A/N: Um, maybe a little bit of a warning? This chapter gets a little more hands-on violent than some of my others.
#*#*#*#*#
Their movements were almost perfectly synchronized, Steve noticed, as his target and Nick's target went down without a sound. Sudden inspiration struck, and he caught Nick's eye as he started to remove the unconscious man's uniform.
Nick tilted his head and looked flatly at Steve and then deliberately back down at the man slumped at his feet. The guards they'd just taken out were closer to Danny's height, and not even nearly his broad build. The uniforms would be useless for the six plus feet of Navy SEAL.
Idiot. Steve could hear Danny's voice, fond and exasperated, in his mind. He was cold and he missed Hawaii. He missed Jax. Nick was next to him, checking the clip on the small automatic rifle hooked to his tac vest.
"I think I might get out," Steve said absently.
"You're a jackass," Nick said. "Let's discuss your retirement over a single malt on the beach, not right now. RIght now, we need to destroy that stockpile, get our intel, and get the hell back over the border."
Steve nodded, and they carefully began placing the charges.
"Damn, these are small," Steve said. "I hope they do the job."
"If I weren't focused on setting fuses, I could go so many places with that," Nick said wistfully.
With enough charges in place to take out the building, they took cover again behind a smaller structure - an outhouse, from the smell of it. It was annoying, but to their advantage. No one would come this way unless they needed to, and they damn sure wouldn't linger.
"Best guess, which building is their communications?" Steve asked, thoughtfully turning over a few extra sets of explosives. "We could buy a lot more time to look for WoFat if we could cut off their contact. This place is pretty remote."
Nick paused a beat. "It may not be WoFat," he reminded Steve. "But my guess, the concrete building, there, at your seven o-clock. It's the one with the generator."
"Worth it?" Steve asked, calculating distance and exposure. He knew that Nick was doing the same.
"Hell, yeah," NIck agreed. "If we have them cut off from reinforcements, we stand a much better chance of getting out of here without any extra holes in us. We also risk blowing up our primary target."
"We take out the armory first," Steve said. "Watch to see who flushes out of that building. All of my instincts and experiences tell me the leaders are bunkered in there - it's the strongest building, and probably the only one with heat. We take the building out behind them."
"Agreed," Nick said. "Although . . . we could just take the building out. Period. Pick up the literal pieces later."
"Brass needs to know if North Korea is actively coordinating with this militia," Steve pointed out. "We need to know if the North Korean army is backing and arming this group - it changes the landscape."
"You'll be able to tell the difference if the camp is in chaos?" Nick questioned.
"I'll know," Steve said grimly. Nick didn't question him further. If Steve was certain, he was certain, and that was good enough for him.
"Okay, time's wasting then," Nick said. "Cover me."
Before Steve could argue, Nick had grabbed the surplus explosives from his hand and was sidestepping silently to the concrete building.
"Damn it, Bullfrog," Steve muttered, his eyes scanning frantically to see if Nick's movement was detected. The idiot. He was exposing himself, keeping Steve safely back, keeping him in cover. It was a stupid, stupid plan, Steve thought, glaring at Nick.
The first charge was set when the door of the building opened. Nick flattened himself against the wall. The door blocked him from the view of the person exiting, and with any luck, Steve thought, they might yet pull this off. For all their bulk, SEALs were remarkably gifted at melting into the background of any given situation. The door closed, and two men - not in uniform, Steve noted, so militia, then - walked out. Steve wondered idly about telepathy and mind control, as they turned, to his immense relief, away from Nick.
Nick didn't look relieved, he looked shocked, and dismayed, like someone whose clever plan had just backfired. Steve felt the cold steel of the stock of a rifle make contact with the back of his head, and understood why. There was the roar of an explosion and a wave of heat at his back, and then nothing.
#*#*#*#*#
Damn concussions, Jax thought. She could have held her own, probably, but pain plus dizziness meant that her three assailants were quickly gaining ground. It pissed her off. They were good, better than most civilians. She took a closer look at the face just inches from hers, hissing something about knowing her place. Shit. These assholes weren't civilians, they were NYPD. And one of them had clocked her good, based on her double vision and the pain spiking through her head. He was saying something about Danny, why was he talking about Danny?
Danny wasn't sure what he heard first, Jax's distressed mutterings, or Pupule's frantic pawing at the bedroom door. He was off the sofa like a shot, his short legs taking the stairs two at a time. Pupule hurtled through the bedroom door when he opened it and stopped short, looking up at him. Danny knocked softly on the bedroom door.
"Jax?" he called. He'd witnessed her coming up swinging more than once. No sense taking unnecessary risks.
"Danny?" Mary's sleepy voice came from the bottom of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"Jax might be having a nightmare," Danny said. "Hold on."
"Danny," Jax sighed. "Do we have a case?"
"You awake, Jax? There's no case. You with me?" Danny stepped cautiously into the doorway. "Also, you decent?"
Jax sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Danny, what the hell . . ." she muttered. "Oh, geez. My head is killing me." She swung her legs, awkwardly, over the side of the bed. To Danny's relief, she was wearing an oversized tshirt, faded FDNY lettering visible in the pale moonlight as she shuffled to the bathroom. He chuckled. Her brother had been a big guy, about Steve's height, but with the added bulk typical of firefighters.
