You Owe Me

by njborba

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

19. Chapter 19

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

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You Owe Me
Part 19

By
N. J. Borba

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The room was mostly dark. A warm breeze blew in through the open window above his bed.

He pressed his chin against her bare belly, gazing up at her as if she might disappear on him if he closed his eyes, "I've missed you."

Catherine smiled, touched that he'd just admitted such a serious emotion to her. "It's only been a few weeks." She was overly relaxed, lying on her back, thinking about how she'd known him for years and this was the first time she'd actually been in his bed. They'd only ever been together before in scattered hotels around the world, one bed and breakfast, and the house boat in Florida which they'd shared with Freddie and Kelly.

"Four weeks, which is a month," his lips caressed her belly button, "And what I meant was… I've really missed you."

"Oh…" she moaned enthusiastically, turning onto her left side to face him. Catherine pressed both her hands against his lower back. They slowly smoothed their way downward over his butt as she hooked her right ankle behind his knee to help draw him in closer. It had been a lot longer than four weeks since they'd had sex. Steve's mischievous grin brightened the room's darkness, clearly appreciative of her efforts. "But you've already shown me how much you've missed me… twice," Catherine teasingly wriggled against his ticklish fingertips which glided slowly – torturously - along her inner thigh.

Steve stopped his actions momentarily and looked up at her, "It was three times, how quickly you forget… wall, floor, and finally the bed," his tight-lipped smile returned.

Her eyes closed as he resumed his previous course, "The wall barely counted," she whispered.

"It counted for me, can't help that it's been so long," Steve casually defended, his focus clearly on other things. His fingers diverted toward a spot that he knew had driven her wild on more than one occasion, "Maybe this time I make it count just for you," he offered.

Catherine's only utterance as her eyes rolled back into her head was an unbidden, "Oh, God!" a sentiment repeated many times thereafter.

A few hours later, after she'd woken to use the bathroom, Catherine returned to his bed.

She settled back down beneath the sheet, belly against the mattress, arms clutching a pillow, head turned to him, mesmerized by the calmness on his face as he slept. She wondered how their new beginning would play out in the future, but she didn't want to think about it too much. She just wanted to live in the moment for as long as she could. One hand reached out, palm sliding along the tattoo on his left bicep. She watched his eyes open, "Sorry… didn't mean to wake you," Catherine whispered.

"What time's it?" he sleepily asked, not bothering to turn his head toward the alarm clock he knew was nearby.

Her left hand reached out and grasped a cell phone on the bedside table, "Late…" Catherine realized, noting the time on his cell, "Or early," she reasoned, "Go back to sleep."

He shifted closer to her, their noses nearly touching, "I'm glad you made it back to Oahu," Steve whispered.

"Me, too," Catherine smiled even as she closed her eyes. His cell phone slipped from her hand, falling onto the bed, forgotten as she let herself relax again.

"There's so much I want to show you," he reached for her.

She felt his fingers trace along the soft ridges of her spine, his breath warm against her shoulder. He was more clingy than she could ever remember him being before, "Pretty sure you've showed me everything you have to offer at least three… several times," she was too sleepy to remember the correct count.

Steve chuckled softly and kissed her shoulder, "I was talking about the island."

"Really?" her drowsy tone remained dubious, "Because I think I saw more of the island the first time I was here and that was only a three hour visit. I've been here eight hours and so far all I've seen is the inside of your bedroom… every single inch of it."

"I love when you talk dirty," Steve took hold of Catherine's waist and gently turned her onto her back, one hand moving upward to cup her left breast as he gently pressed against her side, "Everything I have to offer, huh? I've got plenty more to offer…"

She pushed his hand back to her waist, "Slow down there, sailor. Pace yourself. My ship doesn't leave for a few days," Catherine reminded him, "I'll still be here tomorrow and I'd like to be able to walk. Right now I'm actually planning to get some sleep," she kissed him quickly then flipped onto her stomach again, hugging the pillow with one arm as the other rested against his bare chest. Her eyelids grew heavier, closing with ease. But her thoughts wouldn't shut down as easily, "Steve, you still awake?" she whispered.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, "Thought you were going to sleep."

There was a long stretch of silence before she dared to ask, "Do we have more in common than just sex?"

His eyes came open fully, "What kind of question is that?"

"One you haven't answered yet," Catherine felt him shift again, facing her. She opened her eyes to see him right where she knew he'd be.

Steve let out a slow breath.

"I know I said we could start over," she didn't allow him to answer, "And that's fine, if you want to take things not-so-seriously I'm okay with that."

He had a pretty good feeling that bringing up the topic meant she wasn't entirely okay with taking things not-so-seriously, "Cath, we have plenty of other stuff in common," Steve looked into her brown eyes, willing her to believe his words.

"Such as?" she pushed her luck with further prodding. So much for just living in the moment.

"We're both in the Navy," he stated.

Catherine smiled, actually loving his predictable side, "And… is that it?"

"That's huge, isn't it?" Steve countered, "Duty, honor, bravery, commitment… we value this country and have vowed to protect and serve it," he drove that point home. His words hit their target, seeing the way she nodded along. His hand reached for hers and he squeezed it softly, "But, no, that's not it. Family is very important to us."

"True," she nodded again.

"And our friends and coworkers, we'd do a lot to protect them all," Steve added.

Another nod, "Right again," she agreed.

"We fight for any cause we believe in, and we put our trust in humanity," Steve realized a lot of that was also linked to their Navy life. He tried to dig a little deeper, "At the end of the day we believe in good overcoming bad," he concluded.

Her eyes actually misted a little, "We do," Catherine whispered.

"And…" his goofy grin took over, "We both like to eat dinner."

"Just not together," she teased.

Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She savored the feel of him, both soft and needy, the quiet promise in his kiss that their relationship was more than just sex. "You know I have to play up my sex appeal, right?" he returned to playfulness, watching as her brows marched up her forehead, "Because if word got out I had sex appeal and a great personality, the whole package…" he whistled softly, shaking his head, "Well, the ladies wouldn't be able to keep their hands off me."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Wow, no worries on the cocky part of your winning personality."

He kissed her again, lightly, before laying his head close to hers, "I have the day off tomorrow," Steve said, trying to regain some seriousness, "We can sleep in and then…"

"And then?" Catherine had never realized quite how persistent he was.

His eyes drifted shut, "I'll show you the island," was all he proposed.

"And?" she prodded.

He chuckled, eyes reopened, fingers caressing her neck, "And we'll do whatever else you want, promise."

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, inhaling deeply, trying to remember how he felt and smelled for the days she knew lay ahead; separated again for indefinite amounts of time, "And what if you get called to work?"

"Won't happen," he insisted, "When I make a promise I keep it," Steve insisted, "Sometimes it might take me a while, but…"

Catherine regarded him closely; having a pretty good feeling she knew where his thoughts had just gone. She lightly kissed his shoulder, "You'll bring Freddie home, Steve. And I've promised to help you do that, it's just going to take some time."

"About your help, Cath…" Steve wavered, "It's too much of a risk. If the North Koreans ever got wind that you were digging into this. I don't think you should…"

"I'm pretty sure we already had the risk talk last time I was here," she cut him off. "I'm a Navy officer; I've been at risk many times. I offered to help, Steve. I'm going to help whether you like it or not, risk or not," she declared. "You know I don't need anyone to protect me, I can take care of myself."

Steve nodded as he drifted back toward sleep, slowly stroking her hair in the hopes it would calm her, "I know you can. But that doesn't mean I'll ever stop worrying about you."

She sighed as her eyes slid shut, "And I'll never stop worrying about you."

Several hours later the moonlight had been chased away by morning sun. The annoying alarm clock ring had thwarted their sleeping-in efforts. Steve had reminded her of their day off. He'd suggested they start with breakfast on the beach, hoping to have the whole day with her. She'd countered by trying to start off the day with something else entirely. But the unfortunate vibration of a phone had punctured their happy morning.

Steve could see and hear her disappointment as she held his cell phone, "There goes your day off."

He reluctantly answered the Governor's call and then crawled out of bed.

Steve placed his phone on the dresser and stood before her, completely naked, "Want to shower together?" he asked.

Catherine was tempted but shook her head, "Bad idea if you actually plan to get to work anytime soon."

Knowing she was right, he headed to the bathroom.

After a few unsuccessful minutes of trying to fall back asleep, Catherine got out of his cozy brass bed. She walked across the room to the corner near the door, found her panties and slipped them on. Then she spotted his pale blue dress shirt that lay crumped in their combined heap of discarded clothing. They'd been dressed and ready to leave for dinner the night before, but they'd never made it - same as Coronado. She scooped up the shirt, held it to her nose for a moment and inhaled. She loved how his clothing always smelled salty like the sea air. She slipped it over her shoulders and slid her arms through the sleeves.

"Looks good on you," his voice startled her a bit and he smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

"Sneaky," Catherine turned around and leaned against the door frame. The shirt hung open, barely covering her bare chest. She watched him standing there in nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair still damp, a small rivulet of water running down his chest that she restrained herself from licking off him, "Now I know what makes you such a good SEAL."

Steve made his way to the dresser, pulling out clean boxer briefs, cargo pants and a navy-blue t-shirt. He removed the towel and finished drying off before sliding the boxer briefs on; keenly aware her eyes were on him the whole time. "Cath, I promise I'll make it up to you."

Hearing his remorse made her realize his dedication to work all the more. "It's okay," she assured him.

"I still owe you dinner, right?" he dared to glance her way. The dress shirt wasn't helping ease his desire to be late meeting up with Danny, neither were her bare legs. "How about I cook you the best steak you've ever had at the most beautiful location on this island," Steve offered, shimming into the pants and pulling the t-shirt on.

Catherine could tell she was driving him crazy with the shirt, covering just enough to tempt him, "Where's that?"

"My backyard, on the beach," Steve grinned, "Does that count… if I cook?"

She walked toward him, noticing how his pants remained unfastened, the deep V of the fly revealing a narrow swath of flesh peeking out between the t-shirt and boxers. A bit of taught, tan skin she really wanted to put her lips on, "At this point I say whatever meal we eat together, no matter who cooks it, qualifies," Catherine grinned. She restrained her lips, helping zip his fly, "You know I leave the day after tomorrow."

"Case will be done before that, I'll call you," he wore a confident smile as he went to the closet, plucked a dark blue buttoned shirt off a hanger and slipped it on, rolling up the cuffs just a little. Steve grabbed his wallet and cell phone off the dresser, "You can stay if you want, shower, let yourself out," he rattled off the options while edging toward the bedroom door, "Oh…" Steve spun around, "And you should know my sister is around here somewhere. I haven't seen too much of her lately, but she can be a bit..."

Catherine shrugged off his obvious concern, "I think I can handle a sister," she was confident, "I'll probably head back to base and do some more research on Operation BFH. I didn't mention this last night because we were, well…" she didn't need to explain. "There are a few low-level threat North Korean prisoners being held in D.C.," Catherine revealed, "They want to send them to GTMO, but if we could get one or more of them released it might be just the show of goodwill to make that trade."

He smiled, loving the simple code phrase she'd come up with to talk about bringing Freddie home. Moreover, he admired her dedication and tender heart. He also admired her risks-be-damned attitude even though it still worried him. Steve leaned forward and kissed her quickly, "You know you're the best, right?"

"I do," she joked, feeling his hand against the bare skin of her waist, "But don't think flattery is going to get you out of dinner, Commander. You owe me a steak now."

That caused him to chuckle, "I promise." Steve glanced down at the shirt, "You might want to button that…" he said as his fingers slowly drifted away from her waist, "You look a little cold," Steve winked as he exited the room. "I'll see you soon, Lieutenant," his words echoed through the hall as he made his way down the stairs.

Her head rested against the doorframe for a moment, eyes closed. "Not soon enough," she whispered.

000

"Cath, fall back!"

She heard him call her name, shout her name.

Catherine listened as he yelled for her to fall back, retreat after they'd just planned to end the whole ordeal.

What she heard instead was a distinct echo from the past, "…that doesn't mean I'll ever stop worrying about you."

His actions were foolish, dropping his guard and shouting, giving the enemy her name. Of course she wasn't naïve enough to think the enemy didn't already know exactly who they both were. She caught movement out of the corner of her right eye as she turned away from the stairs. Catherine backed away, having to nearly squat beneath the low-lying underbelly of the jet. She spotted the man Steve had taken down earlier with a knife wound to the shoulder.

He'd woken up. He was sitting, a gun in hand. Clearly he'd had an extra weapon concealed on him that Steve had missed.

He spotted her in the split second she'd spotted him. He aimed his weapon.

Catherine calculated his shot and knew his aim wasn't for her. She drew her weapon and fired half a second before he did.

"Catherine!" Steve shouted again.

Her bullet expertly found the man's chest.

His bullet went wide and hit the ground somewhere near Steve's feet just as she felt Steve's hands at her waist.

"Get down," Steve's words were right in her ear now, his hands clasped roughly around her waist. She was still upset by her husband's actions and was about to tell him as much when he tackled her to the ground beside the plane.

They went down hard, one side of her head connecting with the ground, shoulders and hips taking the brunt of the fall. Steve hovered above of her, his eyes were wide, worry and regret mingled. She didn't have time to admonish him as the gunman who'd been on the stairs took a step closer to them. She raised the weapon in her hand, using Steve as cover so the man wouldn't spot her gun right away. Catherine wasn't sure how many rounds remained in her pistol. But she knew she only needed it to be one.

With quick, but careful aim, she shot at the gunman.

Once.

Twice.

And a third shot.

First bullet struck his abdomen. Second pierced his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The shots echoed through the rainforest and were followed by agitated shouts coming from inside the plane.

"Depressa!"

"Fora!"

Catherine didn't understand what they were saying but had a feeling it wasn't in her best interest to ponder it long, "Steve?" she glanced over to see he was still on the ground. He was in a crouched position, leaning a little toward the left and reaching for the pistol that had fallen out of his grip in his haste to shield her from the gunman. "We need to take out the others," Catherine insisted, taking a small step forward, "We have to get on that plane and finish…"

"No," his head shook as he stood up quickly, a grimace radiating across his face, "Retreat."

The heavy thump, thump, thump of her adrenaline-enhanced heartbeat echoed in her ears so loudly that it was difficult to hear, but she was pretty sure he'd said the word retreat again. She tried to protest, "But we agreed to…"

He took one long stride, grabbed her waist and shoved her further away from the jet, "These guys aren't playing around here, Cath; we're outnumbered."

"Yes, and we just agreed…"

"Damn it," he cut her off again, "Do you want to make it home to Evan or not?!" Steve exploded, pushing her toward the tree line, "The plan was too risky. We didn't think it through."

