasn't helping matters, Steve thought as he stood in the cemetery with his dress whites on.

He always liked it best when it rained at funerals, which seemed to be the case more often in movies. Not that any amount of rain could make him feel much worse at the moment.

"She was my friend, too," Mary responded. "She sent me an email about a week and a half ago, the last one… there were pictures of Scott Hamilton and Brian Boitano attached to it. And she mentioned getting to meet Evan Lysacek in person. I was so jealous."

"Who is Evan Lysacek?" Steve asked.

Mary actually laughed a little. "Figure skater, men's Olympic gold medalist in Vancouver 2010," she explained, as if it should've been obvious. "Catherine said the next time I visited we'd re-watch the figure skating coverage from this year. I was looking forward to it. She really seemed to care about me, you know? I would write her these long emails about mom and she always responded and made things seem like they'd be okay. She treated me like a sister," Mary's voice croaked.

Steve pulled his sister in for a hug. He kissed the top of her head. "Thanks for being here, Mare," he whispered, finally realizing his sister was right where she needed to be.

She broke away to walk with Kono and Adam toward the service, but Steve remained rooted to the spot he'd found beneath a small tree. Even though he was trying to stay just out of the melee of people, they all seemed to gravitate toward him, including a teenager who approached with her father. "Steve," Wendy Flay didn't hesitate as she approached him, her hand outstretched in a means to make physical contact with him. They exchanged a quick shake of hands as her father came to stand with them.

"Mike Flay," her father said as he extended his right hand. "I only spoke to Catherine that first night when she took the girls out shopping. Seemed very professional, a nice lady. I know my daughter's certainly thought a lot of her."

Any other time, shaking the hand of one of his favorite singers would've put Steve in a great mood. Today he was just thankful of all the nice things being said about Catherine. Even by those she'd barely known. "I know she cared about your daughters a great deal," Steve glanced around. "Where is Molly?" he looked to Wendy.

"Molly said she didn't want to be here today, I'm sorry," the younger Flay girl replied. "She hasn't let anyone other than me get close to her like she let Catherine, not since our mom died. Molly gets depressed like our mom used to and…"

"Wendy, he doesn't need to know that. We should go sit," Mike Flay was a bit abrupt as he ushered his daughter away.

Steve didn't know the girls very well aside from their one self-defense session, but hearing Wendy talk about her sister caused him considerable concern. His worry for the teenager was momentarily pushed aside when he spotted David Rollins approaching him. Catherine's father looked much older than the last time Steve had seen him. He wasn't sure if it was just the years or maybe the recent loss. Steve stood at attention, a salute given automatically.

"At ease," the Rear Admiral instructed after his own quick salute. "I'm so sorry this is how we all managed to be together again, son," David relayed. "I remember when we met years ago, Catherine was nervous about how I'd react to her dating a Navy man. She was always a little bit spoiled, though, never could seem to say no to her, even when it came to her dating. But she was a good kid. So smart. And funny. Of course I always teased her about being a smart aleck," he chuckled softly. "But she was my little warrior princess…"

He paused a moment and Steve could see he was struggling to find the right words, something more on his mind. "After we lost Ben I think… I think Catherine was always under the impression that she needed to play the role of both daughter and son, probably why she joined the Navy."

"With respect, sir, you're wrong," Steve dared to say. "Catherine didn't even tell me about Ben until a few months ago, but she did tell me the first night we met that she'd joined the Navy because of you. She admired the work you did and she looked up to you. You were her hero, sir."

David took Steve's hand and shook it briefly before he stepped away.

Catherine's mother was there waiting behind her ex-husband. She approached Steve with a motherly hug, hanging on to him for quite a while.

Elizabeth Jacobson stood an inch or two shorter than Catherine, slight and still youthful looking. She was a lot like Steve imagined Catherine looking twenty years in the future.