"You finally outgrow Steve's t-shirts?" Danny quipped. She mumbled half-heartedly in response. He waited patiently as he heard the sound of the toilet flushing, the splash of water in the sink and then . . . nothing. He called her name again.
No response.
He pushed open the bathroom door, privacy be damned. She was standing in front of the medicine cabinet, squinting at a bottle of pills. She held it out to him, blinking slowly and swaying a bit on her feet.
"I can't read this, is it for headaches?" she asked.
He carefully took the bottle from her and wrapped his hand around her neck, trying to steady her and get a good look at her eyes at the same time.
"Jax, how bad is your head hurting, babe?" he asked.
"Assholes gave me a concussion, it hurts like hell, Danny," she said. "Gimme my scrip. Better yet, get the damn childproof cap off it. Geez, you're the one with the kid, not me."
Danny's eyes widened in alarm. "Jax, what's going on? Are you with me right now?"
"You gonna give me the pills or not?" she demanded petulantly. "And turn off the fucking light."
Mary had crept up to the landing. "Why is Jax cursing like a sailor?"
"Because when she's concussed or altered she has no filter," Danny said.
"She shouldn't be concussed or altered," Mary said.
Danny wrapped an arm around Jax's shoulder and steered her into the bedroom.
"I know," he said, jerking his head to indicate his need for Mary's help. "That's why we're taking her to Tripler."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve didn't so much regain consciousness as slam into it, with a rush of adrenaline that left him shaking.
Or maybe that was the cold.
He had barely twitched before grabbing hard at self-control, willing himself to not betray his conscious state until he'd managed an inventory of sorts. Pain radiating from the base of his skull matched the memory of a rifle stock impacting. He matched the superficial burns he could feel on his back with the memory of the explosion behind him - the munitions store, no doubt - and then dismissed them. As injuries go, it was insignificant. His back had probably been shielded by whoever had clocked him. He dismissed that as well. Pressure on his wrists indicated restraints, and the pull of his shoulders combined with the sensation of his bare toes barely touching the dirt beneath them indicated that he was up the proverbial shit creek. The only sound he could make out, aside from his own pulse pounding in his ears, was a slight wheezing, irregular breathing close by. He hazarded lifting one eyelid, ignoring the sticky sensation as more superficial bleeding, and spotted Nick.
He assumed that Nick's position mirrored his own - hands tied, the rope slung over a beam and secured to the wall. Their boots had been removed, but the rest of their clothing seemed relatively intact. He supposed it was pointless to hope that any weapons had been overlooked, but then, few people would know all the places to look. Nick's eyes were open, watching him.
"How long?" Steve muttered quietly.
"How long were you out, or how long before the cavalry arrives?" Nick responded, voice barely audible. No matter, they were both perfectly adept at reading lips.
"Calvary - no, they're to drop back if we don't make it back," Steve argued. "And yeah, how much did I miss?"
Nick shook his head and winced. "Group of eight, five SEALs and three guys crazy enough to volunteer to come along, and you honestly think they're going to drop back? You've been napping for about an hour. Eight hour flight to our base in Seoul, four hours on foot to the border, they were giving us four hours to cross in, do our thing, get back to them. They'll hold steady for no more than thirty minutes, give us a margin. Two, three hours . . . we should expect some sort of diversion. You okay for that long?"
Steve nodded carefully. "Concussion, minor burns. How about you?"
"Sorry about the burns. Detonated the munitions, thought maybe, if I could create a big enough distraction . . . wasn't big enough. You were already down, there were too many of them. Couldn't get to you," Nick said. He pulled at his wrists in frustration.
Steve looked around for a possible means of escape. The windowless structure didn't look especially sturdy, and they were bound with rope, not chains.
"Yeah, we've managed to get out of worse," Nick said. He'd already had time to take inventory. "One door, no windows. If we can get our hands free, we can bottleneck anyone coming through the door. Take even one guy out, get a weapon . . . might not even need the cavalry."
The door swung open and a man dressed in a North Korean military uniform stepped inside, flanked by two other soldiers. Steve wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that it wasn't WoFat.
"How did you arrive at this location?" the man asked, in carefully cultured English. Steve recognized his insignia indicating a rank equivalent of major. The others were in plain, unadorned uniforms. No rank. Just muscle.
Steve answered in Mandarin Chinese. Nick wasn't sure, but he thought that it was something along the lines of calling the man a little disappointment. Or perhaps calling part of the man a little disappointing. Regardless, Steve was immediately on the receiving end of a vicious punch to his midsection, the rope rubbing painfully against his wrists as his feet swung out from under him.
"You are Americans," the major stated.
Nick and Steve just stared at him. He hadn't asked a question. Their general complexion and build screamed American, but then again, this was why they had ditched uniform and insignia at the border, and gone in wearing what Danny referred to as "ninja gear". Zero identifying features. Not even their dogtags. Steve wondered who would take their tags back to Jax and Catherine, if -
"He's not very good at this," Nick said conversationally, looking at Steve and interrupting his train of thought.
"Or maybe he understands Mandarin," Steve suggested, panting. His comment earned him another blow, and he kicked out violently at the soldier. His kick didn't connect. So, muscle and speed.
"How many are you?" the major demanded, turning his attention to Nick.
Nick answered in Farsi. Steve had more than a passing knowledge of Farsi, enough to know that Nick had just insulted the major's mother. And sister. And girlfriend . . . no. Absence of girlfriend. Steve grinned, then grimaced as Nick received two punishing blows to his kidneys, leaving him swinging and panting against the pain.