"No kidding…" she was pissed off, clutching her gun as he pushed her, their entire conversation boiling down to one thing in her mind, which was Steve being overprotective. Seconds ticked by and she knew the other men would emerge soon enough, the only reason they hadn't so far was probably because they were smarter than the average thug and realized they needed a plan, needed to figure out how many people had taken out their four men.

And now her and Steve's element of surprise was gone.

She tried to plead her case again, "Impulsive, dangerous plans are pretty much the norm for us, but we usually…"

"Catherine," he seethed, shoving her into the shadow of a humongous rubber tree where they'd left their packs just a short time ago. Steve lowered his voice, "If we're going to get away from these guys we need stealth, which means we need to stop talking."

"Get away?" she spoke softly, hearing the plea in his tone and seeing something in his eyes she didn't think she'd ever seen before. Genuine fear. She gingerly rubbed the side of her head that had just connected with the hard ground. The bandaged spot on her forehead from the crash was still sore as well, "Why I am the one who keeps ending up with head injuries but you're the one acting like you've got a major concussion," she was actually worried, "What's wrong with you?"

Their argument was cut off by a mechanical sound, like that of an electrical system engaging.

There were also more shouts from within the chartered jet.

Catherine took a deep breath, a split second to calm her worry, before turning and spotting the source of the mechanical sound. She quietly pointed it out to Steve.

"They're closing the stairs?" he noticed, realizing keeping quiet was futile. Steve was confused by their action, "What do they think they're going to do, fly out of here? There's no way to get that plane off the ground here, there's no runway. We're lucky I was able to put us down in one piece," he quickly remembered something else, "And they must've destroyed most of the electrical systems in there so…" Steve was left to wonder.

She realized another very important point he hadn't mentioned, "Steve, those stairs aren't automatic, at least they shouldn't be... it's a manual door," Catherine remembered from when they'd boarded, "And if they destroyed electrical systems how is it even…" her head shook, "None of this makes any sense." The two of them backed further away from the clearing, stepping deeper into the cover of trees.

A soft noise behind them, the breaking of a small twig, caused them to spin around.

Standing in the rubber tree's shadow, just a few feet away from them, was a figure they hadn't been expecting to see again.

Steve raised his gun and held it right in front of An's face.

"We need to get away from here, now," An warned them. Her dark slacks and gray t-shirt were dirty and torn, her raven hair a bit of a mess. She wore a small charcoal gray backpack over her left shoulder; one Catherine had packed with extra clothing and a passport for their female prisoner.

Catherine put one hand against Steve's gun and slowly lowered it to his side. Her eyes stayed level with An's, "What's going on?"

"No time to explain, we need to run," An replied, eyes darting toward the jet and back to them, "I'm not kidding."

"I'm not going anywhere with her," Steve shook his head, speaking to Catherine instead of An.

Still somewhat upset with him and his actions, Catherine was almost more inclined to go with An than to stay with him, "Steve, maybe we should listen to what she has to…"

"No," he cut Catherine off and finally glared at An, "Unless you plan to kill me yourself right now?"

An's head shook, hands held out to show she had no weapon on her. She didn't say another word.

"Great, then I have some work to do here," he dismissed the woman, "The first thing being to find out who these guys are," Steve eyed Catherine, "They might have identification of some sort," he knew that was a stretch, but he persisted, directing Catherine's attention toward the man who she'd subdued earlier. "Will you help me drag him back here into the trees?" Steve asked rather than dictated, realizing he was treading on thin ice where she was concerned.

He hoped she'd realize the importance of trying to figure out who they were up against.

She weighed her options before finally making a decision. Catherine extended her gun to An, "Cover us," she instructed.

Steve's eyes widened, about to stop her from handing An a weapon. But a silencing look from Catherine had him shaking his head and biting his tongue.

As soon as An took the gun from her, Catherine brushed past him. She walked cautiously across the clearing toward the guy she'd managed to take down without a weapon.

Steve trailed behind her in an attempt to hide how much pain he was in, gun in one hand, eyes vigilant. As he bent over the man with Catherine, Steve grimaced and took a deep breath. He was glad he'd worn the dark-green cargo pants as he tried to avoid eye contact with Catherine. He stuffed his gun into a thigh pocket and with his hands free he grasped the young man's underarm. Catherine took hold of the man's opposite side.

They pulled him across the clearing, his feet dragging, stopping only once they were behind the large tree again. They crouched beside the man as he began to groan.

"We really need to leave," An said upon their return, glancing toward the jet with obvious frustration.

Catherine ignored her, grabbed a couple plastic zip ties from Steve's pack and restrained the man on the ground, securing both hands and legs.

Steve searched the guy for any form of identification, wallet or passport. He came up empty, knowing he shouldn't have been surprised. Steve's body began to stiffen as he stood from the crouched position. His muscles felt tight and his leg was killing him. He actually bit the inside of his cheek to stave off the pain shooting through his leg as he noticed An was still standing nearby looking concerned. He wasn't sure what to make of her.

He reached out and freed Catherine's gun from An's grip.

"They have basic jungle fatigues and all are carrying pistols," Catherine pointed out as she stood, staring down at the young man, "Why not automatic weapons?"

The man on the ground moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"Doesn't make sense," Steve agreed. He turned to An, "Ask him what his team's mission is."

An looked annoyed with the directive, but aimed her words to the younger man as she spoke in Portuguese. The man's head shook in response.

"He's not going to talk to us," Catherine knew. "He probably…" she watched the man's mouth twitch and then his body went ridged, his hazel eyes practically bulging, "Crap," Catherine dropped to her knees and squeezed the man's mouth open. She didn't even bat an eyelash while sticking her right index finger inside his mouth and fishing around. But even before she found it his whole body relaxed, the slack of death. Catherine sighed, standing and holding a small fake porcelain tooth in one hand, "Cyanide capsule," she declared.

"Crude, but effective," Steve acknowledged. "He didn't want to be taken prisoner…" he understood the mentality but his head shook with regret and curiosity, "Who are these guys?"

An broke formation and walked up to Steve, staring him in the eye, "I don't think you understand, we need to leave now or risk dying with them."

He'd given up on hoping to shoot her and instead flashed an annoyed look at her, "Make some sense and maybe I'll consider listening. They're not all dead yet. We counted seven parachutes, which means three men are still inside that plane."

Her right hand shot up and outward as she pointed to the jet in the clearing, "Actually, there are four in there. One man left his chute in the woods. I saw it. And I've set that plane to blow up in about ten minutes," An finally revealed, "Probably less than that now. That's why we need to leave."

Steve had to admit he hadn't expected that response.

Catherine's mouth hung open in disbelief just long enough to realize she shouldn't have been surprised by An's actions any more.

She stuffed the fake tooth into her right front pocket, wiped her hands on her pants and grabbed her pack. After slinging the pack over her shoulders she knelt beside the dead man and ripped an extra ammunition clip off his belt. Then she motioned to Steve and he handed over her gun. Catherine removed the clip from the gun, revealing it to be empty, and replaced it with the full one. With that done she pushed An further into the trees. Catherine paused long enough to eye Steve.

He said nothing to her, sufficiently chastised by his wife's actions.

Steve should've guessed Catherine never would've given An a loaded weapon. He hadn't even realized how little the gun weighed until she'd taken it back, adrenaline and pain clouding his better judgment. Steve admired her more than he could ever tell her. And he felt like a huge jerk at the moment. They really had no other choice but to take An at her word. Of course trusting her in the past had seemed to garner different results, Catherine's safety on the Kappa versus his abduction by the volatile woman.

Not wasting any more time on overthinking, he grabbed his pack and they ran.

Catherine took the lead with An right behind her. Steve stayed on their six.

Tangled branches underfoot threatened to trip them up as they sprinted. The ground remained soggy and muddy from night and morning rains. Droopy palm leaves slapped against their arms and faces leaving tiny stings that were the least of their worries. Steve was almost sure they'd been running for ten minutes before he truly digested An's warning. He slowed his pace, "Hold up!" he called to the women, uncertainty seeping in again. When they finally slowed and turned to face him, Steve voiced his complaint, "It's been at least…"

The words 'ten minutes' never made it past his lips.

His doubts were blown apart as a huge explosion erupted behind them.

Steve turned his head, watching from over his shoulder as smoke began to billow up through the tree canopy.

"Guess you weren't lying this time," he muttered, realizing what An had just done. Same as she'd blown up the Kappa.

Glancing at his watch, Steve noticed only about three minutes had passed since they'd started running. "We need to keep going," he turned Catherine away from the explosion they'd just witnessed, his hands prodding her along insistently again. He'd seen a forest fire first hand once during a mission and it had been a harrowing situation. Steve barely bothered to make sure An was with them this time as they dashed toward the stream he knew was nearby.

"It shouldn't burn much," An made her presence known, her usually meek voice rising above the sound of their footsteps pounding heavily against the forest floor. "The rains last night and today gave the area enough moisture that the fire will sizzle out on its own… at least that's what I hope."

"Or you've just destroyed a good chunk more of the world's oxygen," Steve shot back.

Catherine slowed a bit, seeing Steve had fallen behind. She turning her gaze upon An as they walked, "You planned this, didn't you," it wasn't really a question as much as it was searching for confirmation. She watched An give a quick, decisive nod, "The tracker? You really did put it on that bird."

An nodded again, "I only planned it after we went down. I didn't know the plane would crash, but as soon as it did and we didn't die I knew I needed to make it appear that we had. To protect you," she insisted, "I strapped the tracker to a piece of granola bar I found in the pilot's case in the overhead bin. A very excited bird took off with it."

Catherine shook her head upon that confirmation. "So, by sending the tracker deep into the rainforest and making us follow a bird, you were actually protecting us?"

Steve overheard some of their conversation as he trailed them by a few feet, finding it hard to catch his breath. The pain shooting down his leg hurt a great deal more from running the last several minutes over uneven terrain. And his breathing was far too labored for what had been a rather short run for him. Steve spotted the stream through a patchy section of foliage. "Let's stick close to the water, just in case the fire isn't as easily defeated as you believe," he directed.

By the time they approached the bank a few minutes later, Steve felt he'd ran a marathon. He dropped his pack and leaned heavily against a large moss-covered tree to catch his breath. He lowered his head, bending over, trying to keep his grimace from her.

"Now can I see where you were shot?" Catherine asked, plopping her pack against the same tree.

He looked up and saw her standing in front of him, hands at her hips, "I never said…" Steve shook his head, "I should know better than to try and keep anything from you."

"Pretty sure we established a while ago that I'm not stupid," she replied, harkening back to when he'd kept Lawson's threatening notes a secret from her. Catherine tried not to be upset with him. She knew he'd be the sort of guy who'd try to protect her from harm as long as he was alive. Mostly she loved him for it, but sometimes she needed to remind him she wanted to protect him just as much as he wanted to protect her.

"And now you're mad at me," he easily guessed. "Catherine, I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier about being shot," Steve apologized, although she didn't seem terribly convinced of his remorse, "Look, I just didn't want to worry you." That at least got her brow to unfurrow a little, "I can't keep apologizing, and we should probably keep moving. I can walk fine, I just need to catch my breath a moment and…"

"Oh, my God," she finally responded with an exasperated groan, head shaking, hands held aloft for a moment as she stared into his stormy blue eyes, "Seriously? You can just keep walking?" disbelief tinged each note of her words, "Are you kidding me with this?" Catherine huffed before taking several slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself, arms now crossed over her chest, "You know what? I just had the most vivid vision of the future."

"You're psychic now?" he tried to joke, hoping to diffuse her anger.

Catherine nodded slowly, "Evan was eight-years-old in my vision and he'd just fallen out of an ironwood tree he'd climbed in the back yard," she paused, a smile curling her lips despite the ridiculousness of their situation and her pigheaded husband, "And his arm was dangling in an incredibly broken manner at his side, but he just looked up at me with this goofy Steve McGarrett grin and said, don't worry mommy I can just walk it off."

"That's my boy," Steve smiled while nodding, "Although he probably won't still be calling you mommy at age eight."

She groaned again before waving a hand at his waist, "Take your pants off."

"Excuse me?" his brows arched, "I think I'm the one meant to be apologizing here, not…"

Her eyes rolled, "Stop trying to joke your way out of this. I need to see how bad your wound is."

"Can I just request that one of these times maybe you could not be upset with me for being a big, over-protective, caveman husband," Steve implored, clearly stalling, "And instead, maybe… I don't know; call me crazy… but maybe you could just say: thank you for saving my life, Steve."

She only bothered to glare at him again.

He sighed in defeat, "You're never going to take another trip with me, are you?"

"Nope."

"Not even a honeymoon?"

Catherine shook her head, "Sorry, you blew it."

"Cath, really…" he shifted nervously on one foot, "I don't think it's that bad, I'm sure I could just…"

"Walk it off?" she guessed, "Yeah, I know, we already went that route," her voice was softer, giving up on being upset, realizing it was worthless. Catherine grasped his waist for a second and forcefully turned him around. She'd suspected he'd been shot after seeing him grimace several times, and she'd noticed how he'd been careful to have her walk or run in front of him. So she'd figured the bullet had hit the back of one of his legs somewhere.

"Don't laugh," Steve tried to squirm out of her hold, but she was stronger than she looked.

Her throat cleared a little. "Why would I…" Catherine grinned, "Serves you right, butthead," she settled on examining him with his pants on for the moment. Catherine took a closer look, finally noticing the blood stain on his cargo pants that didn't show much against the dark green color unless you were searching for it.

"That's a bit harsh," he winced as she prodded. "I have just been shot in the ass here… while I was protecting you."

"It's not exactly your ass," she clarified, "Looks like it entered just beneath your right butt cheek."

He glanced over to see An standing by the stream, seemingly not paying attention to them. "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" the words directed to Catherine.

"No, actually, I'm not. I'd rather you hadn't been shot at all," there was clearly still some anger lingering, "There's no exit wound," Catherine winced, knowing how much pain he was probably in. She did feel bad for him, but wasn't about to show it yet, "I think it missed anything major like bone or arteries, otherwise you probably would've passed out. Although I'm surprised you could run. Probably just hit muscle, but it's bleeding plenty. We should get the bullet out," she glanced up at him, "I need your belt."

A suggestive grin crinkled the sides of his eyes, "Still going after my pants."

"Steve," she groaned, never knowing him to be such a jokester when they were in a serious situation. Catherine had a feeling it was all for her benefit.

"Sorry," he unbuckled and pulled one end of the belt free from his waistband, "Tourniquet, I know," Steve fully removed the belt and shimmied his pants down to his ankles. He felt more than a little uncomfortable about baring his boxer briefs in the middle of the Amazon, but more so feeling exposed in front of An.

Catherine tore at the hole the bullet had made in his boxer briefs, slitting it along one side, "You want to do it or…" she glanced at the belt.