"I was so glad when she left the Navy," Elizabeth told him. "Please, don't take that the wrong way. I know the Navy is important to both of you. I know she loved it and I admired her commitment. Catherine did great work for the Navy, but I always wanted her to take on something new, different from the path of her father. I guess I also selfishly hoped for some grandchildren one day," she revealed. "Always figured that would be with you, Steven." She took a breath, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I've upset you, haven't I?"

"We're all upset today," he replied. "It's okay, ma'am."

She pressed her hand against his cheek for a moment, her tears flowing freely. "The only thing worse than burying a child, is burying two children."

Steve watched as Catherine's step-father, Ted, took his wife's hand and guided her toward the front row of chairs that were set up graveside.

A man, who looked rather like Ted, though younger, approached. "Hank Jacobson," he introduced with an outstretch hand. "Ted's youngest son… Catherine's step-brother," he did his best to clarify. "My older brothers couldn't get away. Neither of them really gave Catherine much of a chance to… well, we were all adults when our parents married. It was a bit strange for us. Catherine was on a forty-eight hour leave in order to attend the wedding. I remember trying to talk to her that day, commiserate or… well, she wasn't very receptive."

"She could be a bit…" Steve shrugged. "Hard to crack sometimes."

Hank nodded. "I tried again at the few family gatherings she made it to, but Catherine always managed to keep things impersonal. She talked about work mostly. I didn't get a chance to really know her, and I'm sorry for that. About a year ago I learned about Ben's death, Elizabeth mentioned it to me kind of out of the blue. But I guess that's why Catherine kept her distance form me. Maybe I reminded her too much of what life could've been with a brother."

The man quietly took his leave after that.

When young Grace approached, Steve sucked in a breath. She wore a light-blue dress, standing out from the crowd of mourners. He squatted to greet her.

Grace hugged him tightly, arms locked around his neck. "I know you're supposed to wear black to funerals, but I thought Aunty Catherine would like my blue dress better. I wore it special for her. I know it was her favorite color," Grace could see her uncle struggling, trying to say something. "You miss her a lot. I miss her, too, so does daddy. We talked about her for a long time last night. At first it made us cry, but then it made us happy to remember her. We were all lucky because we got to know her.

Steve hugged the girl again. "You're right, Gracie," he whispered to her, "We are."

Danny eyed his friend as Steve stood up. "Catherine's parents asked us all to sit up front with them. Kono and Mary, Adam and Chin are already there."

"I'll join you in a few," Steve said as he remained standing by the tree while everyone else took their seats.

In the second row more friends had gathered in Catherine's honor, Kamekona and his cousin, Wendy and her father, Max and Sabrina. Duke and Grover were there, as well as the Governor. Steve ended up staying by the tree, watching from a distance as the Navy padre spoke a few words. There was one person noticeably missing from the gathering. He scanned the large crowd, but there was no sign of Billy Harrington anywhere.

Steve dismissed the man's absence when Catherine's father stood up to address the gathering.

"When Catherine was ten-years-old I took her on a hunting trip with me," David Rollins began. His uniform was crisp and clean, a stalwart Navy man. But a happy smile was etched across his features as he spoke about his daughter. "Her mother was very against it, but I was sure Catherine could handle it. I taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow on that trip. In just two days she got good enough to hit acorns off a tree stump from a distance of fifty feet."

The man beamed proudly. "On our last day of the trip I thought she was ready for real prey. We came across a rabbit in a small clearing. He was perched out in the open, nibbling on some grass in front of an old fir tree. I encouraged Catherine to take the shot and she did. Her arrow imbedded into the tree about an inch above the rabbit, never even spooked the little guy. I thought Catherine would be disappointed but she turned to me and said…"

David Rollins' smile faltered a little. "I could've killed him, daddy, but then I realized I shouldn't. He's not doing anything wrong. You told me you only had to kill someone when they did something wrong," he recited her words. "For her eleventh birthday I gave her a necklace with a small golden arrow on a delicate chain. I told her she would always be my warrior princess, because she'd learned the most important lesson that day in the woods, which is that a true warrior knows when to fight and when to walk away from a fight."