Shit. It could be a long two or three hours.
#*#*#*#*#
"McGarrett," Gus barked. "What the hell are you doing in my ER?"
Jax looked at her, confused, and Gus was on the near side of the nurses' station so quickly that Danny wondered if she'd vaulted over it. Her penlight was in hand, flashing at Jax's eyes, before he could even open his mouth.
"Detective Williams," Gus said. "Sorry, it took me a split second to realize this wasn't Jax lurking around looking to be entertained. Symptoms?"
"Headache, mild earlier, but she woke up disoriented and complaining about it being bad," Danny said. "She'd said something about taking her blood pressure if Tylenol didn't work, but I didn't know how to get her to do that, so I brought her straight here."
"And we're taking her straight up to obstetrics," Gus said. "I'll have them page Captain Bluedorn, her OB."
"Steve's sister is parking the car," Danny said.
"They'll get her in the right place," Gus assured him. She calmly pressed a wheelchair into the back of Jax's knees, and a gentle push on her shoulder had her seated.
"What is it?" Danny asked anxiously. "My wife has had two babies, this didn't happen. And Jax is accident prone, sure, but she hasn't fallen or anything."
"Right here, Danny," Jax said irritably. "God, do I do that? Talk about patients like they're not there?"
"We all do," Gus said, patting Jax's shoulder. "You with me, McGarrett?"
"Yeah, Gus," Jax said tiredly. "My head's killing me and I have to admit, I'm losing the plot here and there. But I'm mostly here."
Gus was wrapping her blood pressure cuff around Jax's arm and popping her stethoscope into her ears one-handed. Danny was fairly certain that she had an extra hand, somehow, because she seemed to be doing four things at once in a moving elevator.
"BP's high, McGarrett," Gus said. "But not off the charts, scary high. High enough to give you a nasty headache, and probably high enough to land your ass in a bed here overnight. Your tactical training probably only touched on preeclampsia, but - aha, yes, now that I've said the word you recognize the warning signs. Any chance you're fighting a bug? Blood sugar off? Unusually stressed?"
Danny's laugh had just a tinge of hysteria, Gus thought.
#*#*#*#*#
Catherine paced in her tiny office. She'd tried to doze as much as she could those first eight hours, knowing the team was simply en route to the US military base in South Korea. It was the next eight hours, this eight hours, that was most nerve-wracking. These were the hours of radio silence, of Steve and Nick trying to get in and out of the militia encampment. Orders were concurrently simple - destroy what you can, find out what you can, get the hell out - and complicated. They would have to decide what to destroy, what to preserve, and most importantly, when and how to get out.
She looked at the clocks on the wall again. Two hours. She should hear something in two hours.
Rear Admiral Vincas appeared in her doorway with a cup of coffee, steaming hot.
"I wouldn't have asked them," he said quietly, in a rare expression of concern and compassion. "Lieutenant Rollins, if there had been anyone else even remotely capable of the mission, I wouldn't have asked McGarrett. But given that I had to . . . Taylor refused to consider anyone else as the second."
"I know, sir," Catherine said, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Respectfully, sir, may I make a suggestion?"
"Absolutely."
"It doesn't seem strategically prudent, to be in this situation," she said. "Where the success of a mission of global impact rests on one person's shoulders. It's strategically unsustainable, sir. Not to mention -"
"No, go ahead, Lieutenant, finish your thought."
"Well, sir, it's manipulative," Catherine said, straightening her spine. "An aspect I've found increasingly present in the Special Activities Division."
The admiral sighed and didn't bother to disagree.
#*#*#*#*#
Steve glared at Nick, absolutely furious, as the door closed behind the major and his lackeys.
"You did that on purpose," Steve hissed. His jaw was aching - one of the soldiers had just enough of a reach to catch him solidly, and he had, over and over. Steve wasn't sure if the fact that the other two men were of shorter stature was a blessing or a curse - their faces and upper bodies had been spared the brunt of the abuse, but his ribs and kidneys were aching. He knew Nick must be in absolute agony, as he'd managed to goad and manipulate the soldiers into taking most of their frustration out on him. Steve was equal parts impressed and furious.
"Don't know - what - you're talking - about," Nick grunted out.
"You're provoking them, drawing their attention to yourself," Steve said. He jackknifed his body in half, ribs screaming in protest, as he tried to wrap his feet around the rope and create some slack. It worked, in a fashion, but his hands were hopelessly swollen by this point.
"Maybe I'm - tired - of you - being such an - attention hound," Nick said. "Shit."
"How bad?" Steve demanded. He was working furiously in an effort to dislocate his thumb so that he could slip his hands through the rope.
"Might have - broken - a rib," Nick said.
"Yeah?" Steve kept his tone light, even though his mind was screaming at the potential dangers of a broken rib. Punctured lung, punctured spleen . . . "suck it up, Bullfrog. Broken ribs, shit, you get those playing football."
"What would - you know," Nick panted. "Protected - pansy-ass - quarterback."
"Shut up, stop talking," Steve said. He realized that his shoulder was going to dislocated before his thumb, at this point, and that would accomplish nothing. He lowered his feet to the ground, growling in frustration.
"If we - get rescued - by a radio jockey," Nick said, his head lolling on his shoulders, "we gonna - be embarrassed?"