"I'll get it started," Steve wrapped the leather belt high around his thigh, feeling the warm Amazon air against his exposed tush.

"Got to get higher than that," Catherine adjusted it without any qualms. Then she tightened it.

"Oh, sh…" he swallowed, his voice higher pitched, "Cath, I think you may have just neutered me." Steve clenched his teeth while trying to move the belt away from his boys.

Catherine turned her attention toward An, motioning her over, not seeming to care how uncomfortable her husband was, "An, in Steve's bag is a water bottle," she waved a hand toward his pack, "Not the canteen. The water bottle has a built-in filter. I need you to fill it from the stream. We're gonna need plenty of water to irrigate the wound."

An nodded. She found the bottle and hurried back to the stream.

"This is crazy," Steve remarked, "Are we really letting her run around without being cuffed or restrained somehow? She just blew up an entire jet, leaving us without any evidence that those guys were there," he rambled on. It helped take his mind off what Catherine was doing.

"I told you what I did was for you," An said.

He looked over to find she'd snuck up on them. "That right?" he remained dubious.

"As I was trying to explain earlier," An held the full water bottle with both hands, "If the plane had been left intact then whoever killed our pilot would find it empty, other than the pilot of course. They'd know we'd escaped with our lives. That's why they sent that tactical team in there."

"We were gone by then," Steve pointed out, "So they already knew we weren't there."

"Yes, exactly, which is what I'd hoped to avoid," An noted, "I sent you away in order to protect you, knowing someone would show up. Obviously the crash didn't knock me out as it did you two. I got free and created the decoy with the tracker I'd found on the cuff of my pants. The decoy led you two away from the jet so I could blow it up. All they were meant to find was our, fake, ashes. But that team showed up before I could finish. I'd already rigged the stairs to automatically close, though, using non-essential electrical systems that I hoped they'd deem unnecessary to destroy. And I really only rigged the stairs so I could remote close them in order to contain the blast on the inside."

An looked to Steve again, seeing that he was actually listening, "Those men showed up…" she continued, "…didn't find you and figured you'd probably be back. So they went about destroying the plane's insides so you wouldn't have shelter or electricity to call for help. My plan changed to trap them inside and blow the craft, but I couldn't figure out how to get them all inside. I was waiting; hoping most of them would get in. When you two showed up again you helped by taking some of them out. Then I closed the door on the others."

His head was spinning, but he couldn't be sure if it was due to the pain or An's convoluted plan that seemed to have worked rather well despite its shifty nature.

"I don't even know…" Steve's head shook as he watched Catherine take the water bottle from An and clean the wound so she could get to the bullet, "Why'd you take the pin off the pilot? You were planning to break free before all this 'destroy the jet' business."

The woman shrugged, "It was a failsafe, in case you decided not to help me find my parents at some point during this trip," she declared.

Steve still wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or just a really good actor like Lawson. His conk to the head in an alley, and time spent tied up on a roof with her were still more convincing acts than her current helpful nature. He gave up trying to read An, seeing Catherine glance up at him with apologetic brown eyes, "We ready?" he guessed.

"Do I really need to warn you about how much this is going to hurt?" Catherine asked as she reached for the belt again. He shook his head as she quickly pulled the belt even tighter around his upper thigh. "Sorry," she whispered, hearing his slight hiss of breath as she pulled it as snugly as possible.

"Maybe I should lie down?" he asked.

"Nope," Catherine remained crouched, reaching into his bag. She pulled his knife free and moved into a kneeling position. "It'll be easier for you to keep standing," she continued, starring at his backside and wishing it were under different circumstances, "We can't stay here long, there's nothing out here but rainforest. We need to find a road and the nearest one will take at least another half a day's walk, probably longer with you injured. I don't want you sitting and not being able to get back up."

"You're a tough nurse," Steve winked at her over his shoulder, clutching the tree, "I think I like this nurse-patient fantasy better than my foxhole one, or even your bakery fantasy."

She couldn't help chuckle at that.

"Good," he smiled, still looking over his shoulder at her, "Just wanted to make sure you hadn't lost your sense of humor."

"As much of an over-protective ass as you can sometimes be, it's hard to stay mad at you," she caved.

He smiled again at that.

"An," Catherine swiftly changed gears again, doing her level best to return to serious nurse mode, "Grab the pale blue t-shirt in my bag, it's still clean. And there's a sewing kit and some duct tape." She wished they'd brought the first aid kit from the plane along, but they hadn't been thinking straight, focused on finding An. "First I need you to thread a needle for me, a decent length so I can stitch up his leg once I get the bullet out. Then I need you to use the sewing kit scissors to cut the shirt into bandages."

The raven-haired woman looked uncertain even as she riffled through Catherine's bag for the things she'd been told to get. "You sure you can do this?" An asked, way more comfortable with machines and other inanimate objects than people, "Maybe we should wait until we can get him to…"

"Where?" Catherine shot back, though she didn't mean to sound so angry. She was actually more on An's side than Steve was at the moment, "We've got a long way to go before we find help or a way out of here," she repeated, "That means I either need your help right now or I need you to shut up and not bother me."

Steve tried not to smile, loving how fierce his wife could be. "Um, ladies, personal differences aside… I'd actually prefer you two work together on this task," he suggested.

An remained silent from then on out, but she did everything as Catherine asked.

The bullet had gone deeper into his muscle tissue than Catherine had imagined. She had to make the cut in his thigh larger than she'd hoped to extract it. Thankfully the tourniquet was stopping a good deal of blood, but her hands were still a mess as well as a little shaky. She irrigated and wiped up as much blood as possible, irrigated again and then stitched. The thread wasn't the strongest, but she did the best she could with the materials at hand. When the last stitch went in, Catherine bit her bottom lip. "It's not my prettiest sewing job," she admitted, looking up at Steve even as she expertly looped a couple knots in the thread to tie it off.

"Guess I'll just have another war wound to show off to the ladies on the beach," he quipped through the pain throbbing in his leg.

She chuckled dryly, "Pretty soon your scar tissue is going to have scar tissue," Catherine said regretfully.

He already felt a lot better just having the bullet out and the wound stitched. Steve rested his forehead against the tree as she carefully placed t-shirt bandages over the stitched wound and secured them with duct tape. Catherine helped pull his pants up. He turned around with a slight hop on his good leg and she fastened his pants. As soon as she was done Steve grasped her waist and pulled her against his chest. The strong tree supported them both as he kissed her.

His lips lingered upon hers for a moment, "You know there's only one beach babe I want checking out my scars."

"Oh, yeah?" Catherine swallowed, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her, "What's her name?"

"Fishing for complements is not a pretty look on you," he leaned back but immediately bumped his wounded butt cheek and thigh. A wince turned into a groan, "Although, I may still need mouth-to-mouth," he half-joked before letting her go and leaning more heavily on his good leg.

"You're unbelievable," she shook her head good naturedly.

Catherine went to the stream to wash up. When she returned she found An seated on the ground, Catherine's laptop and cell phone spread out, "Those are my…" Catherine looked up to see Steve cutting her off with a wave of his hand. She had to wonder what had happened in ten minutes time that he seemed to be on An's side all of a sudden.

"She's working on something," he did his best to quell the confused look on his wife's face. Glancing down at An he said, "What do you think?"

"It'll take me a few minutes…" An spoke as she fiddled, "But I think I can manage to wire the cell phone battery to the laptop," she unzipped her pack and withdrew an array of wires that she'd pulled out of the jet's electrical systems. "There's not much power left in the cell battery and it's clearly configured differently but I should be able to get you a small burst."

"Long enough to get a glance at a satellite picture would be good, give us a direction toward civilization," Catherine voiced, finally realizing what they'd cooked up. She looked to Steve with hopeful eyes, "Better than nothing," she whispered.

He nodded.

In a little less than twenty minutes An had done exactly as she'd described. Catherine sat down with her and they timed everything to maximize the power burst. Harry's program was already up and all Catherine had to do was swiftly type in a few commands. The satellite picture chugged, loading slowly and pixelated at first. "Come on," Catherine willed it to work before the power was lost. Harry finally blinked their location and she wanted to hug An for her help.

Instead she drew a quick mental map of where they were.

The screen winked out a second later, black as death.

Catherine sighed, "There's a road to the south about thirty, maybe thirty-five, kilometers from here. Not paved, but…"

"Sounds like our only choice," Steve agreed, wincing again as he tried to bend down and zip his bag. A hand stopped his efforts, doing it for him.

"At least let me carry your pack," An offered.

Catherine was packing up her laptop and stowing her cell phone when she turned to Steve. She watched him and An have an old west stare down for nearly a minute, "Well I'm not carrying two packs," she finally tried to end the stalemate.

Steve gave in and An stuffed her smaller bag into his before settling it on her back.

They set off at a slow pace.

Their hiking went on for hours, on top of the six that morning. Catherine was beyond the point of tiredness, but she'd learned to deal with the sleeplessness that came with being a new mom. Thankfully An wasn't much of an endurance athlete either, and Steve was slowed down considerably by his injury. The weather grew to sweltering as they hit midday, the moisture in the air causing more sweat to pool in uncomfortable places. She'd made it through endurance training in the Navy but every step she took now was difficult.

Another step further away from seeing Evan again.

Another step away from keeping Lawson behind bars.

Another step away from enjoying married life with Steve.

She tried to focus on their surroundings as a distraction, the rainforest seeming almost peaceful earlier in the day as they'd hiked.

Catherine noticed a bright cobalt-blue macaw with mustard yellow markings around its eyes and lower beak. It flittered from tree to tree for a while before disappearing into the skyscraper-like tree canopy. Catherine counted nearly thirty two different shades of green on the trees and plants before losing track. And she watched all walks of life, insects scurrying off to underground cities and small monkeys out for a day of hunting.

They ate fruit, drank filtered water from the stream and peed behind bushes.

Catherine knew it was not as dire a predicament as they could've been faced with had An not blown up the jet.

The road almost seemed to find them as they stumbled onto it without warning.

As she had guessed from the grainy aerial shot, the road wasn't paved at all, but dirt - the same rusty orange dirt that permeated the Amazon rainforest in the area. And even though the path was nearly ten feet wide, the tree canopy mostly branched out and covered the road, not allowing much light in. Not that light mattered much as the sun had already sunk fairly low. Steve's watch let them know it was 7pm local time. They had about another forty-five minutes before sunset.

"What now?" An asked.

"Two choices, we sit here and wait for someone to come along or…" Steve glanced one way and saw miles of road. He looked the other direction and found another stretch of equally empty road, "We pick a direction and keep walking."

"We're about as likely to come across a vehicle either way," Catherine realized, "But if we keep moving we might speed up the likelihood of coming across a village or a car."

An dared to add, "Or we risk exhausting ourselves, and Steve passing out."

"Thanks for the concern," Steve responded in a somewhat condescending manner, "But I'm not going to pass out. I say we keep moving, at least while we still have a little light. If no one comes along before dark then we find shelter and wait out the night."

Catherine nodded, "The satellite image we got shows this road as north-south, with south being to our left at this point. That's the direction we want."

"Then lead us south," Steve waved a hand for her to go first. He waited for An so she'd also be ahead of him.

They'd walked for almost exactly forty minutes when two events occurred simultaneously. They approached a crossroad running east-west, a much wider road. And the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon. It got dark fast, really dark. Already their second night in the rainforest and they didn't seem to be much closer to finding An's parents or getting to the truth about Lawson. Catherine wasn't confident that they'd ever figure out Lawson's reasoning, so she focused on An and the woman's parents instead.

She watched the woman drop Steve's pack on the side of the road.

"We should stay here," An dared to voice her opinion, "In case someone comes along."

Steve actually nodded, "We'll take shifts so some of us can sleep and…" he trailed off when a light caught his eye. His gaze turned left, both women did likewise. The light bobbed and weaved a bit along the horizon, a pinprick in the distant darkness. But it was white light, not red, which gave Steve hope. "Headlights," he said.

Catherine added a nod of agreement, "Here," she dug around in her pack for a second and found her personal headlight. She passed it to Steve who held it up and flicked the switch on. A second later he turned it back off. The same action was repeated several times. Catherine easily recognized he was signaling an S.O.S. message with light bursts, "Not sure how that translates into Brazilian Portuguese," she commented.

"Just meant to get their attention," he replied.

The headlights grew brighter and Steve dipped his light to the road so as not to blind the poor driver. But he let it shine enough to make them visible.

"They're slowing down," Catherine spoke the obvious with a renewed sense of hope.

The headlights turned out to be attached to a medium sized truck, dust-covered white cab and flatbed with wooden slated sides. The flatbed was heaped with boxes, the contents of which Catherine couldn't make out in the darkness. The truck stopped and a window rolled down. An immediately approached the driver, but Steve reached out to stop her with one hand; straining against the pain in his leg. Catherine joined them both, eyeing Steve, "She's the only one who speaks the language."

He knew that, despite wanting to control the situation. He glared at An in the semi-darkness, "If you signal him in any way I'll figure it out."

"I'm on your side," An replied with more force than at any other point during the day.

Catherine had a feeling the woman was getting fed up with trying to play nice, but she prayed An would stick with them.

"Olá, senhor," An greeted the man at the wheel. He had dark age-worn skin, black hair, brown eyes and a bushy mustache. His shirt was dirty and the stench of sweat permeated their nostrils even from outside the cab of his truck, "Nós tivemos alguns problemas, precisamos de transporte para a cidade mais próxima."

The man looked wary of the three of them, clearly a group of outsiders, "Eu não quero participar do seu problema."

"No," An's head shook in a placating manner, "You will have none of our trouble to deal with," she slipped up by speaking in English which he clearly didn't understand so she repeated in his native tongue. "Nós podemos pagar-lhe," she added quickly, turning to Steve and Catherine, "You still have money, I hope."

Steve grabbed his wallet and flipped through the foreign currency, "Here," he personally offered it to the driver. "Take it, please."

"N, que é demasiado," the man shook his head.

"You said we needed money," Steve spoke accusingly to An.

"It's too much," she translated, "Here," An took just a few of the bills he'd flashed and handed them to the man. "Para o seu problema, insistimos." He took the money with some hesitancy, "Meu nome é An," she pressed a hand against her chest then pointed, "Steve, Catherine," she introduced.

He stashed the money in his right front shirt pocket and actually smiled at An, "Paulo," he point to himself.

An turned to Steve and Catherine, "This is Paulo, he's agreed to give us a ride."

"Where's he headed?" Steve asked.

The question was relayed via An. Paulo responded, "Humaita."

"I think that's west of here," Catherine replied, "But better than staying out another night," she picked up her pack and slung it over her right shoulder. She took Steve's pack by hand.

"Um pode andar na frente," Paulo waved a hand at the passenger's side door, "Dois terão que andar em volta," he pointed to the flatbed.