His eyes fell upon the flag draped over her casket. "I love you, princess," her father concluded.

Steve watched as Elizabeth and David embraced after that. He hated that the first time her parents had been in the same place in years was at her funeral. Steve felt it should've been a holiday, or a wedding, or the birth of their first grandchild. His hands balled into fists as he thought about everything that could've been, that should've been and never would be. It only helped to fuel his anger, and his sense of helplessness.

"Aren't you going to go over there… say something about Catherine?"

He spun around and faced one person he hadn't expected to show at Catherine's funeral. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for Catherine," the woman replied, "No matter how you may feel about me right now, she was… I really liked her," Doris let him know. "I'm so sorry she's gone. Steve, I…"

"Don't, please," he dismissed her sentiments, his irritation growing, "Please do not stand there and give me some version of a, I'm your mother and I know what you're going through sympathy speech. You don't know what I'm going through," Steve's words squeezed past gritted teeth. "You never stuck around for this part. You left, mom. You left dad and me and Mary. You say it was out of love, out of some duty to protect us, but I don't buy any of that. You stay when you love someone," he declared.

"You stay with them," Steve continued. "You stay and you tell them the truth; all the truths, even the ones you think are insignificant. She lied to me, Catherine kept your secret for you but she eventually told me. And I lied to her, too, but I came clean and neither one of us walked away. That's what love is, mom. Not just the good stuff, the easy stuff, but all of it, good and bad. You work through all the bad shit and you come… you come home to each other," he felt tears welling.

"That's what Catherine and I eventually learned," Steve sniffed them back. "We had that in the end, so just… if you can't promise to stay put for good then just leave now and don't bother coming back again," he sighed, shaking his head. "Mary doesn't need you coming and going."

"And what do you need, Steve?" Doris asked.

"I don't need you at all," he replied without hesitation, "Even the truth from you isn't worth it to me anymore."

Doris nodded, turned and walked away.

He was already exasperated enough when he spotted Billy and An walking across the grass, headed toward the service. Steve willed them to keep walking past him, but he wasn't that lucky. "You want to be here for the service, that's fine, Billy. But don't talk to me right now," he warned.

"Steve, I just want you to know…"

"The only thing I want to know from you is, where were you?" Steve snarled.

"My flight back from Russia literally just landed a half hour ago, I had to change and…"

Steve scoffed, "Not today, not now… where were you when Catherine needed you?" he demanded. "You're her partner, Billy. You were a Navy officer, we toured together. You never leave your partner behind. Never!" his voice rose. "Eighteen years in the Navy, she barely needed more than a few stitches. Four months working with you and she winds up dead. She was your partner, Harrington. Where the hell were you?!"

"Commander," Billy tried to appease the man as he squeezed An's hand. "I can't even begin to imagine what you must think of me right now. I can only begin to tell you how sorry I am. Catherine… I wasn't able to be there with her that morning. But I had someone cover for me, and you know Catherine, she said she had it under control. It was just supposed to be her escorting the ambassador and her family to an ice skating event and… I…"

Steve felt his fist connect with Billy's jaw before he even realized what was happening.

"Hey, whoa!" Danny was there to push his friend away from Billy. He'd been worried when Steve hadn't joined them, had been glancing over his shoulder a few times to check on the man. Danny had done his best not to draw attention when Doris had been there, but when he'd seen Billy approach Danny had gotten a bad feeling. "Steve, this isn't the way to…" he could see his friend still fuming. Danny faced Harrington. "You need to walk away."

Billy pressed a finger against his split lip and nodded, taking An by the hand again as they moved closer to the service.

"I can't do this, Danny," Steve grimaced as he flexed his fingers.

"This is Catherine's funeral," Danny replied. "You're in uniform, and punching Billy… this isn't like you. You'd never dishonor Catherine like this."

"Dishonor her?" he scoffed. "Do you even know what's in that casket, Danny?" Steve asked, looking his friend in the eye. "Do you?"

Danny's head shook.