"Nah, the radio jockey is gonna get a promotion," Steve said. "And we get to kick back at my place with a grilled steak."
"Okay," Nick agreed. "Another hour - I'm good -"
"The hell you are," Steve said. "You've bought us enough time, Nick. Don't do this, man, let them come after me."
"Agreement is - you go home - no matter - what," Nick said.
"Damn it to hell, Bullfrog, that's no way to run a mission," Steve hissed. He could hear footsteps approaching. So far, they'd managed to destroy the militia's stockpile of weapons, confirm that the North Korean government was, in fact, in collusion with the militia, and royally piss off and provoke the relatively low-ranking military officer in charge. It was, all in all, a good day's work - except for the part where a simple rope was keeping them from securing their freedom and getting the hell out of dodge. He slipped into combat breathing, preparing to override Nick's efforts to absorb the brunt of the abuse, and try to occupy the goons until the beautiful idiots on the team that Catherine had assembled decided to disregard the orders and come save their asses. He was confident in his ability to withstand the unimaginative beating handed out so far. Mentally and physically, he was calm and prepared.
He wasn't prepared to see WoFat walk through the door.
Oh. Well, shit, his brain prompted, sounding, as it often did, like Danny. I guess WoFat is brokering the deal, then.
#*#*#*#*#
Captain Bluedorn closed the door to Jax's room behind her quietly, and stepped down to the end of the hall to the family waiting room. Mary was curled in a miserable lump on the sofa, while Danny paced anxiously.
"Doc, what's going on?" Danny said, pouncing on her.
"She's doing fine, resting comfortably," Bluedorn said, holding up her hand to ward off their interruptions. "I'm very glad you brought her straight in. She does have a condition known as preeclampsia. As complications go, it's not terribly unusual, especially in multiples. One of the first really obvious symptoms is the headache, so we have to say she's past the earliest stages, but she's not complaining of shortness of breath or severe abdominal pain, so we're hopeful that we've caught it early."
"Early, what does that mean, though?" Danny demanded.
"Early, meaning, we can manage her blood pressure and monitor her carefully, and hopefully hold off delivering the babies a while longer," Bluedorn said.
"They're not due for another month," Mary said. "It's too soon."
"It's actually a pretty typical delivery time for twins," Bluedorn explained. "We could deliver right now, and anticipate that the worst complication would be that the smaller of the two babies might need some respiratory support. It would be nice if we could get to week thirty-seven. At that point, there would be almost no risk of complications to the babies. However, Jax is our primary concern right now. If she's in distress, obviously, the babies will be in distress, and we'll have to deliver. I understand that Commander McGarrett is . . . away."
Danny nodded shortly, a dark look passing across his face.
"It's important that you understand that this likely would have happened, regardless," Bluedorn said. "And either way, negativity about the commander's activity will only increase stress. Clear?"
"Understood," Danny sighed. "Can we see her?"
"Absolutely. We're giving her extra fluids, some medication to control her blood pressure, and trying hard to get her pain under control. You'll need to keep the room quiet and dark, but I believe she'll find your presence comforting. You also need to understand - she's probably not going to be going home until after the safe delivery of the babies. I'm not comfortable with the risks," Bluedorn said.
"Thank God," Danny said fervently, as Mary nodded. "We're not comfortable with the responsibility. But you're saying . . . we may want to circle the wagons, take shifts?"
"Precisely. You're in it for the long haul, but the good news is, pretty soon - healthy babies, healthy mom," Bluedorn said.
Danny and Mary tiptoed into Jax's room. She was curled on her left side, an IV running into her right hand. A nurse was gently tucking a blanket around her shoulders.
"She still has a pretty gnarly headache," the nurse whispered. "We've given her something, it should kick in pretty soon." She slipped out quietly.
Mary hesitated, unfamiliar and uncertain in the face of Jax subdued and in pain. Danny, however, was all too familiar with the scenario. He pulled up a chair and sat down, taking Jax's hand in his. His broad hand brushed the hair back from her face.
"Hey, rookie," he whispered. "Doc says you're going to be fine, and the babies are going to be fine. You could pop those kids out right now, if need be."
"Steve's not here," Jax whispered back.
"I know, I know," Danny said. "But he will be, yeah? And in the meantime, we're here, and we're not going anywhere. The whole team will rotate, need be, and it will all work out fine, you'll see. You just rest. By the time you wake up, you'll be feeling better, I'm sure of it. Just sleep, honey, we're right here."
#*#*#*#*#
"When they told me that some Americans had located this facility, destroyed our weapons, I must admit, I didn't anticipate it being you," WoFat said. He gestured, and two men slipped into the room behind him. They were dressed in neither military nor militia uniforms. Steve thought he recognized one as the helicopter pilot from Jax's kidnapping.
"You remember Tadeki," WoFat said conversationally. He gestured again, and Tadeki whipped out a huge blade and moved purposefully toward Nick.
"No!" Steve yelled. "You cowardly son of a bitch, you leave him the hell alone."
"So easily leveraged," WoFat laughed. "So easily manipulated by threats to the people you care for. We're simply going to move your friend to a more . . . convenient location. I'd like to speak with you privately."
Nick could barely protest, much less fight, as the rope binding his hands was sliced with a stroke of Tadeki's blade. Steve wasn't entirely sure that Nick remained conscious, and given the state of his ribs, and the fact that Tadeki had tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, it was probably best if he hadn't. The door closed behind them.