Catherine looked to An for some help. She heard very slight similarities to Spanish in the language but she'd never learned Spanish very well, "What was that about?"

"One up front, two in back," An regurgitated.

"We'll take the back," Steve immediately replied, not wanting Catherine alone with the woman. And he certainly didn't want to spend time with only An's company. "There's a rear window in the cab," he pointed out to An, "I'll have my eyes on you."

With a brief nod, An went around to the passenger side. Paulo said something else to her as she opened the door. An looked to Steve who remained by the driver's side even as Catherine went to the back. "He's offered us some of his fruit if you're hungry, any of the boxes," An translated, waving a hand at the rear of the truck.

Steve nodded his thanks to the driver.

He made sure An got in and shut the door before he dared to turn his back on her, even waited until she'd done up the lap belt in the old truck. Steve noticed that Paulo seemed glad of the choice of passenger up front. Finally, exhaustion winning out, Steve went to the back where Catherine had already stowed their bags and carved out a small spot to sit within the stacks of boxes. The boxes were all packed tight with bananas and mangos, some passion fruit.

Catherine took his hand and helped him up into the truck, watching as he grimaced. She led him down a narrow center aisle toward the cab of the truck. "Here you go, tough guy," she directed him to sit where she'd placed a folded green sweatshirt she'd found in his pack. She sat down and pressed her back against the cab window, "Not sure why you brought a sweatshirt to a tropical paradise, planning for a snow storm in Brazil?" Catherine wondered.

"Always be prepared," he shrugged, straining as he tried to sit comfortably. "Paulo offered us fruit," Steve let her know.

"So I'm thinking…" Catherine spoke as the truck took off, lunging forward with a shutter followed by a sharp backfire. She bent her knees and braced herself against the wooden floorboards, warily eyeing the boxed fruit, hoping it wouldn't come crashing down on them. "One of us should get some sleep," she continued while plucking a banana from a box and peeling it, "And the other should make sure An doesn't jump out of the truck and ditch us again."

He nodded, "I'll…"

"I'll take the first watch tonight," she cut him off, handing the banana to him. "You need to eat and sleep. The banana will help you relax."

"Really?" he looked skeptical even as he bit into it and chewed.

"Bananas have magnesium and potassium that can act as muscle and nerve relaxants," she relayed mater-of-fact. "Also has vitamin B6 which converts tryptophan into serotonin."

"How do you know that?" Steve asked around the second bite of banana.

"Read a lot on the Kappa before the nugget was born," Catherine replied.

He hated how that answer still came up so often.

"I'm planning on mashed banana being Evan's first solid food," she added, "Get him to sleep longer."

Even seeming somewhat relaxed as she talked about Evan, Steve sensed not all was right between them. Their second bush hike that day had been long and slow, the whole day an ordeal they'd both like to forget. He felt his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The food and the ride, bumpy as it was, contributed to a lulling effect that made sleep seem like a very likely inevitability. He fully closed his eyes, still not planning to drift off. But he felt himself trip over that slippery slope.

Steve came awake suddenly, though there was no jolt and the road actually felt pretty smooth at the moment.

He wasn't sure what had woken him until he heard a soft sound and turned to Catherine.

His stomach caught in his throat as he listened for a moment, his heart breaking. "Cath," he couldn't take even a few seconds of hearing her cry, "Cath, are you awake?" Steve whispered. The sound stopped right away which hurt him even more, "Catherine?"

There was a sweet sent in the air, banana, passion fruit and mango mingled together.

Catherine focused on the scent and her breathing for a moment, inhaling slowly and exhaling a little shakily as she tried to ward off further tears. She glanced up to see there was a break in the tree canopy directly above them. Catherine caught a brief glimpse of inky blue sky, tiny dots of starlight shining down on them. She took another quick, deep breath before turning to face him, "Sorry," Catherine whispered the word as she tried to downplay a sniff. She hoped he might not see the swipe of her left hand against her cheek.

"Don't be," he reached for her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist softly.

"You were trying to get my attention and I…" she paused, "I was almost asleep. I shouldn't have drifted off like that when I said I'd keep watch…" Catherine stopped all together with that thought, "Is something wrong? Are you hurting? Of course I ended up with a sewing kit on this trip, but no painkillers," she lamented the rush they'd been in to leave.

He smiled dimly, feeling unworthy of her concern, "I could try to lie to you and say I'm fine but you'd see through that. Truth is I hurt like hell," Steve admitted. "And this rickety truck ride isn't helping much. But that's not why I was trying to see if you were awake. I heard you and… I wanted to…" he paused, "I'm so sorry, Catherine," he sighed with regret, "What I said earlier, asking if you wanted to make it home to Evan…"

"Steve, it's not…"

His right hand reached out to her cheek, spotting the new tear that glistened in the darkness. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe it dry. "I was scared, Cath," Steve admitted, "I haven't been that scared in… I'm not sure I've ever been scared like that. All I could see was that guy aiming for you and…"

"So you risked your own life," she sighed, head shaking, still upset about the argument that had ensued.

"I know," he realized, "I'm not the only one who gets to worry and be protective. You get to protect me, too. But this caveman part of me kicked in when I saw that guy aiming for you and I just…" Steve knew rehashing it wasn't going to change anything, "I lost you once, Cath. I know what that feels like and I couldn't go through it again."

A lump formed in her throat upon hearing that, "And I can't tell you how sorry I am for what you went through thinking I was dead. But today when that guy was gunning for me, I was turned the other way because the guy you stabbed in the shoulder was aiming for you," Catherine revealed. "Steve, we've had this argument before and I'm not stupid enough to think we'll never have it again. So I guess we just need to learn to… I don't know, accept that this is one thing we'll always fight about," she shrugged.

Steve felt like even more of an idiot, "I had no idea about the other guy," he sighed, knowing that she was probably right about that disagreement always causing a stalemate between them. "I'm sorry I used Evan," Steve apologized again for the thing weighing most heavily on his mind. "I regret that more than being overprotective. I know you want to see him again, so do I. I know all of this is for him. I'm sorry."

"Damn," Catherine swore softly as another tear rolled down her cheek, thinking about their baby boy, "And I know we need to be strong right now."

"Hey, Cath…" Steve still felt like a complete ass for what he'd said and done, "Do you remember the first night we met? You told me something your dad said, something that's stuck with me all these years. That true courage is about being scared and still getting the job done, using fear to drive you forward, not hold you back. You love and miss your son but you're here doing this anyway, just like you told Evan on that recording. I'm pretty sure that's the best definition of strength I can think of."

Catherine let her tears fall, leaning in to kiss him. Their bodies found each other in the darkness, same way they kept coming back to one another over the years. There was forgiveness in the gentle pressure of her lips against his. "When did you turn into such a good guy?" she wondered aloud.

"Love of a good woman put me on the right path," he quipped.

"Gah," Catherine scoffed, "Okay, John Wayne," she rolled her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder.

Steve couldn't stop his mind from focusing on the case again, "How old do you think the members of that tactical team were?" he asked.

"Young," she replied, "Very young."

He nodded, "Early twenties maybe?"

"A couple of them looked more like they were still teenagers, sixteen or seventeen," she'd noticed. "And they all used pistols," Catherine brought that point back up. She pulled her weapon free of the pack where she'd stored it, "Semi-automatic Glock 17, 9mm, European made with double stack magazines, 17 rounds…"

"Strange choice for a tactical team, imported weapons, few rounds," Steve agreed. "But they were good with them. It takes a heck of a lot more aim and concentration than wielding automatic weapons. Those guys were very well trained… probably for years. Not your run of the mill tactical team."

"And the whole cyanide capsule thing… they were prepared," she pointed out.

"We never heard a plane or helicopter, but they had parachutes," Steve mulled that over for a moment, "They must have dropped in a good distance away and hiked for miles in order to find our jet. They've had endurance training, military-like. You think they're working for Lawson or is something else going on here?"

"Gotta be Lawson," she sighed, "Who else? He somehow has a whole army of loyal men working for him. And I doubt money could get these guys to die for him."

Steve longed for the day when they wouldn't have to bring up that man's name. There was nothing else they could do about it now and he didn't want their down time to be spent dwelling on the bad stuff. He pressed his chin against the side of her head, "You smell good," he said, her hair draped against his cheek and nose.

"You're not serious," Catherine responded. "I think pain and sleep deprivation have made you delirious."

"I don't think so," he pressed his lips against her temple. It wasn't really a kiss, more a reassurance of his presence. And of her presence beside him.

"Steve," she actually smiled, seeing the tree canopy close in overhead again, "I haven't showered since we left Oahu, that's almost three days ago. And we've spent the better part of two of those days hiking. I've got sweat in places I didn't realize could sweat. Plus I'm pretty sure I've still got your blood under my fingernails and I'm carrying some dead guy's fake tooth in my pocket. I'm dirty, sticky and gross."

"You're still beautiful and you smell good," Steve insisted.

"It's the fruit you smell," she countered.

"No, you smell like vanilla and jasmine," he said, "Like you always do."

She couldn't help smile again, "I think that's called sense memory, olfactory hallucination."

"Whatever it is," Steve inhaled again, "I like it," his fingers trailed up and down her arm, stopping to caress the bend at her elbow.

"Oh, jeez…" Catherine always went weak in the knees when he touched that spot on her arm, "We are not having sex in the back of a fruit truck, mister."

He pulled away, starring at her for a moment, "You know I keep hearing about all these places we're not having sex… not last night in our perfect foxhole fantasy setting and now not here. I thought being married meant we got to have sex whenever we wanted."

Catherine actually laughed, "Boy are you in for disappointment," she replied drolly, again thankfully for his ability to bring her out of any sort of funk in a matter of minutes, "An is in the front seat with a man we don't know other in name only, we're surrounded by fruit and your butt has a hole in it…" she listened to him snicker before realizing what she'd said, "You know what I mean, the bullet wound in your thigh…"

Steve chuckled, "You know I was kidding, right? Well, about the sex part. I was serious about you smelling good," he rested his cheek against hers again, "It's comforting."

She relaxed even more into his familiar, safe embrace, "I read somewhere…" this time Catherine left out the part about it being during her captivity aboard the Kappa, "About how cuddling releases oxytocin, a hormone that helps increase happiness, lowers stress levels and blood pressure, possibly even heals wounds and relieves pain," she recalled, "Also helps create a bond with your children or partner."

"Salubrity," he recalled their Florida trip and the poem he'd quoted, the one his dad had always liked, "Pretty sure we've never needed any help forging bonds," Steve remarked, "But it's interesting that you mention children again, since we only have one."

Her brow line bunched, "What are you talking about?"

"Yesterday you mentioned kids, plural… more than once," he pointed out, "And you seemed not to notice like just now. But those odd looks I was giving you happened after you talked about wanting to have the same last name as our kids, and wanting our kids to grow up in a house with family history."

"Maybe I was talking about Evan and Trooper," Catherine shrugged, "She's our baby, too."

"Yeah, she certainly is," Steve agreed, knowing they had a spoiled dog. He wanted to be home with Evan and that spoiled dog so badly. Catherine didn't bother to add anymore to the topic and he decided to let it go for the moment, not bringing up her bush babies comment either. They had enough on their minds at the moment without adding a discussion about having more kids. "How do you put up with me?"

She shrugged, "We made a vow, sickness and health, good and bad…"

"I don't think we actually said those things."

Catherine smiled, "They were implied in what I said."

"Me, too," he nodded.

When she turned a little, her back more against his chest, Steve noticed the star tattoo peeking over the top of her tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a low, messy ponytail, hairs sticking out and somewhat obscuring the tattoo. He could also see the scar where one of Wo Fat's collar nodes had pierced her skin. And the delicate gold chain and clasp of her arrow necklace draped across the middle of the star. Steve ran his thumb gently over the scar which had marred the bottom of the tattoo.

"I don't think I've ever asked you about the significance of the star on your neck," he realized, "Other than it being a place I like to kiss you," Steve pressed his lips there for a second.

"And a place I like to be kissed," she agreed.

He groaned, somewhat from a spike of pain that had just shot through his leg, but also from their previous conversation, "Pretty sure we just established a no kissing in the back of the fruit truck rule," Steve watched her head shake slowly, "Right, no sex," he corrected, another small kiss placed against the blue star upon her flesh, "So there is no meaning?" he prodded, "I know you were drunk at the time…"

"You were drunker than I was," she chuckled low in her throat.

Steve cast a curious gaze down at her, "Why are you laughing?"

She turned to face him again, "Because it's ironic."

"What is?" he was still clueless.

Catherine smiled, having wondered for years if he'd ever ask, "The tattoo is about home…"

"Home," it only took Steve a moment to ponder that before he jumped to a conclusion, "This is a Texas thing, right? You talk about the place you lived in Texas most, where you got your first dog, Cowboy, and where… where Ben was born," he decided not to mention it was also the place her brother had died, "So… lone star, and blue like the Dallas Cowboy's football team logo," he nodded, thinking he had it figured out, "I didn't realize what a huge Cowboy's fan you were until after the tattoo."

"Not even close," her head shook. "And it's not just about home, it's also very much about direction. Direction being the ironic part since here we are lost in Brazil."

He frowned, "What do you mean by it being about direction?"

"Well, in the days before oceans were charted and mapped, long before radar, and way before satellite telemetry," she rattled off the list, "Sailors used to navigate the waters by…"

"Stars," Steve realized.

Her smile returned, "Exactly. Astronomy - one of the oldest sciences. They used the stars to guide them, to take them on adventures, discover new lands, but also to return them home safely." She reached up and ran her fingers over the tattoo, "This star is my guide, and also my means for making it home."

Steve didn't think he'd ever heard her sound so sentimental before, at least not about anything not related to Evan, "But it's where you can't see it?"

A small laugh emitted, practically seeing the wheels turning on the logical side of his brain. She loved that logical side just as much as she loved when he broke free from regulation and showed her those rare emotional glimpses of himself, "The placement is symbolic, my six… it's meant to represent the one who's always got my back." Catherine took his hand and pressed his fingers against the star on her neck, "It's you, Steve."

"Me," he whispered, tracing the star with his finger.

Catherine nodded, smiling as she recalled all the times they'd been apart and come back to one another, "I know you've always got my back, just like you did today. You'll always be there for me, even if we occasionally get lost or fight. We always find our way home to one another. "

His hand caressed her neck for a moment more before he draped his arm across her chest, pulling her in tighter, ignoring how painful it was to even sit, "You really put that much thought into it?" he could see her shadowy head nod, "Clearly you weren't as drunk as I was on that trip."

She almost laughed as they remained huddled, but she felt her thoughts drift elsewhere.

Catherine reached up and fiddled with the tiny gold arrow on the necklace her father had given her. The mention of their drunken Bangkok night sparked a different sort of memory.