"Not much, not very damn much," Steve let him know. "This isn't what she wanted. Not all of this ceremony. She told me. She stood in this very cemetery months ago and told me this isn't what she wanted. But because I'm not family I have no say in it. Burial at sea, an islander funeral… that's what she wanted, Danny, not this. If she really is dead then she'd be pissed right now about this…" he waved a hand across the air between them. "I can't stay here."

Danny watched his friend walk away. Watched as Steve's whole body flinched when the volley salute began to fire.

But all he could really concentrate on was one thing. One word his friend had used that worried him.

If.

000

Steve pushed the front door open, stepped inside and flicked on a light.

He kicked the door with his foot and it slammed closed. Trooper came rushing in from the back room, obviously startled by the noise. She trotted over to Steve and sniffed at his shoes for a moment then scurried up the stairs. Steve rested his head against the door, not wanting to step another foot forward into the empty house. His eyes closed and he inhaled with difficulty, exhaled with a sob caught halfway up his throat.

The dog's paws gently scritch-scratching against the wooden stairs caught his attention and reopened his eyes.

Trooper was seated in front of him again, something held in her mouth.

His heartbeat quickened as he squatted in front of the canine. Steve grasped the well-worn flip-flops from the dog's mouth. They were his favorite old pair that Catherine kept trying to get him to toss out. As he remained squatted in front of the yellow Labrador, sandals in his hand, Catherine's voice bombarded his thoughts.

Cowboy was the greatest dog. I taught him how to greet my dad at the door with slippers in his mouth… Trooper, look who just got home, what do we do when Steve gets home? Do you remember? I'm trying to teach her something, but she hasn't quite grasped it yet.

"She taught you this trick, didn't she?" Steve's heart constricted as he stood, the damned flip-flops falling from his grasp onto the floor. "She taught you to bring me those when I got home," the realization made him sick to his stomach. He stumbled forward, feeling like he couldn't catch his breath. His right hand balled into a fist again and this time he punched the wall, feeling his bones hit wallboard, the crack and crunch. The reverberation caused a hanging picture to wobble and then fall onto the floor.

Steve looked down at it, broken glass crisscrossing the ship. The picture of the aircraft carrier Grace has given Catherine for her retirement.

His knees gave out and he sunk to the floor. Tears fell freely, rolling down his cheek and dropping onto the picture.

Trooper trotted over, her military replica dog tag IDs clacking as she stopped beside him. Her muzzle nudged his chin, rough tongue softly licking at the tears against his cheek.

"What the hell are we supposed to do without her, girl?" Steve whispered.

000

They continued to sway, even though the music had ended.

"The dance is over," he finally said, the words whispered in her ear. Steve was amused by the way her head had come to rest against his shoulder. After how prickly she'd been with him upon first meeting, Steve figured he never stood a chance trying to crack her outer shell. But nearly three hours later she was still dancing with him. "We've been dancing without music for about twenty minutes," Steve let her know. "The DJ is gone, everyone's already left."

Her head lifted, a small blush rising to her cheeks. "So embarrassing, why didn't you say something sooner?" Catherine let go of him and took a deep breath before turning away. She headed back to retrieve her purse from the table where she'd been seated earlier.

He followed her.

"I'm sorry I got all emotional on you earlier," she apologized. "You don't seem the type to have deep meaningful conversations, so… I hope I didn't…"

"Dinner," Steve blurted out the word.

She stared at him for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. "What was that?"

"I have a few more days before I leave for Iraq; have dinner with me tomorrow night?" Steve realized the words sounded more like a demand and he mentally kicked himself for having all the charm of a sea-sickness bag. That wasn't normally the case, but something about her flustered him. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" he finally asked.

Catherine nodded, "I could do dinner."

She'd turned away and was headed for the door before he realized something important. "Wait, I don't even have your number!" he shouted across the dance floor.

Catherine turned to face him, a slightly mischievous glint in her brown eyes. "Steve McGarrett, you're a Navy SEAL, right? Elite special operations force, trained for combat at sea, in air and on land. I'm pretty confident you'll be able to figure out how to find me if you really want to."