Steve growled in frustration and lashed his feet out at WoFat, kicking in pure, unadulterated rage.
"You're going to start a nuclear holocaust, you know that," Steve said. "You arrogant bastard."
"And not one passing thought to whether or not mother dearest is helping me," WoFat tutted. "Speaking of mothers . . . how is the little wife? Still radiant? So lovely, so . . . ripe with child."
Steve felt fury rising like gorge through his chest and he wrapped his hands around the rope binding his wrists and pulled with every ounce of strength he had left.
"Absolute asshole," Steve hissed. WoFat neatly dodged his kick.
"My associates tell me that after destroying their property, you and your companion wasted their time with insults," WoFat said. "Care to come up with anything more creative? Perhaps I can inspire you."
He struck like a cobra, years of training in martial arts evident in his lightning fast, perfectly aimed blows. A high, roundhouse kick connected with Steve's browbone, dangerously close to his temple. The skin split and blood poured into his eye, obstructing his vision and making it even more impossible to attempt to deflect or dodge the calculated blows.
Steve clenched his jaw and refused to give WoFat the satisfaction of more than a few reluctant grunts.
"Nothing? No insults to my manhood in several languages? You used up all of your insults already? I'm disappointed. Of course, my associate's approach was . . . common. Heavy-handed. Without . . . vision. Lacking in elegance." He withdrew a long, slim cigar from a pocket and lit it.
"What the hell do you want?" Steve demanded. His muscles strained as he imperceptibly lifted his body weight, releasing some of the pressure around his wrists. WoFat was looking at his cigar, contemplating it. Steve risked pulling himself up just a bit more. His frantic, uncoordinated thrashing had actually accomplished something and the rope was riding closer to the joint of his thumb.
The thumb that Jax had dislocated, her first day on the island.
"I want to relieve some of my frustration at my plans being thwarted," WoFat said. "You see, I was arriving here today to collect payment for my . . . merchandise. Now, my . . . customers are reluctant to pay, seeing as how you and your friend have destroyed the goods. I'll eventually get my money. In the meantime, I'll have my pleasure."
"You're a sick son of a bitch, but at least you're picking on someone your own size," Steve said. He gritted his teeth as WoFat approached him, the tip of the cigar glowing red hot.
It was almost too easy, Steve thought, as a white hot pain seared through the exposed skin of his hipbone, and a harsh cry was ripped from him. Even if it took repeated efforts, his thumb would eventually give way, and he could match his attempts with the contact of that damn cigar.
By the fourth burn, his pain receptors were so busy that it was relatively easy ignore the pain of his thumb, slipping out of joint. He managed to catch the rope with his good hand.
WoFat smiled in satisfaction as the smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils, unaware that his prisoner was a hair's breadth from freedom. Then his face clouded in confusion as Steve smiled, a gory, bloody grin spreading across his face as one hand pulled free of the rope and thrust deep into a pocket, wrapping around the remaining detonator.
The back wall of the building exploded in a shower of cinderblock and ash. WoFat turned his head for a split second, distracted, before he realized the folly of turning his back on six plus feet of enraged Navy SEAL. The rope that had secured Steve to the overhead rafter made a whistling sound as Steve whipped it free and wrapped it around WoFat's throat.
Steve pulled, leaving the narrowest of airways, and WoFat was desperately gasping, trying to pull in enough oxygen to remain conscious. Almost two hundred pounds of pressure rested, pinpointed down to the size of Steve's kneecap, centered over his lungs. He was immobilized, squirming, like a bug on a pin.
Chaos and confusion outside the partially destroyed building ignored, Steve took the cigar from WoFat's twitching hand and held it so close to his eye that his eyelashes brushed against it, gracefully brushing the burning ash away. A few flecks fell onto his lower lid, burning. WoFat would have screamed in pain, had he been able to draw in enough air.
"You let us see how you looked at her," Steve said, his voice low and threatening in WoFat's ear. "You tried to get inside her head, tried to scare her. Control her. Psychological torture. You dared look at my wife. You think I'm gonna let you keep your eyes, hunh, after you laid eyes on her? Think I'll let you keep your hands, after you touched her?"
WoFat whimpered with what air he had left, praying to any available deity that he would slip into blessed, merciful unconsciousness. But Steve was too knowledgeable.
Anatomy and physiology, after all. Extensive field medic training. Jax's lilting, teasing voice sounded in his ears. Their mutual understanding of human anatomy had provided countless pleasurable moments. WoFat had threatened, too many times, to take that away. Now, Steve's understanding of physiology told him that a little more oxygen, if you please, would ensure WoFat remained conscious while he rendered him his due punishment. He lifted his knee slightly, allowing WoFat to take an almost reluctant breath.
"Son," Joe's voice sounded in his head. Of all the times for his conscience . . . and that was weird. Usually his conscience sounded like Danny.
"Son," Joe said again. "We're better than that, aren't we?"
Steve whipped his head around, not releasing WoFat even a fraction more of an inch. He wouldn't have recognized Joe in a dark alley. His hair was long and matted, thick beard obscuring most of his face.
"Joe?" Steve gasped. He forced back the pain that was trying to make its way into his awareness. "What the hell -"
"I'm tempted to help you torture him, because God knows he deserves it," Joe said quietly. "But how does that make us any better?"