"Daddy?" seven-year-old Catherine poked her head into the kitchen of their small base housing unit. She wore a light blue nightgown with kittens on it as she laid a hand against her dog, Cowboy. She kept Cowboy at her side as they stood in the doorway, her bare feet pressed against the cool, creamy white linoleum. There were two men at the kitchen table, huddled, voices more hushed now than when she'd woken a few minutes ago to their boisterous masculine tones.

She glanced to the window. It was dark out, middle of the night.

"Hiya, princess," David looked up, scooted his chair away from the table and got to his feet. He wore jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a distinct contrast to the pressed Navy uniform she was so accustomed to seeing him in most of the time. He walked to his daughter and placed one hand against her head of messy, bedhead, brown hair, "What are you doing down here? You should be asleep," he kissed her forehead.

"I woke up, I heard voices," Catherine whispered, sneaking a glance at the other man. "What's wrong, daddy? Why's Uncle Nick here so late?"

David put a smile on his face for her benefit, "He's not feeling well."

"Why not?" she persisted, "Does he have a…"

The man at the table bent over at the waist and puked into a small red bucket that was on the floor.

"Is it the flu?" Catherine remained curious; worried about the man she called uncle. She let go of Cowboy and dashed across the kitchen. Catherine grabbed a green canister off the stove and opened it. She pulled out a small white packet and sat the canister back. Then she walked over to the man at the table, not grossed out by his mess or the stench, "Mommy always gives me this tea when I'm sick," she held the teabag out to him, "It settles my tummy."

"Princess…" David went to his daughter again, this time a hand pressed to her back, "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

She looked up at her father with wide brown eyes, "I can't boil the water, daddy. Will you do it?"

He couldn't help smile at his persistent little girl, "Princess," David crouched in front of her. "Uncle Nick doesn't have the flu. He's sick because…" he tried to find a way to explain it to her, "We went out tonight and had some drinks," he admitted.

"Beers," Catherine knew her dad went out to drink sometimes, but more so since baby Ben had died. She'd heard her parents fight about it several times.

"Yes, that's right. You're very smart," he tried to be as honest with her as possible, though still wanting to keep her a little girl and safe from the craziness of the world. But he knew she'd grown up faster than most, moving every year, picking up and leaving behind friends. She'd also lost her baby brother not four months ago. He knew she could handle the truth of most situations, "Uncle Nick drank too much."

"Oh," Catherine clutched the teabag, "Why?"

The drunken man reached out before David could reply. He took Catherine's hand, squeezing it a little too tightly. Nick looked her in the eye, "Weakness can get you killed, child," he whispered, "Being tough helps you survive," the man insisted.

"Nick," David reproached his friend, "I'd appreciate if you just calm down, okay," he loosened his friend's grip on Catherine's hand and walked her toward the door where Cowboy had remained keeping a close watch on the situation. In just a year's time Catherine had taught the dog well, obedience and loyalty. "You need to go back to bed, princess. Take Cowboy with you," he insisted. "I'll come kiss you goodnight in a little while."

Catherine looked up at her father and knew enough not to go against his word, "Okay, but…" she quickly stuffed the teabag into his hand, "Make it for Uncle Nick, please?"

David nodded, "Yes, ma'am," he gave her a small salute and gently nudged her toward the stairs.

The truck, the boxes, and Steve slowly came back into focus as the memory faded.

"Weakness can get you killed," Catherine whispered the words. She felt herself further pulled back into reality, the rumble of the fruit truck beneath her and her head still resting against Steve's strong, comforting shoulder, "Being tough helps you survive."

"Cath, don't go there again," Steve kissed her cheek, having thought she'd fallen asleep. "You're not weak for crying about missing Evan."

She smiled, grateful for his support and glad not to be stuck in the past any longer. "No, it was something Lawson said to me in his cell," her voice faltered, realizing that hadn't been the first time. "Actually, he said the same thing to me as a child, but I didn't remember until just now. He'd gotten drunk and my dad brought him back to our place to sober him up. It was like a warning back then but when he said it again in his cell, he… I think maybe he feels he toughened me up," Catherine shook her head.

He remained concerned, more so as she brought up Lawson from her childhood. "How?" Steve wondered.

"I'm not sure," she voiced, "I'm not sure what any of it means," Catherine sighed, still not able to put all the pieces of Lawson's life together, "I had another childhood memory of him pop into my thoughts yesterday when we were hiking," she decided not to go into detail on that one, "Maybe it's because of this trip, because we're trying to make sure he stays in jail for the rest of his life. Or maybe it's… maybe I'm afraid of what will happen if he's actually allowed to go free."

"Hey," he encouraged her to look at him, "Cath, you know that's…" Steve struggled with his words, knowing he couldn't promise her Lawson wouldn't be set free. "If for some reason we can't get the evidence we need to keep him jailed we're not going to give up. If he's released I will hire someone to be on him at all times," he vowed, "I will put every tracking device known to man on him and we'll watch him, every step he makes. Video surveillance, bug his phone… if he puts one foot out of line we'll get him. And you know he will. He'll go back to what he knows, what's familiar. And we'll get him," Steve insisted.

"All we really need is to find An's parents," Catherine put in, "Then she'll give us all the solid evidence we need on Lawson."

Steve sighed, "I'm not convinced of that."

"She's helping us," Catherine replied a bit more sternly than she'd planned. She sat forward and turned to face him.

"I know you want to believe that, but… come on… you and I both followed a bird, Cath," he scoffed, "We wasted hours of time because of her stunt."

"And she already explained that," Catherine defended, "Say what you will, Steve, but she had a plan. It was a bit of a convoluted plan, but she was working under pressure. And you have to admit that bird thing was pretty creative."

His head didn't nod or shake, "She's got explanations for all of it, doesn't she?" he made it clear he wasn't convinced, "She found out her brother was a monster and she decided to help you, but somehow she never actually bothered to set you and Evan free."

"She was a victim, too… sometimes her hands were tied," Catherine sighed, "Do you want to know what An did for me?" her question was a nervous whisper.

He sensed something was different about her, not anger or exasperation, but desperation, "She helped you trick Wo Fat. I know, you already said she…"

"Not just that," she swallowed hard, recalling what Chin had said to her a while back. My offer to talk is always open, but I hope you'll talk to Steve some more as well.

"Catherine, you don't have to tell me any more than what you already have," Steve suddenly backed down, "The details… I'm not even sure I want to know the details."

"I think I have to," her voice was still low, her lips dry and voice nearly raw just from the prospect of re-living it. Even in the darkness she could see his eyes soften a little. His left hand reached out to take her right, a reassuring gesture. She smiled despite the slight taste of bile in her throat as she drifted back to the night she'd first let Wo Fat into her bed aboard the Kappa. "He walked into the cabin that first time very smug, eyes narrowed menacingly at me. He circled the room a while, back and forth, stalking me like some sort of prey."

Steve clenched his teeth and squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

"When she first proposed the plan I told An it'd never work, it was too risky," Catherine recalled, "She told me he was going to come for me whether we had a plan or not. She told me that if I didn't fight back I'd…" her words got caught a moment, "She asked me… if a man came up to you in a dark alley would you just ignore him or fight back?"

That got his attention. Steve knew the answer without either of them saying it.

"So that night I put on this ridiculously low cut nightgown An found for me. It was red, silk and lace… I sat on the bed waiting for him," she tried to swallow but her throat felt thick and sore, "He finally stopped pacing and stopped right in front of me. One hand reached out and his fingers rested against my shoulder. His touch made my skin crawl. I had to sink my nails into my palms to keep from visibly shuddering in front of him. But I took on the role, made him see what he wanted to see.

"He liked to… uh, he liked to touch," Catherine wanted to stop but she went on, "I knew playing the part meant I'd have to sell it. I knew that meant kissing, at least. But when I tried to kiss him he pushed me against the bed and laughed at me. He stood over me, unbuttoned his shirt, tossed it aside and then looked down at me and…" she felt the nails of her left hand dig into her palm like they had that night, "He said he'd never kiss me on the lips because I wasn't worth it."

"Shit," Steve felt his eyes water, "Cath, I don't think I can…" he looked her in the eye, those dark pools willing him to be strong for her.

He said no more.

"I was glad of that," she went on, speaking in the most wooden tone possible, "He crawled onto the bed and kissed everywhere but my lips, shoulders, arms…" Catherine took a long slow breath, "It felt like a torture worse than the dove brand that Lawson seared upon my skin - worse than losing a finger. I moved back against the head of the bed, reclined, pushed my arms above my head as if I were giving into him willingly, but it was all so I could reach the drug patch we'd hidden under my pillows.

"I mumbled something to him as I fiddled with the patch, peeling the plastic cover off…" her head shook, "I don't remember what, something in Mandarin. He seemed pleased by the words, grinning, hovering over me. I leaned into him, reaching behind his neck to draw him in closer," Catherine did her best to keep the descriptions clinical, "I turned his head to the right and kissed his collarbone – a distraction."

Hearing the actions hurt, but not as much as hearing the pain in her voice, "Sleight of hand," Steve realized.

Catherine nodded, "Both my hands went to his back, one rubbing up and down as the other gently-as-possible placed the patch against his shoulder," she explained. "He grew groggy almost immediately and I was about ready to jump off the bed. But he didn't pass out like he was supposed to. He started groaning and slurring his words like he was drunk. His grip on me didn't slack, it grew tighter. He pushed me into the bed with one knee and took hold of my neck, seeming to forget the collar that he could've used. He used his hands instead.

"He was chocking me," she whispered.

Steve fumed on the inside, but tried to listen without losing it.

"I'd put Evan in the bathroom just before Wo Fat showed up," she went on, "I didn't want him in the same room as… but he started to cry as I was pinned to the bed by Wo Fat, struggling for every small breath. I remember my eyes closing at one point, nearly passed out, hearing my son cry as I tried to kick and claw my way to freedom. Wo Fat was so strong, I thought… I figured that was it; a fate worse than him raping me - death by strangulation at Wo Fat's hands while my son lay crying in the bathroom."

"Even if you'd been able to fight him off it would've meant risking Evan," Steve understood. "Wo Fat could've taken him away from you."

She nodded; unable to keep the emotion from her voice any longer, "It was a nightmare," Catherine barely got the words past her lips before a tear rolled down her cheek and along the side of her face, dripping off her earlobe. "I couldn't fight him. The plan had failed. For all I knew he was just going to take me to the point of passing out and still have sex with me. I wouldn't have put it past him," she shuddered now, here in the present where she was safe from his craziness.

"God, Cath…" Steve pressed his forehead against hers, one hand gently resting against the back of her neck, against the star tattoo. He was there for her now.

He knew she'd survived, but he hated to think how close she'd come to death.

"I didn't see her or even hear her. Didn't know she was that close. She was so quiet," Catherine recalled. "I felt Wo Fat's grip loosen and figured I was well on my way to unconsciousness or death. But when he slumped against me… I saw her. An was standing at the foot of my bed. She looked kind of fuzzy, probably the lack of oxygen to my brain, but she was there," Catherine remembered her feeling of relief at that moment, "I looked down to see the second patch against Wo Fat's back and I knew what she'd done.

"She rolled him off me," Catherine bit her lip. "And I… I didn't know if I'd be able to stand or not, but I shot out of that bed and wrapped my arms around her," she actually chuckled at that memory, "I think I really caught her off guard because her body was stiff, shocked… but I didn't care. I hugged her. She gave me the most important thing I needed at the time, which was a sense of feeling safe. No matter how small a hope that might have been, her help gave me the strength and courage to hang it there, to stay strong and fight back."

Catherine sighed, swiping away another tear, "I hugged her until Evan started crying again and then I rushed into the bathroom. I closed and locked the door and sat there with him on the floor mat, nursing and rocking him, until sunrise."

Steve listened, trying to control his anger, trying to be supportive. But a spike of guilt stabbed him in the stomach, "And Wo Fat never realized what happened?"

"He banged on the bathroom door that morning and yelled something at me," Catherine took a deep breath, "He said he'd be back again in a few nights," she was still disgusted despite knowing he was dead, "An told me later that she'd removed the patches before he woke up. She'd unzipped his pants a little to make it look like…" some things she figured needed no explanation, "And then she apologized to me for not getting the drug dosage right the first time.

"She apologized," Catherine repeated.

"An changed it so just one patch was needed to knock him out the next time, and the time after that…" Catherine bit her lip again, "I was the one who undid his pants and removed the patches after that. The first time he didn't seem to remember anything, but the second time he questioned what had happened. That's when I had to start whispering suggestive things when he was drugged. An claimed that was how the drug worked best. And I found out it worked because he'd mention some of those same things on his return visits."

Her throat felt dry again, "I always locked myself and Evan in the bathroom afterwards so I wouldn't see him in the morning, and so he wouldn't be tempted to…" Catherine shook her head, "It was all so unreal, so absurd. I focused as much as I could on Evan because taking care of him – he was the only thing that felt real at the time."

Even knowing Wo Fat was dead didn't stop Steve from thinking about strangling him. "It's over, Cath. All of that is behind you."

"Not really," she whispered, "Because I still feel him kissing me sometimes, and I still feel his hands on my neck some nights when I close my eyes," she confessed, "And every time we've made love since I've been back…" Catherine gulped, "I find myself hoping that your kisses, your caresses… that they'll burn away the invisible scars he left on my skin. How messed up is that?" Catherine asked, not really wanting an answer. She looked him in the eye, "And now I wish I hadn't just told you that," she lamented.

His arms wrapped around her, not afraid of anything she had to say.

"I'm glad you told me," Steve responded, a reassuring hand slowly rubbing her back, "When you got home I was so worried about you, Cath, the way you barely talked, barely left the house," he recalled those first few weeks, "I wanted you to talk to me, to tell me what had happened. I'm glad you told me," Steve repeated, "I knew it would be painful to hear, but I knew you holding it inside had to be even more painful."

Catherine allowed herself to fully relax in his embrace, to feel safe for the first time in many months. She closed her eyes and remembered something he'd once said to her, "We fight for any cause we believe in, and we put our trust in humanity," she whispered, "At the end of the day we believe in good overcoming bad."

He remembered those words and the night he'd spoken them, "You believe there's more good than bad in An," he realized what she was getting at.

"She saved my life, Steve. And I know how strange that sounds because she also helped keep me captive, but…" Catherine found it hard to see it from his view, but she could understand, "I know it's messy, but I put my trust in An once and she came through for me. I do believe there's good in her, more so than bad. And I fight for what I believe in, so do you. It's one of the things we have in common."

"Yes," he nodded. "Yes, it is," Steve finally resigned himself to her lead, "I trust you, Cath," those words were easy, the next few took greater effort, "I'll trust An… for now."

Catherine felt a weight lift, his declaration helping calm her considerably, "I'm so tired."