"Yes," Steve nodded as she remained standing there, grinning at him. "I'll find you, Catherine Rollins," he promised. "But I have serious doubts about us making it to dinner."

"We'll see about that," she winked before disappearing.

A heady scent of ocean saltiness wafted through the dark space.

But she couldn't be sure if the smell was real or some distant olfactory memory.

Everything about her existence the last few hours, or very possibly days - she couldn't be sure which – had felt excruciatingly fuzzy. Most of her memory since leaving the aircraft was rather dark, much as the space she was imprisoned at the moment. In fact, only the gentle sway of the ocean rocking the boat was something she could conclude with absolute positivity as being real. It was a sensation she'd come to know quite well over the years.

She rolled onto her right side, the softness of a large plush mattress beneath her.

But the metallic clack of handcuffs clasped about her right hand negated any comfort the mattress could provide.

"Are you comfortable?" a voice asked from somewhere above her.

Her eyes opened wider, taking a long time to focus in the dark room. She was still groggy, half asleep and a bit sick to her stomach. As she sat up and swung both legs over the side of the bed, she felt other sensations return. Pain being the biggest of them all. Her shoulder ached where she'd been stabbed, but it was mostly just a dull discomfort. A non-stop throbbing in her left hand was a sensation that seemed to echo in her head.

"The sedative we've been putting in your food is mild," a second voice spoke into the darkness, "Herbal. It shouldn't be harmful in any way. It might upset your stomach, though. You can tell me if that's the case, I'll change it for you. We want your compliance, we don't want you hurt."

"At least not yet," the first voice added. "Today seemed like a fitting day to begin."

"Begin what?" she managed to squeeze the words past her parched lips.

Even with very little light, she could tell the space was different than the one she'd been in during her last bout of consciousness. The handcuffs were different as well, seeming to have a chain connected, giving her the ability to move around. She immediately stood and took a few steps, her legs a little wobbly. Although her sight still wasn't great, she used her right hand to probe the sore left one. Something thick and soft was covering most of her hand. A bandage, she guessed.

"What…" her lips were dry and cracked as she spoke. She'd eaten and drunk some water, but never enough to make her feel full or hydrated.

A bright light suddenly filled the room, causing her to close her eyes again.

"Compliance," was the only word she heard.

The only good thing about her dulled sense of sight at the moment was that she could tell the difference between the two voices. The first one spoke with a definite hint of malice and doom in every word. The second voice was distinctly meeker, hesitant; maybe even a little remorseful. Knowing she needed to face them if there was any hope of escape, she opened her eyes again. Her eyelids held post at half-mast until she could stand the light.

It was enough visibility to make out a large TV screen built into the wall across from the bed she'd been lying in. In fact, there was now enough light to see much more of the space, which turned out to be rather elaborate. There were gold-hued silky linens on the massive bed in the suite, hard polished cherry wood floors, and even some very opulent fabric window coverings. But she knew all of it was nothing more than a gilded cage.

She finally focused on the screen long enough for recognition to sink in, "You?" she felt like she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"Hello, Catherine," the figure spoke in a tone she recognized as being the first voice, the irritated one.

Catherine swallowed a lump in her throat. Steve had been so worried that her stalker was Wo Fat, but she'd dismissed his fears. Both of them had even started to think maybe the stalker had given up. She never could've suspected the person on screen, realizing their presence was worse than a sucker punch to the gut. A second person stepped into the frame and her heart sunk further. They were about the last two people in the world she imagined knowing one another. "I don't understand what's going on?"

"This is about justice," the lead voice replied. "For what the McGarrett family took from ours."

"Ours?" that pluralization of the word struck her as odd. She remembered the notes Steve had told her about and recited for her. They'd only mentioned a single reference to a past family wrong, not multiple families - unless he'd remembered wrong, or unless she'd remembered wrong.

She couldn't quite trust anything at the moment, least of all her short-term memory.