Steve quickly turned the rope into a series of knots behind WoFat's wrists and ankles, rendering him helpless, writhing on the floor. Steve stood over him, staring down at him impassionately.
"I could just shoot him," Steve said.
"And then . . . you wouldn't know where your mother was," WoFat gasped, a ghastly attempt at a smile on his lips.
"Steve," Joe said, shaking his head. "Don't let him bait you. He's secure. He may or may not know anything about your mother, but he damn sure knows what the North Korean government is doing, arming rogue militia and concentrating forces. Let's get him to the people who can do the most good with that information."
"How -" Steve said, gesturing at Joe. The pain was starting to insist on moving to the forefront of his consciousness, much to his annoyance. It made processing a bit difficult.
"Tagged along with your friends," Joe said wryly, gesturing to the crumbling wall behind him. Steve could hear gunfire and chaos. "They thought you and Nick would need rescuing. They were half right."
"Bullfrog," Steve gasped.
"He'll make it, but we need to get you all the hell back over the border," Joe said. As if on cue, a Jeep barrelled up to the exposed wall of the building,
Joe nodded to Steve, and they hauled WoFat, still squirming, into the back of the Jeep. Steve accepted the snub nosed automatic offered to him by the cheerfully grinning communications officer.
"Damn, if Bullfrog didn't say we'd get rescued by a radio jockey," Steve muttered.
"I'm just here to pick up the trash," he said, speeding off after a covered truck, which Steve assumed contained the rest of their team, given that gunfire was coming out of the truck and taking out the few frantic military and militia that stood between them and the border.
"How bad is Bullfrog?" Steve demanded.
"Needs a hospital," the officer said shortly. "Should be able to make Yokosuka Naval Base."
Steve nodded. It was a two hour flight, but the naval base there had a top notch hospital. There were so many reasons to get the hell out of Korea and into Japan.
"We'll need to obtain medical care for the prisoner," Steve said coldly. WoFat's face was gray, his eyes closed.
"What's wrong with the prisoner?" the officer asked, glancing at Steve as he rocketed across the uneven terrain.
Steve tilted his head and regarded WoFat clinically. "Pretty sure a compression fracture of a couple vertebrae. Maybe a broken rib or two. Might have nicked a lung."
The officer's eyebrows shot up.
"He got off easy," Joe muttered.
#*#*#*#*#
"I'm sorry," Mary whispered, tears streaking down her face. "I'm not like the rest of you, I don't deal with this stuff every day. Steve is no where to be found, Jax is . . . she's got this glazed look in her eyes, like, she's in so much pain but she's used to it, and . . . how do you people live like this?"
Chin hugged her close. He remembered Mary as a very little girl, and in some ways, he would always see her as such. She was trying so hard to be strong, but she was right - she wasn't used to this.
"We don't expect or want you to get used to this, Mary," he said gently. "Why don't you go on home, get some real rest?"
She shook her head stubbornly, and Chin decided to try a different tactic. "Steve has always come home. Always. And when Jax comes home, it will be with twins. I'm guessing there's probably things yet to be done around the house. Why don't you try to get some good rest, and then Kono and I will send over a couple of aunties to help you get the house ready for everyone. Do you think you could do that?"
Mary sniffed and nodded. "I can get another bag together for Jax, too. I know what some of her favorite things are right now. She likes her big pillow, and her fuzzy socks."
"That would be perfect, Mary," Chin said. "I'm going to have a uniform drive you, okay? You're too tired to be behind the wheel. When it's Kono's turn to come visit Jax, I'll let her know to swing by and pick up the things you have ready."
Mary nodded again and threw her arms around Chin. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't think they really appreciate everything you do."
"It's all going to be okay, Mary," he said, kissing the top of her head. "We'll call you, immediately, if there's anything new on either Steve or Jax."
He saw Mary safely to the HPD officer available to drive her, and then made his way back to the family waiting room. Danny was there, pacing again.
"They're changing her sheets and her gown," Danny said. "She kicked me out."
Chin smiled. "Danny. You need to take a break."
"I'm fine," Danny said, waving his hand.
"Danny. You need to take a shower," Chin said.
"Funny, Jax said the same thing," Danny said, smiling sheepishly. "I'll ask the nurses if they mind if I use her shower."
"You'll ask Jax," a nurse said, sliding smoothly into the waiting room. She extended her hand to shake Danny's and Chin's in turn. "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Mia, Jax's nurse. I'll be here for the duration, catching showers and naps, like you, when I can. Captain Bluedorn and I reviewed Jax's disturbingly voluminous medical record and agreed that - especially in the absence of her husband - what she needs most, in addition to astute medical care, is consistency in personnel. I don't leave until she does, along with two healthy babies. That is the one and only acceptable outcome. No one so much as blinks in her general direction without her consent and approval. Do we have an understanding?"
Danny and Chin gaped at her.
"Gentlemen?" Mia prompted.
"We have a fantastic understanding," Danny said, taking her hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "You're serious. You're not leaving until everything is okay?"
"Affirmative," Mia said. "Her condition is stable, but only in the sense that she's not getting dramatically worse. She's also not improving. We're looking at delivering the babies within twenty-four hours, or on a moment's notice if she deteriorates. It's not conducive to her health care or her understandably brittle frame of mind for there to be a new nurse read into the situation every eight hours. I work with a team who will ensure that I receive adequate rest to do my job, but I don't leave."
"Shit," Danny said. "She's going to be devastated if Steve isn't here . . . or at least if she's not heard that he's okay."