"You should get some sleep," he encouraged.

"I don't think I can," Catherine sighed, "I'm exhausted but I'm too worried about you and everything else to sleep. And I just want to be home, in our bed. I just want to be home."

Steve understood that feeling as he glanced around the back of the truck. It was a cozy setting in an odd sort of way, but it wasn't home. "Well, then I'd say we need to get about a dozen bananas in you so you can relax and fall asleep," he suggested.

That made her smile. She closed her eyes, head against his shoulder, "I don't think bananas are going to work. You know what I want more than anything else right now?"

"To hold Evan."

A sad smile formed as her eyes reopened, "Yes, but… okay, what I want more than anything other than to hold Evan." Catherine looked over at him, "And do not say sex."

He shrugged, "I wasn't going to say sex. I know what you want."

"No you don't," her head shook, "I really want a…"

"Pillow," Steve finished.

Catherine sat up straighter, turning more to face him, "How did you know that?"

"You forget I've known you for a while," he explained, "I've slept beside you enough to know how much you love your pillow. And if you're sprawled on your belly clutching your pillow like it just bought you dinner…" he smiled to see her smile, "I know not to mess with you."

She chuckled softly despite how tired she was, "This is your fault, you know?"

"Well, obviously," Steve nodded, "But how exactly?" he didn't even bother to take offense to her comment

Her head rested against his shoulder again, "Not so long ago you said that nothing had blown up or caved in on us."

He laughed a moment, "But it was you who said yet, so I think that makes this your fault," Steve teased.

With a small nod, Catherine agreed, "Okay, I'll take the blame."

"Close your eyes," he implored, running one hand along her back while the other caressed her arm, "And imagine we're at home in our bedroom. You've just put Evan down in the portable crib beside our bed and he's blissfully asleep, and we know that should last for at least a few hours. So you curl up next to me in our bed, the one we picked out together, and you hug your pillow and I put a hand against your shoulder… we close our eyes…"

Despite the serene smile that had come over her, she was curious, "What are you doing?"

"Trying some of that Zen yoga visualization mediation stuff you like," he shrugged, "Trying to help you relax so you can sleep, which is a little tricky when I can't rely on my sexual prowess," Steve grinned, "Now where was I… just after we close our eyes Trooper jumps onto the bed and clomps around in circles making it seem like there's a herd of elephants in bed with us. But then she finally settles, and Evan doesn't make a peep, and I kiss you as you drift off to sleep."

Catherine smiled again, "I don't need a pillow or our bed… I just need you." She clutched his shirt and inhaled deeply, still smelling a slight salty, ocean air scent. It was the same scent that always permeated his clothing and body. Maybe she was the one hallucinating now, but she didn't care. "You say you lost me and you can't stand the thought of losing me again. Well… I lost you, too, Steve. I lost you and I fought as hard as I could to get back to you. And I'm not going to lose you again either."

"You've got me," he whispered reassuringly, "For a long, long time," Steve vowed.

Those words allowed sleep to finally overtake her.

000

She stood on his doorstep.

The sun had already set but a warm evening breeze blew across the porch.

Her head was down, a dark blue hoodie covering her hair as she balanced a red and white cardboard box with her right hand. She pressed the doorbell with her left.

Steve opened the door without really looking at her, all he'd focused on was the delivery box in her hand, "It was twenty-five fifty, right?" he asked, flipping through the twenty dollar bills in his wallet, "The price of pizza on this island has gotten ridiculous."

"There's a delivery charge… and that's not including a tip," Catherine raised her head to reveal herself, pushing the hoodie off with her left hand and looking him in the eye, "I'm expecting a very, very large tip for this special delivery." She watched as his face immediately turned from a reserved 'I'm settling for a boring night of pizza and TV watching' into a happy grin she'd been lucky enough to see several times in the last few years, a grin she liked to believe was for her alone.

"What are you…" despite the pleased grin plastered across his face he was completely startled to see her standing on his doorstep, "Why didn't you say you were going to be in town?"

"Kind of ruins the whole surprise aspect of a surprise," she glanced over his shoulder, peeking into the living room she hadn't seen much of during her last visit, "You going to let me in or…" doubt slipped in suddenly, "If you have someone… or, uh… something else going on tonight…"

He liked the slightly jealous tone he heard, but didn't make her suffer. "Just me and the TV hanging out tonight," Steve assured as he stepped out of the way, "Yeah, sorry… of course, come in," he waved her inside, holding the door. Steve spotted her small duffle bag on the porch and scooped it up. He dropped it inside near the stairs. "So, seriously… what are you doing here?" he asked again, "And how did you end up with my pizza?"

"My ship's in port," Catherine kicked off her shoes near the door, "I could've told you ahead of time, but…" she turned to face him as he closed the door, "Surprise," she shrugged, "As for the pizza, I intercepted it by the gate about three minutes ago," Catherine sat the box down on his coffee table. She spun around to find that he was right in front of her, "I also paid for it," her brow arched, "So…" she held her hand out.

"Thank you," Steve instantly put his wallet away.

Catherine stared at him for a moment, "Steve, I gave the delivery kid fifty dollars so I could take the pizza and surprise you."

"Thank you very much," he added before leaning in to kiss her.

Her hands pushed against his chest, "Steve, you owe me fifty bucks!" she exclaimed.

"Surprises shouldn't have price tags," he teased, wiggling his way past her blockade to kiss her.

A trickle of laughter emitted as she kissed him back. They forgot everything else as they stood there in the middle of his living room, his hands at her waist, her fingers pressed against either side of his face. Their lips took time to remember one another, the familiar soft, yet fiery, sensation that worked its way through their bodies, "Nice way to greet a person?" she whispered, pulling back just a little to look him in the eye.

"The best," he agreed, "Hope you like pineapple on your pizza," Steve motioned toward the box. He left one hand at her waist and guided her over to the sofa where they sat. "So the ship is staying for a while?" he wondered.

She shook her head, flipping the pizza box open, "Just a three-day maintenance and fueling stop then we're wet again. The last time we tried to plan a day off together it went awry, so I figure this way I at least get a night with you. And if I tell you I only have a limited amount of time off, maybe we can finally have a day to relax?" Catherine caught the slight look of hesitation on his face, "I know… I know… work comes first. At least we can make it through one slice and after that…"

"We see how it goes," he concluded.

"You have beer?" Catherine asked, sitting back with her slice, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

He got to his feet, "Do I have beer?" Steve mocked, "Silly question."

Steve disappeared into the kitchen for a minute and returned with a six pack. He paused beneath the stairs and watched her for a moment, seated on his sofa, now with one leg curled beneath her and one still stretched and resting against the coffee table, looking relaxed as she reached for the remote. The six-pack was placed on the table and he twisted the top off one bottle. Steve handed it over to her before grabbing his own and plopping down on the sofa beside her.

Catherine tried not to let on how happy she was to be with him; not wanting to scare him again. But the last few months of being apart had felt longer than the year and a half that had passed since Bagram, "There a game on tonight?" she asked, flipping channels.

"You mean football?"

"Yes, football is what I mean. Monday night football," Catherine smiled as she waved a hand at the TV. "You know I like football. I told you that. Didn't I?"

"Nope," he grabbed the remote from her, knowing the channels better than she did, "You did not."

"Really?" her nose scrunched, "All these years and the topic of football never came up? Did I never tell you the story about my dog, Cowboy?"

His hand reached over to gently pat her thigh, "Don't sweat it. We're starting over, right?" Steve watched her nod, "So, you had a dog named Cowboy?

She nodded to his starting over comment, "Right," Catherine could only hope that meant she would learn more new things about him as well. But first she launched off into her story about an impatient little six-year-old girl who hated surprises and went to discover a puppy in the garage on Christmas Eve. She liked that his hand stayed on her thigh.

They were only one quarter into the Bears versus Chargers game when her cell phone rang. It emitted a slightly muffled chime from inside the duffle bag Steve had left near the stairs. Catherine got up to retrieve it, hoping like crazy that it wasn't a work related call. "Don't recognize the number," she announced, glancing at the screen, tempted to just ignore the caller. But she took a chance and answered with a simple, "Hello?"

Steve watched as her curious brown eyes lit up a little.

"Hey, how are you? I didn't recognize the num…" she trailed off, turning to look at Steve who was already staring at her with a questioning gaze. "Yeah, he's right here with me."

"Who is it?" he whispered, even more interested to hear her refer to him.

Catherine held her hand over the phone for a moment, "Where's your cell?" she asked him in a whisper.

"What… why?" he stammered, "I think I left it… who are you talking to?"

With a big smile, she removed her hand from the phone, "Hang on a sec, okay?" she spoke a little louder. Catherine looked to Steve again, "It's someone who's been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes," she said before finally switching the phone to speaker, "Okay, Kelly, go ahead, he's on speaker with me."

"Hi, Steve," a woman's voice greeted his surprised ears.

His body tensed, "Kelly, what's wrong?" Steve was instantly on alert, worry causing his muscles to tighten, "Why are you calling this late? Wait a sec, it's even later in California, isn't it?" his brow furrowed, knowing it was, "Something happened?"

"Yes, something happened, but not a bad thing," the woman assured him, "I wanted you to be the first… well, actually my parents and Freddie's parents were the first to know, but I wanted you to be one of the first to know."

"Know what?" he could see Catherine smiling like she already knew exactly what was going on. "Kelly, what…"

"Just wanted you to know you're an uncle," the woman finally revealed.

He still wore a befuddled stare, "Uncle?"

"Our baby girl was born tonight," Kelly announced.

Catherine could see him struggling to keep tears at bay as he digested the news. She knew he was thinking about his best buddy and how it should've been Freddie hearing that news first before any of them, especially the way she'd said, our baby girl. "That's so great, Kelly," Steve finally got the words out. "Is she okay, I mean healthy and everything?"

"She's perfect," they could practically see the smile on the woman's face, "She looks just like Freddie, I swear she's already got his smile. I know they say babies don't smile this early, but she did. It was him, Steve. It was Freddie. She looks just like him," Kelly repeated, clearly overwhelmed with emotion.

"Poor thing," Steve actually laughed, though it came out almost as a sob, "She'll grow out of it, hopefully. Otherwise she'll be the ugliest first female to join the SEALs," he joked.

"Stop it," Catherine jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, "Don't listen to him, Kelly. I bet she's gorgeous."

"She is. I named her Emma, after Freddie's grandmother who he loved so much."

"Emma Hart is a beautiful name," Catherine replied, seeing Steve was still a bit too choked up about it all, and even more so as they heard a tiny cry over the phone.

Kelly's voice came again, "Hey, you two, I should really go; I think she's hungry. But you'll both come visit us, won't you?"

"Yeah, we'll try," Steve replied, not wanting to make a promise he might not be able to keep.

"We'll do our best," Catherine added, "Take care of that little girl and yourself."

"I will," Kelly replied before the call was finally ended.

Catherine placed her phone on the coffee table. She watched Steve recline against the sofa. Catherine laid her head against his shoulder, "You okay?" she asked, a little worried by how quiet he'd gotten. Catherine had known him long enough to know he often grew quiet when emotions ran high.

He stood and went to the door, causing her to worry. She got up and followed him.

Steve stepped outside and walked headlong toward his truck. She stayed in the open doorway, arms crossed over her chest, knowing better than to go after him. If he wanted to take a drive, let off some steam, she wouldn't stand in his way. But instead of taking off, he grabbed something from the truck and then headed back toward her. Catherine could see he was holding his cell phone and glancing down at the missed calls.

He stayed there on the front porch for a moment, looking right at her.

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Catherine said, "She called from her dad's cell phone because she forgot hers in all the chaos of getting to the hospital," she explained what Kelly had told her upon first calling, "You might've dismissed..." she trailed off, watching him closely, knowing that wasn't what he was upset about. "Steve, you can't…"

"Should've been me," he finally whispered, "I should've been the one to… Freddie should be there right now with Kelly. He should've been at the birth of his little girl. I asked him to go on that mission with me and I didn't know about Kelly and the baby. I just thought about… I thought about the mission."

"Steve, don't," she gently warned him from going down that blame path. Catherine watched him clutch the phone, obviously upset that he hadn't had it with him, that he'd missed Kelly's important call, that in some way he hadn't been there for her either, "You can't do that to yourself. Freddie was there because he was a SEAL and he had a job to do, a job you asked for his help with. But if it had been his assignment he'd have gone with or without you. You know that."

The truth was she hadn't known Freddie very well. And Steve rarely talked about his friend. But Catherine had a good idea that they'd been through a lot, and more than just their last mission into North Korea. And if he needed a little prodding to be reminded of the depth of friendship, duty and the fact that life was a guessing game, she'd do that for him. She'd do just about anything for him. Some days that realization scared her. Most days it comforted her.

His head gave a slow nod, "Doesn't make it any easier," Steve admitted to her.

Catherine knew that was true, too, "Come on," she gently pressed her palm against his forearm and guided him back inside. "Kelly and Emma are going to be fine. They'll always miss Freddie, but they still have you. You'll help keep Freddie's memory alive for them. And you'll be there for them if they ever need you, right?"

Again he gave a small nod, "Of course I will."

"Good, now…" Catherine reached for his phone. She took it and set it down on the coffee table close to where hers rested, then she directed him to sit back down, "You remember those North Korean prisoners I told you about?"

"Yeah," he took a deep breath, "You never elaborated, though."

"Three computer hackers," she told him, shifting to one side to face him on the sofa, "They were caught trying to break through the Pentagon's firewall. Try is maybe the wrong word, because they did manage to access some files. They got into some unencrypted food order documents, but…"

Steve nodded, "Any breach like that is a threat."

"Exactly," Catherine was glad to have him focused elsewhere for the moment, "And given the Pentagon's encryption practices, they very well may have had sensitive documents labeled as food orders," she shrugged, "Anyhow, the point is that the North Koreans seem eager to get them back, which makes me think their level of skill alone is something worthwhile… maybe even enough to trade for."

He smiled at her, his left hand reaching out to caress a spot on her arm that he knew she liked, "Impressive work, Lieutenant."

"Don't get too excited," Catherine was glad to see him smile, but she remained the voice of reason, "North Korea might want them back but they're still in denial about having any involvement with the Hess brothers."

"Of course they are," Steve sighed, realizing it wasn't going to be that easy.

"And the State Department is leery of releasing anyone of potential threat, even hackers," she added. "They won't let all three of them go, but I think I've at least finally got them on our side in regard to Freddie. They understand that he fought and died for their country's safety. They want him to come home. But it's tricky because North Korea will make it about politics, which means it could get complicated."

"And complications could take time," he realized, "Lots of time, maybe even years."