Catherine knew she needed to focus on the present if she ever hoped to figure the past out.

The first figure on screen looked vindictive, almost crazed with rage, not at all how she remembered them being before. The other person seemed scared, or nervous, maybe a little of both. And something in the second person's eyes also spoke of remorse. Catherine had a feeling that was the person she needed to try appealing to first. "I'm sure whatever happened it wasn't intentional. Steve is a good person," she defended, "Mary's still just a kid in so many ways. I only met John McGarrett once, but I can't imagine him being behind anything…"

"He is very guilty," the lead person retorted, "But he's not the only one with blame."

"Doris then," Catherine spoke the woman's name with a mixture of feelings ranging from distain to understanding. She still hated how Doris had hurt Steve, John and Mary by lying to them. But part of her understood the woman had done it thinking it was the only way to protect her family.

With a brief nod, the leader smiled softly. "The McGarrett's took important parts of our families from us, split us up. You know what that's like, don't you, losing family? I know losing your brother, Ben, was difficult for you and your mother. It eventually split your family up, didn't it?"

"What do you want from me?" Catherine asked, having no desire to drag the precious memory of her dead brother into the matter.

"I have simple terms. I want the McGarrett family to suffer a loss like I suffered. I want them to know that their actions have consequences, to know they are responsible for what will happen to you here. Our notes to Steve McGarrett were not very well thought out; a bit emotional, I have to admit. One even promised you might be returned at some point. But our families were never afforded that same courtesy," the person spat with venom born of revenge.

"You're messing with the wrong people," Catherine replied. She knew it was probably useless at best to argue with someone so dead set on vengeance. But the one thing she truly believed in was the power of her friends and family, "I've been here for days, haven't I? That means Steve knows I'm missing. He and Five-0 are probably already searching for me. I know what that team is capable of. It's doubtful they'll stop until they find me, dead or alive."

The person on screen actually laughed, though it was a mirthless sound, "You have no idea how true those words are."

"This won't work," Catherine responded. "Using me against the McGarrett family won't work. I'm not family to them."

"Nice try, Catherine. But I know you don't believe that any more than I do," the lead abductor scoffed. "You're very much a part of their family, the McGarrett family and the Five-0 family. There's a Hawaiian word for it, 'ohana, isn't that right?" the figure nodded with confidence. "Although… maybe you are right after all. There is another way we could make this plan work. Mary McGarrett, Steve's little sister… oh, she would certainly make a very good…"

"No!" Catherine immediately protested, seeing in the person's eyes that they'd been expecting exactly that reaction from her. "Don't you dare touch Mary," she growled, knowing they'd gotten her off that plane somehow, which meant they could probably have Steve's sister under their command even easier. She had faith that Mary and her friends back on Oahu would help Steve get over her loss eventually, given enough time. But Catherine knew there was no way he could come back from losing his little sister.

"Does that mean you agree to stay with us?" the person asked, a small smile upturning their lips, "Do you agree to do everything we ask of you?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "But it doesn't matter, Steve will find me," her confidence remained, "You can't stop him from looking for me no matter what I agree to."

"Actually," the voice on screen wore a confident grin, "I know for a fact Steve won't find you, because he's not looking for you. No one is looking for you."

Catherine had learned enough during her time in the Navy to understand how a captor tried to get prisoners of war to talk. Prey on their vulnerabilities, take away everything they held dear; make them think there was no hope, "You're lying."

"No, I can assure you I'm not," they didn't let up. "No one is coming for you because they've already buried you, Catherine."

"You can't bury someone who's not there," she scoffed.

The figure smiled again. "A part of you was; the one small part I took to make your death real."

Finally remembering the throb of her left hand, Catherine looked down at it. The light from the TV monitor was enough to see the bandages wrapped around her fingers and wrist. She could feel sensation in her hand, bend her wrist even, but something wasn't quite right. "What did you do?" Catherine tore at the bandages, unraveling them as swiftly as she could.

"You really should leave that," the somewhat kinder voice warned. "You haven't had time to heal fully. The herbs should help, though, as well as eating and rest."