"She's a Navy wife, which means that she will comport herself with dignity," Mia said.
Chin raised an eyebrow at her.
"That simply means that the three of us know better," Mia said, her voice sympathetic. "It also means that we are going to give her absolutely every bit of control that we can give her, in a situation which is rapidly spinning out of control. I've read her chart. I know what that means to her."
It was Danny's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"I've been an obstetrical nurse for ten years," Mia said. "My master's degree and research, however, is as a post-traumatic psychiatric nurse practitioner. I also happen to be a lieutenant in the United States Navy and a Krav Maga devotee. Which means, I will care for Jax to the best of my considerable ability, up to and including beating the ever loving crap out of anyone who makes her feel threatened."
"Understood," Chin said, nodding reverently.
"I like you," Danny declared.
"Which of you is Danny?" Mia asked.
Danny raised his hand nervously.
"You may be with her. I don't want a rotation of friends in the room. No offense," she added, glancing at Chin. "You will be of tremendous help as a point of contact for anyone who needs to be kept in the loop, and of course, we will send for you if she asks for you. But otherwise . . . she needs rest, and privacy. Soon enough, there'll be cause for celebration. Until then, peace and quiet are key."
"No offense taken," Chin said. "Danny and I can communicate quietly as needed via text. And I'll be happy to steer everyone clear. Her sister-in-law . . ."
"Is precious, and trying hard, but Jax feels protective of her, and feels the need to mask her pain and discomfort for her sake," Mia said.
"I've sent her home to rest and get the house in order," Chin supplied.
"Good call," Mia said, visibly relieved. "Okay, Danny. Back to you. When asked who her support person would be, in her husband's absence, she named you instantly. Your friend is correct - you're due a shower - and I'll make sure we have a comfortable recliner so you can rest if she's resting. You're up for this?"
"My wife's had two children," Danny said. "I'm good with the baby stuff. And Jax . . . I've been with her through the other stuff. I'm up for it."
"Rules are simple. Anything that happens in that room, happens with her permission," Mia reminded him. "You want to use her shower, you ask her. You think she needs her pillow adjusted, you ask her. She's frightened, and in pain, and Lieutenant Commander McGarrett is God knows where doing God knows what. We help her hold it together until he can, go it?"
Danny nodded firmly and followed Mia back down the hall.
#*#*#*#*#
They made it back to the original make-shift base, inside the DMZ, and took a few moments to regroup. Steve motioned for two of his fellow SEALs to guard WoFat, while he checked on Nick.
"Bullfrog, you think you can make it to Yokosuka, or you want us to get you to the infirmary on the base here in Seoul?" Steve asked, running a practiced hand gently over Nick's broken ribs.
"Nurses are way prettier in Yokosuka," Nick said. "Doc can wrap my ribs, hold me together until then, right?"
The field surgeon nodded a confident affirmative.
"I want to get the hell out of Korea, South or otherwise," Nick added.
Steve nodded, and then turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Joe was there, pressing a neatly wrapped package into his hand.
"Joe, were you tracking WoFat? I don't understand," Steve said. His agile brain was under assault from fatigue and pain, and he couldn't quite piece together how this grizzled version of Joe had appeared in a North Korean militia encampment.
"I was tracking your mother," Joe said. "Not WoFat. She's left breadcrumbs, and trace evidence. There's a journal here, that the SAD and Naval Intel should find helpful. Couple other artifacts, as well. Take care, son."
"Joe, you -"
"I'm exiled, Steve," Joe said. "I go back, I go to Leavenworth. I'm not ready for that, not yet. Besides, someone has to look out for Doris. She's good, but she's not invincible."
"She's not working with WoFat," Steve repeated. He wanted to be sure he had it right.
"No, Steve, she's not working with him. Why do you think he was so furious with you? You didn't give him what he wanted, after all," Joe said. "Take care. Get home to that spitfire of a wife of yours. She'll ream you a new one if you miss the birth of your children."
Joe melted into the underbrush. If it hadn't been for the curious glances of the other team members, Steve might have thought he'd imagined him the whole time. The parcel was a solid, compact weight in his pocket, grounding him.
The communications officer helped an ashen Steve move WoFat into the plane that would speed them to the Yokosuka Naval Base. Two solemn, unsmiling fellow SEALs immediately took positions to secure him, as the rest of the team grabbed gear and helped a stubbornly upright Nick onto the plane as well. Once they were safely over South Korean airspace, Steve held a phone in shaking hands and placed a call to Catherine.
#*#*#*#*#
The room was dim, and smelled of freshly washed sheets and clean soap. Jax's hair was damp, tucked up neatly in a clip to keep it out of her face.
"Feeling any better?" Danny asked, smiling down at her.
"Miss my own shower, but this was nice. Thank you," Jax said, managing a smile for the nurse who'd just helped her.
"Speaking of showers, both Chin and your nurse have informed me that it's my turn. Would you mind if I used your shower?" Danny asked.
"Knock yourself out, Danno, you're a little ripe," Jax said.
Danny pretended to glare at her. "I'll just be a minute," he said, grabbing his bag.
"I'm not going anywhere," Jax sighed. As Danny slipped into the bathroom, she craned her neck to try to see the blood pressure and heart rate readings. The equipment had been angled away while the nurse helped her get cleaned up and changed, and she couldn't see it.