"We're not going to give up on this; not on Freddie or this trade," Catherine insisted, "If those hackers aren't enough of a bargaining chip then we'll find another way. I'll put pressure on the State Department every day if I need to in order to make them realize how important this is, Steve. We both will," she remained insistent, "And they'll broker a deal eventually. And we'll bring him home. You believe that, don't you?"

Steve nodded with more fortitude, "With you on Freddie's side, I believe it," he agreed.

"You get that this is important to me, too, don't you?" she asked, "Freddie was one of the most important people in my life."

"Cath…" Steve eyed her, seeing how serious she seemed about that statement, "You know I admire the heck out of you for doing all this," he stated with conviction, "But you really only spent that one weekend with Freddie on the boat."

She smiled. Even though Steve never talked about his friend much, Catherine knew their connection ran deeper than Navy buddies. They were brothers. "True, but you might be getting forgetful in your older age, commander," she responded, causing his brow to arch, "Steve, without Freddie dragging you to that dance, you and I never would've met. And to know Freddie even a day felt like knowing him for a lifetime. He made me feel right at home."

"He was that kind of person," Steve agreed, "Welcoming and… unforgettable…" his memories drifted to a day on the beach in Coronado when they'd still been in SEAL training, "I will never quit," he spoke the words Freddie had quoted before he very nearly had quit the SEAL program. Steve could see that same determination in Catherine - that never quit attitude. It made him feel unworthy of her support. But he was grateful of it as they sat and drank, and watched football.

He didn't bring up Freddie again that evening.

Catherine had drunk two and half beers and eaten two slices of the best ham and pineapple pizza she'd ever tasted. She was a little sleepy, but more aroused than anything as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, "This game is ridiculously one-sided," she voiced.

Steve nodded, grabbing the remote, "Maybe I can find something else… another game or…"

"Or," Catherine reached over and took the remote from him. She easily found the round red power button and turned the TV off, tossed the remote onto the sofa and then stood. "We could get some sleep," she suggested, holding her hand out to him.

Her word, sleep, caused him to grin. Steve took her hand and stood, "I hope that's one of your code phrases."

"It is," she assured before leading him upstairs.

Everything was a hurried blur after that. Slight beer buzzes accentuating their desires. She tugged at his pants, struggling with them, "Ugh! Belts suck…"

He chuckled softly, reaching down to undo the belt for her. She didn't even bother with the zipper, yanking the cargo pants down his legs in one quick motion. "I think you just tore my pants…" Steve laughed as he lifted her arms and glided her shirt off over her head.

"They'll be fine." Her hands smoothed their way down his chest, further south to the waistband of his black boxer briefs.

"Not if you just ripped them," Steve grinned as her hands teasingly paused at his waistband. His eyes closed, head against the door frame.

She let her lips trail along his chest the way she'd wanted to the last time he'd been standing in almost the same spot, toweled, wet chested and leaving for work, "Lucky for you I know how to sew," she looked up at him for a moment, "Why are we wasting time talking about sewing?"

Steve's smile crinkled his eyes as he lifted her, both her legs wrapping about his waist, her arms around his neck. "Not another wall," he whispered.

"No floor," she breathed heavily.

He gave a quick nod before walking her over to the bed and settling her down softly.

The next morning they tried to sleep in even as the sun blazed brightly outside, attempting to beckon them outdoors. "I think we should get something for the baby, a gift," she said, lying on her belly beside him, chin resting against his tattooed bicep. A second later her eyes widened, "I mean, you should send something… and I should send something separately from what you send," Catherine quickly back peddled.

He grinned, "Or we could send something together. Two friends sending another friend a gift," Steve tried to play it cool, "I don't even know what to send."

"Flowers for Kelly," she suggested, "And… uh, I don't know much about babies but I guess diapers are practical," Catherine shrugged.

Steve chuckled softly, "Maybe something soft, a blanket or stuffed bear."

"Something soft from her uncle softy," Catherine teased, watching as he narrowed his eyes at her for the comment. She wasn't frightened by his non-threatening demeanor, "Steve, there's something I came here to tell you, or…" she paused a moment, uncertainty creeping in, "Something I want to discuss with you, run by you…"

"Spit it out," Steve encouraged, never knowing her to be very hesitant.

"You know I've been stationed on the Enterprise for a while now…"

"Several years," he nodded, "Even though you did a couple tours in Kabul and that short stint in Bagram. But the Enterprise has been your home base for quite a while."

"And I've loved it, the tours, being in the heart of the action, getting to do some traveling along the way," Catherine went on, "But lately I've been thinking about a change," she bit her lip, "I actually put in for a job reassignment a few weeks ago. It would be sort of a promotion, or at least more focused than my duties on the ship. More work in Cryptology. And I'd be stationed on land, so more stable. I'd be in the U.S. and I could rent a place of my own, get my feet dry, so to speak," she chuckled nervously.

"Where?" he asked just the one simple question.

Her lips curled into a somewhat hesitant smile, "Here. Pearl Harbor. Well, I guess pretty soon we'll be calling it Pearl-Hickam since the merger is due to happen any day now."

"Seriously?"

She bit her bottom lip again, nervous, hesitation turning into full on worry that he wouldn't be okay with that plan, "I won't if it'll bother you, me being here on your island and… I don't want you to think… I mean, it might not even come through. And I'd still have to finish my duties on the Enterprise and…"

"Catherine, it sounds like a great job opportunity. You don't need my permission. The island isn't mine, and it's plenty big enough for both of us."

That wasn't exactly the resounding 'yes, I'd be so happy if you lived closer' answer she'd been hoping for. But lucky for her she was a very patient person. And when it came to Steve McGarrett, she was prepared to be as patient as possible. "I'd really like to have a home base that isn't floating. It's been a while and I feel like Oahu could really be…" she didn't bother to say the word, home, knowing it was implied.

"So," Steve stretched both arms above his head, "Do you think maybe we should go find a gift for the baby this morning? I could head into work a little late."

"Sure, I'd like…" she didn't get a chance to finish before an alarm blared, jolting them both into a seated position. "What the hell…" Catherine remarked over the loud siren.

"Tsunami warning," he leapt out of bed, grabbing whatever clothing he could find.

Cath searched for her panties as she watched Steve discard his torn pants and seek others, "Phone…" he glanced around the room, "Where's my cell phone?"

"We left them downstairs," she reminded him, pulling her bra on as he headed for the door, "Hey, wait a sec… help me with this…" Catherine pointed to her back.

Steve tucked a t-shirt under one arm and grabbed both ends of her bra.

She pulled on her panties as he worked on her bra, but several seconds ticked by before she turned her head, "You fall asleep back there?"

"There's an alarm blaring and…" Steve fiddled with the bra hooks, "I'm usually better at the UN-doing of these things… got it," he finally declared before dashing out the door.

Catherine snatched up her pants and shirt, clutching them while racing behind him down the stairs.

They both grabbed their phones and spoke briefly to their respective bosses, trying to find out what they could about the impending wave. When the calls ended she teased him briefly about being competitive. As they faced yet another parting, Catherine took a moment to think about Freddie and Kelly. She didn't want to ever know what Kelly had gone through hearing about Freddie's death and not even being able to bury him.

He kissed her briefly and she looked him in the eye, "Be careful today, okay?"

"Yeah… you, too," Steve shared her sentiment.

000

Sunlight beat down on them as they stirred.

She opened her eyes and instantly realized they were no longer moving. And several of the fruit boxes on the back of the truck were missing.

Catherine was thankful for the little sleep she'd gotten, but it hadn't been nearly enough. The dream she'd had was more memory than anything, recalling how she'd told Steve about a possible assignment to Pearl-Hickam. And the recollection of later that same day when he'd made the comment about how having her on land more often would have its benefits. It had been a slightly veiled but more enthusiastic reaction to her future plans than he'd made that morning.

"Morning, bedhead," Steve's voice was groggy.

She turned to see him stretching his arms above his head.

"Morning," Catherine reached up to smooth down her hair after his comment, "How does your backside feel?"

"I'm fine," he replied, but seeing the way she frowned caused Steve to fess up, "Sore, very sore."

"But you can still walk?" Catherine asked.

"I can walk," he rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to loosen up his stiff muscles. But as he glanced through the cab's back window alarms went off in his head, "You've gotta be kidding me," Steve finally tested his leg as he crawled out of the back of the truck. He found Paulo leaning against the driver's side door, steaming cup of coffee in one hand and some sort of bread roll in the other. "Where is she?" Steve demanded.

Paulo stood up straight, sensing Steve was upset. But he clearly didn't understand the man.

"Where's An?" Catherine tried as she joined Steve, "The woman that was with us," she pointed to herself. "Like me only darker hair and… um…"

Steve narrowed his eyes at his wife, hoping she had more to offer than, um, "Don't you still have that guide book you were reading on the plane?" he asked, "Can't you look up the Portuguese words for we lost our prisoner and we're screwed?"

Catherine shook her head, "I left the book on the jet so I'm guessing its ash now. And all I learned from it was how to ask for the bathroom, so unless An is in the bathroom..."

"New rule," Steve mumbled, clearly upset with the situation, "We only get lost in places where we speak the language."

She rolled her eyes at Steve's comment and refocused on Paulo, "Humaita?" Catherine asked. "That's where you said you would take us, right? Humaita?"

Paulo nodded as he pointed to the ground, "Humaita. Você fica aqui enquanto eu descarregar o caminhão." He pointed to the ground again, several times. "Ficar. Ficar."

"Well, we know what town we're in," Catherine remarked.

Steve glanced around. A wide river stretched out in front of them, muddy water that reached a tree-lined bank on the opposite shore. Behind them appeared to be a fairly typical town, streets and trees, buildings both residential and industrial. The cross adorned steeple of a church rose above some of the houses along the bank, and a few shops lined the road further down the street from where they were, "Come on," he spoke to Catherine, "Grab your bag."

Paulo had returned to his task of unloading the truck.

Catherine grabbed her bag and watched Paulo transport one large box of fruit over to a flat-bottomed boat. It was like a mini barge, made of wood with a small outboard motor at the back. It was a simple design for easy transport. Several boxes were already stacked aboard it, most likely headed to a larger town for resale. "We can't just leave him," she voiced, feeling bad for skipping out without at least saying goodbye.

"We paid him," Steve replied rather coldly. He headed off down the road and she followed.

"Still kind of rude, not to say thank you," Catherine muttered to herself, "Why didn't I at least learn thank you. That's an important part of traveling, being gracious. And all I was worried about was finding a bathroom," she lamented.

He nearly cracked a smile, wrapping an arm about her waist, "For you, finding a place to pee is very important," Steve teased.

Catherine pushed his arm off her shoulder, "It was your kid riding around on my bladder for nine months that made locating bathrooms important to me," she shot back.

Steve finally smiled, knowing she wasn't really upset with him. They walked for fifteen minutes before he spotted something familiar, "There." It was a small structure, not much more than a shack, wood paneling painted white with a red shed-roof and a slightly dilapidated sign that had words printed in English. "Norman's Bar," Steve read. A gray-haired man stood at an open-air counter beneath a rickety overhang. "Excuse me," Steve readjusted his pack, favoring his bad leg as he leaned against the bar. "Do you speak English?"

"Ah, fellow Americans," the man grinned, revealing very few teeth remaining in his mouth, "I am Norman Calhoun," he pressed a hand against his chest, "I came here from Los Angeles, California about ten years ago. Wanted a slower pace of life, and boy did I find it here," he rambled, "Very different sort of life here, but luckily booze is pretty much an international language," Norman smiled again, "So what'll it be my friends?"

"It's only eight o'clock in the morning," Catherine pointed out.

Norman nodded, "So it is, so it is… a mimosa then? Well, no… got no champagne. Uh, have to be a screwdriver actually. But it's got orange juice, so that sorta makes it breakfasty."

"I'll pass, thanks," she smiled politely.

"We need to find an airport," Steve also waved off the bartender's efforts to pour him liquor so early in the morning.

"There's an airport at the edge of town," Norman replied, pouring himself a drink of something amber and pungent. "No flights, though."

"Airport but no flights," Steve mulled that over, "So it's too small for commercial flights. Is there a private pilot?"

"Yes, pilot for hire," the man nodded as he gulped down every last drop in the glass of alcohol he'd just poured.

Steve felt a little better at that news, "Good, we need to hire him. You have a number we can call?"

"Oh, no, Marco is not there," Norman's head shook exaggeratedly. "He flew up to Manacapuru, three day humanitarian mission, be back day after tomorrow."

Catherine could see her husband's chest deflate, "How about car rental? Bus?"

Norman nodded, "There's a bus to Porto Velho, big city, capital of Rondonia. Nearest city to us that has flights. There are many flights from there," he said with a nod, "You catch the bus two blocks west of here, but the bus takes many hours. It makes stops at every roadside hut. And you've missed it for today, only one bus a day that leaves at 5 a.m. So I guess you can only hitchhike if you wish to try getting there today. Still several hours by vehicle, though."

Steve's head shook at the older man, "Great, Norman, that's very helpful of you," his tone was anything but grateful.

"Why'd you leave?" an exasperated voice asked from behind them.

Catherine and Steve turned to find An had snuck up on them again. "Where'd you go?" Catherine countered.

"I've been looking for you for a half hour," the woman replied, "I asked Paulo to make sure you stayed where he was unloading the truck."

"She took off…" Steve scoffed, "And she's admonishing us?"

"Paulo kept pointing to the ground," Catherine realized, "He was trying to tell us to stay."

"Right," Steve shook his head, beyond upset and tired of dealing with a woman who was meant to be their prisoner, "Maybe you should've taught him how to play charades a little better. Listen, from now on we do things my way," Steve grabbed more of the zip ties from his bag and made a move to cuff An, "We have to wait for a day before the next bus."

"Steve, no…" Catherine tried to stop him from cuffing the woman.

"I know you have no reason to believe me," An tried to plead her case to him yet again.

"I don't," he agreed, managing to get one tie around her left wrist.

An didn't protest, "Everything seems to point to me being against you. But I am not," she tried to assure him. She held her right hand out to him, willingly giving herself up, "I want to find my parents, yes, but I also want to help you stop Lawson. I hope we can make both of those things happen."

"Funny thing about having life both ways…" Steve secured her other wrist and then bound them together, "Never seems to work out that way," he concluded.

Catherine already had his knife in hand and she snapped the left cuff free from An's wrist.

Steve glared at her, "What're you doing?"

She only focused on An, "Do you have a better plan than hitchhiking again?"

"Not exactly," An replied, "I arranged for us to ride with a family that's headed to Porto Velho."

"You arranged?" Steve remained hesitant.

An looked from Catherine to Steve. "It's about a three hour drive south of here and they'd like to get going as soon as possible. They have family expecting them to arrive by mid-day. Once we get to Porto Velho we can hire a pilot to take us to Juara. Each time Lawson took me to his complex I flew into Juara. I was blindfolded from there and taken in a car to the compound, but I have a good memory. I can retrace the route."