Realization slowly slipped across Catherine's surprised face as she made it down to her flesh. It hurt to wiggle her fingers but she made the effort, even though it was plain to see one was missing, "You cut off a finger?" for some reason that seemed odd to her, "Who will believe I'm dead based simply on a finger?"

The TV screen blinked, the two figures replaced by a news broadcast.

Catherine watched and listened to all of the details about the un-survivable airplane crash. Tears pricked her eyes as the monitor revealed her captors again. She thought about the ambassador and her family, her young son and daughter. "Why would you do that? How could you? You… I trusted you," her words were aimed at the leader.

"I needed it to be convincing, didn't I?" the voice asked, though clearly not intending for her to respond. "And given the crash circumstances, I only needed a small bit of solid DNA that not even the esteemed Dr. Max Bergman could dispute. Face it, Catherine; your life has been forfeit. It now belongs to me… to us," a hand was waved between the two of them on screen. "Your mother was very distraught at your funeral, as was your father. They believe it. Now you must accept it. You're dead."

The screen went black, leaving Catherine in the dark again.

Seconds later a door opened, light streaming into the room. A man walked toward her, no one she recognized. He was tall and wore a gun against his hip.

He didn't speak as he pulled the weapon, silently warning her not to make a move against him. He used his free hand to un-cuff her wrist before backing out of the room.

Another few seconds passed before the window blinds began to retract. Three sides of the space were adorned with several large windows.

Catherine rushed toward one of them, not caring how much the sunlight hurt her weary eyes. The view outside was of a clear blue sky and an equally blue ocean, nothing but water in every direction she turned, no spec of land in sight. "You'll gain new freedoms a little at a time," a voice filled her room again, "As long as you continue to obey."

She watched as several men dressed in dark suites roamed the exterior of the boat, all of them carrying weapons.

"Gilded cage, indeed," Catherine muttered to herself.

Another man entered the room and sat down a platter of food. When he left Catherine didn't care how upset her stomach had been before, she was hungry and thirsty.

There was a large container of water, one glass, and also a plate with rice, chicken and steamed vegetables.

The only utensils offered were a set of very blunt-tipped wooden chopsticks.

For some reason the sight of those chopsticks caused her to break down. "I'm so sorry, Steve," she whispered.

000

"I'll find you, Catherine Rollins," he promised. "But I have serious doubts about us making it to dinner."

"We'll see about that," she winked before disappearing.

"Wakey, wakey, Rip Van Winkle… and your little dog, too," Danny joked as he attempted to shake his partner awake.

"Go away," a muffled voice called from the bed.

Danny knew more details about his partner's life than he sometimes wished. He knew that Catherine and Steve had their own sides to the bed. It was pretty evident from the two nightstands. Steve's housing a lamp, cell phone and a watch at the moment. Catherine's was covered with a lotion bottle, a hairbrush, lip gloss, diamond-stud earrings and a book. As Danny glanced around the room he spotted a lot of things he figured to be Catherine's, and it was clear Steve was sleeping on her side of the bed.

The detective gave Trooper a soft pat as he sighed, worried about his friend living in a sanctuary dedicated to Catherine. "Come on, Steve-0, time to get up. I filled Trooper's water and food dishes for you so all you need to do is throw some clothes on. I've got coffee and super sugary pastry in the car, and I'm not afraid to use them."

Steve kept his face pressed against Catherine's pillow, upset that her scent was beginning to fade. "Go away," he mumbled again.

"Nope, sorry," Danny sighed, feeling a little bad for being so pushy. "Can't do that, babe. I have orders. And as your self-appointed grief fairy godfather, I command you get your bony butt out of bed. Isn't that how they do it in the Navy? Rise and shine, soldier!"

"Danny, you suck as a drill Sargent," Steve finally lifted his head.

"Get up anyway; we have somewhere to be," Danny said.

"Governor gave me three weeks off, Danny, more if I need it. It's only been a week," he protested even as he sat up and leaned over to scratch behind Trooper's left ear.

"I know all that, but this isn't about work," the detective replied. "This is about 'ohana," Danny clarified with a serious tone. "I'll be in the car waiting for you."

Danny sat for a good long while, but he was glad when Steve finally arrived as instructed. He knew his friend was in a bad way when Steve didn't even balk at being regulated to the passenger seat. He was just grateful Steve had gotten dressed, and even showered. "So, how has Trooper been coping with Catherine's loss?"

"She's a dog, Danny. She eats, sleeps and poops. She's fine," Steve conveyed.

"I doubt that," Danny knew that animals grieved as much as humans, sometimes more. Although he wasn't sure anyone could grieve more than Steve was at the moment. "And how is your eat, sleep and poop routine going?"

Steve sighed, looking out the window. Silence filled the space between them as Danny drove them. They arrived at a small stretch of beach that not many people knew about. It was mostly secluded, the water calm and a shade of turquoise that almost seemed unnatural. A stand of trees lined the parking area and they spotted Grace as she came running through them. "Uncle Steve, you're here," the girl wrapped her arms around him.

"Gracie, what's wrong?" Steve was alarmed, recalling what Danny had said about family.

"Nothing's wrong," Grace looked up at him with tender brown eyes. "I heard Danno talking to Uncle Chin the other day about something you said, how Aunty Catherine didn't want the kind of funeral we had for her last weekend," the girl took Steve's hand and guided him down to the beach, Danny following. They made their way through the trees and emerged onto white sand. "Danno said she'd wanted this," the girl waved a hand at the ocean. "So I asked if we could do that for her, but mostly for you."

The beach wasn't the most beautiful thing Steve saw there, though. His family was - Chin and Leilani, Kono and Adam, Mary, Danny and Grace, even Max and Sabrina.

All their surf boards had been aligned in the sand, each of them adorned with a flower lei.

Kono moved down the line, placing a lei around everyone's neck until she reached Steve. She kissed his cheek softly as she positioned his lei. "For Cath," she whispered.

He followed his family into the water, paddling out to a distant spot off shore. They formed a rather small circle and held hands. Steve turned his eyes upon the youngest member of their family. "Grace reminded me the other day that I should be glad for the time I had with Catherine," he didn't bother swiping the tears in his eyes. "I remember when I was a little boy, asking my dad why people had to die. He told me death was only of the flesh, that the dead were always with us in memory and in our hearts," Steve conveyed.

One by one they gently placed their lei atop the water, setting them free in Catherine's honor.

When they returned to shore, Danny kept a close watch over his friend. He detected a small lump beneath Steve's dark blue t-shirt that he hadn't noticed before.

"What is that?" Danny asked, pointing at the chain around Steve's neck.

Steve pulled it free and revealed the sapphire ring hanging on a chain along with one of Catherine's Navy ID tags. "I know what you're probably thinking," he guessed. "Sam's story was just that, a story. I should accept that Catherine is gone, and wearing this ring won't bring her back. We buried all we could," Steve took a breath. "And Grace thoughtfully organized this ceremony for me today," he sighed. "But she… Catherine didn't walk away after that first dance, Danny. I won't walk away either."

Danny's brow bunched, "You lost me at the end there."

"I'm talking about the beginning, Danny," Steve took a deep breath. "The night Catherine and I met we danced for hours. You know I don't dance. When have you seen me dance?"

"Never," Danny was able to answer quickly.

"And we talked," Steve remembered, "I'd almost forgotten all the personal things I told her that first night. Later, after she was gone and I was alone in my bunk trying to fall asleep, it felt like she was still there with me. I don't mean that in any sort of dirty way," he stressed. "But all I could think about was how good she'd smelled, how right she'd felt in my arms while we danced. The teasing honesty of her words, her smile… it seemed like we were still dancing."

"You're not making much sense, babe," Danny pointed out.

He eyed the ring again, "It just feels like our dance isn't over yet," Steve concluded.

---

To be continued…