"So another flight," Catherine sighed, already knowing it was inevitable.

"It'll be a short flight," Steve tried to reassure her. Even though she'd just undone his cuffs, undermining his authority, he was still feeling overprotective of his wife. She'd managed to handle the flight to South America by reading and sleeping, but he'd been able to tell it had bothered her, "When this is over we can take ground transportation all the way up to North America if you want, and a boat from there to Hawaii," Steve offered.

Catherine felt a bit foolish, "Do I really sound that anxious?"

"Kind of," he took the knife from her, "But it's understandable." He eyed An for a long moment before he freed her from the other tie, "We should get going."

They walked several blocks east from Norman's bar, accustomed to the walking after several days of it. An directed them to a white van that was just large enough for seven people. The van was covered in dust and dented, but Catherine was thankful for the transportation. An made brief introductions to the family, a young woman named Mariana, her husband, Jorge, and their two little girls, Julia who was five and three-year-old Sofia.

Both girls had long brown hair braided down their backs, and dark complexions. Each smiled and waved shyly at the strangers as they sat side-by-side in the middle seat. An crawled into the back seat and settled by the far window. Catherine took the middle spot, knowing that Steve sitting next to An would be a mistake. He was the last one in and closed the sliding door before taking his spot next to Catherine. They buckled up and Jorge set the van on its way.

The roads in town were mostly paved and so was the main road south into Porto Velho.

Sofia and Julia occupied themselves by playing some game with string wound around their fingers. Occasionally their laughter would fill the small van with a joyous sound.

"Do you want that?" Catherine looked to Steve.

His eyes narrowed, "Huh?"

She pointed discreetly to the girls, "Do you want Evan to have a little brother or sister to play and laugh with?"

Steve noticed a smile on his wife's face, "Do you?"

She shrugged, "I don't know… maybe."

Their brief conversation ended as Mariana passed a few containers to the girls and spoke softly to them, motioning to the three adults in the back of their vehicle. Julia bravely turned around and held out one of the containers, an orange ceramic bowl that was filled with berries, "Nós temos muito para compartilhar , você olha com fome…"

An turned to Catherine, "She said we look hungry and they have plenty to share."

"How do you say thank you?" Catherine immediately asked.

"You would say, Obrigada," An relayed.

Catherine smiled at the girls as she took the bowl from Julia, "Obrigada," she said, taking a few berries before sharing them with An and Steve as well. The smaller girl passed back containers of dried meat and sweet bread rolls. Her little hand grasped Catherine's left hand and she stared at the shiny ring on her middle finger for a moment before she pointed to where her missing finger was. Catherine noticed the concerned look in the little girl's eyes. "It doesn't hurt," she assured the child.

Sofia smiled and rolled up her sleeve to show Catherine a small scar on her elbow.

"You must've been very brave to survive such an injury," Catherine spoke to her.

The little girl seemed to understand as they conversed without words.

The rest of the food was passed back and forth until everyone had some. They all ate in silence.

Interacting with the girls made Catherine miss Evan even more, but she ate to keep up her strength. To keep going. To fight. To make it home to him.

Mariana spoke to her husband behind the wheel and Catherine was almost sure she heard the word for bathroom somewhere in there. Sure enough they stopped a short time later and An translated that they were taking a brief rest at a park. Steve grumbled something about wasting time, but he was quieted by a look from his wife. The girls graciously let their guests get out first. But as little Sofia was exiting, Catherine noticed how her foot got caught on the edge of the door.

Catherine was the only one to see the girl trip. She reached out and caught Sofia, stopping the girl from falling face first upon the rocky ground.

"Sofia!" her mother yelped as she rushed to the girl, "Você está bem?"

The girl nodded as Catherine put the child down on her feet.

Mariana smiled at Catherine, "Obrigada," she said, "Obrigada," the sentiment was repeated emphatically as she took Sofia's hand.

An spoke to Mariana for a moment and the mother nodded, smiling at Catherine before guiding both her girls off toward the public restroom.

"What did you say to her?" Catherine asked.

"I told her you had a son at home, and that you were a very good mother," An explained as she watched Steve starring at her. "Mariana said she could tell."

They arrived in Porto Velho an hour and a half after their rest stop. The white van dropped them at the airport and Steve tried to offer the family money but they refused to take any. And little Sofia wrapped her arms around Catherine, hugging her tightly before her parents said they had to leave. Catherine waved to the girl as the van took off. She stood there until the vehicle disappeared from sight. Then she set her mind back to the business at hand.

"We need a private charter to Juara," Catherine noted, "Someone who'll take cash and not ask questions about your weapons."

"You should keep the weapons from sight," An warned, though Steve and Catherine were already ahead of her on that, having hid them from the family they'd traveled with. "I know someone here, wait for me this time," An directed before dashing off, leaving them curbside at the airport.

"Great, she knows someone," Steve grumbled, watching An get away, "And now she's giving the orders again? I don't like this, Catherine."

"Really?" her brow shot upward in mock surprise, "I hadn't noticed," she sighed, "Steve, I know how hard this is for you. I go along with most of your plans no questions asked. You're used to being in charge, but An knows her way around here. She speaks the language," Catherine needlessly repeated, "And she's proven herself to be on our side."

"So far," he agreed, "But I can't help feeling like we're being drawn into a trap."

"If she traps us I'll be the first one to admit I was wrong," Catherine teased, "But until then…"

"I know, I know… we trust her," he gave in again. "There's a power outlet here," he waved a hand at the object nestled into the wall right next to an empty bench, "We should try to charge your laptop and cell phone, see if we can send another message home."

Catherine made no move to do as he suggested.

"What's wrong?" he regarded her with concern.

"Someone knew exactly what jet we were on, Steve. Thankfully they waited until we were on a less populated flight this time, but… they knew. They poisoned our pilot - killed him - so we'd crash," she sighed, "How'd they know where to find us? I think the only answer is that they zeroed in on my satellite program. They tracked us like we tried to track An."

He felt the weight of that pilot's death on his shoulders, same as Catherine carried the weight of guilt for all 114 passengers who had died on flight U8517. "How the hell is Lawson still controlling all this from behind bars?" Steve wondered, "He's had minimal contact with the outside world since we tossed him in Halawa. He can't have men loyal enough to keep this close of a watch on us." He regrouped, "Can't you just shut down the program so they wouldn't be able to locate us?"

"Even if I could undo An's rewiring of my batteries, and charge the laptop… the program would have to be completely removed," she sat down on the bench but didn't pull out her computer. "Then I wouldn't be able to send an email without the satellite uplink. I do not trust any Wi-Fi signal that might be floating around here."

"You used the program briefly in the rainforest," he reminded her, "Be quick."

Catherine's head shook, "Maybe they'd detect it, maybe they wouldn't," she shrugged, "In the rainforest we were still close enough to the crash site that they might believe we died in the explosion An set. The best thing for our safety right now is a communications blackout, at least until we get to Lawson's compound. Once we're inside the hornet's nest… who really cares about being located," she concluded.

Steve watched her obvious struggle with the decision, knowing how much she wanted to start up her laptop and Skype with the team, maybe even catch a glimpse of Evan. "We could risk it," he offered. "Or they might still have pay phones around here."

She still felt miserable despite his ability to make her smile for a moment, "We can't. This mission to find and rescue An's parents is the most important thing right now. If we make one wrong move in this battle then not just our lives are at risk. You know how Lawson plays these games. He never comes after you directly."

"He got to you," Steve acknowledged, "And he threatened to take Mary." He didn't bother mentioning that Lawson might try to use Evan against them both if given a chance. Steve had to believe his mother and the team could keep the baby safe. He sat down next to his wife, took her hand and kissed her wrist, "Doesn't matter," he whispered, "They already know we're alive. And that we love them. And they know we're coming home."

Catherine smiled again, thankful for his confidence, "Yes, they do."

A half hour later, with the help of An's friend, they'd circumnavigated the airport security systems and boarded a private flight; paid for with the cash they had on hand. Steve and Catherine sat next to each other on a much smaller plane than the jet that had crashed; a Cessna eight-seat turboprop. They held hands across the narrow aisle and thought about their family and friends back home waiting for them. After a short flight they taxied across the small Juara airstrip toward a private hanger.

A vehicle was waiting for them, something else An had arranged before leaving Porto Velho. Also paid for with the last of their cash.

Not using credit or debit cards would hopefully also help keep Lawson's guys off their trail.

Steve got behind the wheel of a small jeep 4x4 since they weren't sure what sort of terrain they might run into. He started the vehicle and then turned to regard An who was in the backseat, "Should we blindfold you, would that help?" he suggested a little too eagerly.

"Steve," Catherine gently scolded from the passenger seat.

He gave a somewhat apologetic shrug, "So?" Steve prompted.

An closed her eyes, "Drive a short distance and then turn right."

Steve passed what appeared to be farmland and noticed a road up ahead of them as he drove away from the airport. He took a right turn as she'd instructed. The new road was an unpaved path, but wide enough to be considered a main thoroughfare in the area. "How many times have you been here?" he finally asked.

"Twice," An replied.

"Twice?" he questioned. An said nothing and Catherine shot him her best 'let it go' look. Steve took a deep breath, grateful that he was driving. Driving helped him feel like he at least had some small bit of control over their current situation.

They traveled over a bridge An mentioned seconds before it appeared. Steve glanced back from time to time to see her eyes remained closed. He hoped Catherine was right about the woman, and that putting their trust in her wasn't going to backfire on them at some point. From the bridge they traveled north, the road somewhat following along the curves of the Arinos river for a while. After that An directed them west onto a major road through the area. Then they headed north and slightly east.

An hour passed and then another half hour, Steve turning and following An's blind directions.

"Take a left in about two minutes," the woman in the back seat dictated.

He drove two minutes according to his watch and slowed. "Left?" Steve questioned, pointing left so that Catherine could see what he was seeing.

"There's no road," Catherine was the one to say it. "Maybe a little further," she suggested.

"No, here," An insisted. "This is where the terrain gets rough. There's no road," she verified. "Trust me."

Steve's hands gripped the wheel tighter, starting to hate those words. He exchanged a quick glance with his wife. She nodded, looking hopeful. "Okay… left," he agreed.

There were a lot of trees, but there also seemed to be a distinct path just wide enough for a vehicle such as theirs. The path was muddy, rain having washed away any other vehicle tracks that might have been there before. Steve kept going, knowing they at least had guns, water, extra fuel and some small bit of food with them this time. As well as a car to get them out of the forest if need be. He kept glancing back at An, noticing she remained seated with her eyes closed.

A huge dip in the road caused the jeep to jostle them from side to side.

"Right," An suddenly ordered.

Steve did his best to accommodate the surprisingly brief notice of the turn.

"Left," she commanded a few minutes later.

Catherine actually had to cover her mouth for fear she might laugh. She knew it was a ridiculous emotion to have at such a time, lost again in the middle of Brazil. But listening to An and watching Steve's adverse reaction to the woman nearly had her in stitches. Catherine blamed sleep deprivation. But as they approached a very high stone wall, Catherine was wide awake. Her hand dropped to her lap, laughter forgotten.

"We're here," An announced.

It was hard not to shiver as Steve heard her say those words. He noticed An's eyes had opened.

"Left again, quickly," An directed, "You're almost in camera range here, turn left!"

He took a sharp left and halted the vehicle five minutes later. "We go on foot from here," he called the shots again. "Take everything you can get in your pack. Food, water, weapons. Leave the fuel with the jeep in case we make it back here." He wasn't certain of that at the moment. "How do we avoid the cameras?" he asked.

"We wait," An replied.

"Wait for what?" Steve wondered, "Change of guard?"

"Nope, darkness."

Steve and Catherine agreed to wait, having very little other choice.

They waited. For an hour. Then two. Three hours passed before the sun finally sunk low enough for the forest to grow dark. An led the way forward, back toward the wall they'd first encountered. The crudely shaped stones were rusty-orange, made of the same earth they walked upon as they slowly approached a large gate. The gate was iron and wood, looking heavy and fortified with a large electronic locking mechanism.

An stepped forward and held her right hand out. "I really hope this still works," she whispered before pressing her palm against the lock pad.

A flat panel scanned her hand, red light travelling up and down.

Finally it blinked green and the gate made a soft hiss before it opened a crack. She looked over her shoulder one way and then the other as she waved them forward.

Catherine entered an open courtyard and almost instantly felt sick to her stomach. An followed her and Steve came in behind them. "Soybeans," the word slipped from Catherine's lips as she glanced around at the trees and a towering stone house. Her head snapped to the right where Steve stood. "Shit," she whispered, looking up at him with worried eyes.

Steve was confused for a moment as he glanced at his wife. Catherine looked like she'd just seen a ghost, and the word soybeans echoed in his head. Icy tendrils of realization caused his entire body to tense. "Soybeans," he locked eyes with Catherine as they stood there surrounded by trees.

At the house Catherine remembered Lawson talking about there'd been soybean fields. Maybe it had been a lie. But if it hadn't then they were at the wrong place.

An had led them to the wrong place.

They drew their weapons at the same time. Catherine pressed her back against Steve's, but it was already too late. Several young men moved out of the shadows toward them, weapons drawn. Their weapons were not all the same, though. A few held pistols like the tactical team that had found their jet, but some wielded automatic weapons and a few even had crossbows in their hands. All of them were aimed and ready to fire.

"You're not going to like this part," An warned before she took a step away from them and spoke to one of the young men.

Catherine mentally kicked herself for not trying to learn more than directions to the bathroom or the word thank you. "An, I trusted you," she tried to reason with the woman. "I trust you," she added with more force. "You helped me on the Kappa. I know this isn't what you want."

Steve shook his head, "Cath, she's not who you think."

"Shut up, both of you!" An shouted as she kicked his bad leg.

He winced as pain radiated down his thigh.

An used the distraction to relieve him of his gun. Then she took Catherine's and tucked both weapons into the waistband behind her back. "Keep your mouth shut," An instructed. "And maybe you'll live to see your son again someday."

That last comment got under his skin, but Catherine put a hand against his wrist to calm him. "You were right," she whispered. "Please don't be mad at me."

He hated hearing her remorse more than he hated being right.

"I am mad," Steve replied, "Because I trusted her, too." Those words had barely left his mouth when he lunged toward An, kicking her in the stomach despite the pain it caused in his injured leg. He watched with satisfaction as she doubled over.

"Steve, don't," Catherine tried to stop him. "Let me talk to her."

"No more talking," he fumed, "No more trusting her," Steve sprang back into action, but An rebounded quicker than he'd anticipated.

She ducked beneath his second kick, reached behind her back, pulled one gun free of her waistband and spun around.

"Don't be stupid," An warned him as she aimed the weapon at Catherine.

---

To be continued…