Mia noticed and moved the screen. "Better?" she asked.
"I'm not getting any worse," Jax said, her eyes tracking expertly across the readings. "BP is holding steady. Is that the babies' heartbeats?"
"Mmm, we have you on a fetal monitor," Mia said. "Babies are doing great. Your BP is holding steady, as you said."
"But it's still too high," Jax said.
"It is,"Mia agreed. "Scale of one to ten, how's your pain?"
"Headache? About a six," Jax said.
"There's additional pain?" Mia asked. She fixed her amber gaze steadily on Jax.
"Some low back pain," Jax said quietly. "Probably from laying on my side - I know, left side is definitely best, I understand. I think maybe the babies are squished and tired of being in one position."
"It's possible," Mia agreed. "Or it's possible that despite our efforts to press pause on this whole situation, you're close to going into labor."
"I'm having a C-section," Jax said, an edge of panic in her voice.
"Absolutely," Mia agreed. "I have Captain Bluedorn and the anesthesiologist on speed dial. If you do go into active labor, they'll be here within moments to do a C-section."
"Okay," Jax said. She relaxed. "But unless I go into labor, or something changes . . ."
"We can simply stay the course," Mia said. "Give that husband of yours time to get his delectable ass back in here."
"You've met him," Jax said, grinning.
"Not in person," Mia said. "There was a YouTube video, though, the day of the bridge?"
"Oh yeah," Jax said, nodding solemnly. "That one. Yeah. Delectable. Hi, Danny."'
"I do not want to know," Danny said. He resumed his position next to Jax's bed, nodding his thanks to Mia for the newly placed comfortable recliner. He took Jax's hand in his. "Okay, is it time for a nap, or an embarrassing story from Steve's early days in Five-O?"
"Story," Jax said, settling into a more comfortable position.
#*#*#*#*#
Danny realized they'd both drifted off to sleep when a change in the soporific tone of the assorted monitors woke him. Mia was already next to them, her eyes tracking over the readings. She pressed a hand against Jax's lower back as Jax, half-asleep, gave a low moan.
"What's happening?" Danny asked quietly.
"I do believe that was a contraction," Mia said calmly. "Damn."
"She's going into labor?" Danny asked, his voice climbing a register. "Sorry," he whispered, withering under Mia's glare.
"One contraction does not labor make," Mia said. "It may be a Braxton-Hicks, a situation I'm sure you've experienced."
"Oh, yeah, couple false starts," Danny said. "I called them practice runs."
"Good save," Mia said.
Jax stirred, her own whimper waking her.
"Sorry," she whispered automatically.
"You gonna apologize for being human?" Danny asked, rubbing her hand. "What hurts, babe?"
"My back," Jax said. "It feels crampy and wrong. I don't want to do this, Danny."
"What don't you want to do?"
"I don't want to have the babies without Steve," she said.
"He's gonna be back before you know it," Danny said. His words sounded hollow, even to him.
"It's been thirty-six hours," Jax said. "Most successful missions are completed in twenty-four. It's been too long."
Danny sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. A muted melody from "Surfer Girl" sounded from his phone, and he reached for it. He smiled at the text message.
"So," he said, rubbing Jax's hand with a finger, "Mary sent Kono over with a bag of stuff that she said I was too stupid to think to grab for you. Something about a big pillow? You want me to go fetch it from the waiting room?"
Jax smiled and nodded. "Tell them thanks for me, please?"
"You got it, babe," Danny said.
#*#*#*#*#
The flight to Yokosuka caught a tailwind. It made for a ride that was smoother and faster than Steve had dared hope for.
"You hanging tough, Bullfrog?" he asked, ignoring his own pain to crouch in front of his friend.
"Your mom?" Nick asked, groggy from the blessed dose of morphine administered by their very own field surgeon. Catherine was, in fact, a genius, and she was in charge of putting together teams from now on.
"No sign of her," Steve said. "Joe said he's been tracking her, and she left some intel for us to take back to the SAD and Naval Intel. Hard copy. Old school."
"Yeah, she's pretty smokin' for old school," Nick mused, his brain misfiring on pain and narcotics.
"Dude," Steve grimaced. "No."
"Sorry," Nick said. "You check in with Cath? I mean, Lieutenant Rollins?"
"Yeah, I checked in. She was worried about your sorry ass. I may have mentioned that you'd be at Yokosuka for a bit," Steve said. "My bad. Might interfere with your plans for flirting up the Navy nurses."
"Navy nurses are awesome," Nick said. "Wait. What might interfere?"
"Lieutenant Rollins," Steve drawled. "Course, she shows up at Yokosuka, sees your hairy, gnarly ass hanging out of a hospital gown, she might swim back to Pearl."
"She's comin'? Why?" Nick asked.
"Navy's impressed with her, wants her as part of the team overseeing WoFat's incarceration and questioning. Plus, it seems she has a misguided notion that you might be the frog that turned into a prince," Steve teased, smiling down at his friend. "Even if you are a stupid son of a bitch who breaks protocol."
"Whole team agreed," Nick said, closing his eyes. "You made it back, no matter what. We had a plan."
"It was a stupid plan," Steve said. "And it didn't work."
"Noted."
"Commander," the field surgeon interrupted cautiously. "The prisoner is requesting some pain relief."
WoFat was, in fact, moaning and writhing on the floor of the small plane.
"Check his vitals, administer enough pain relief to keep him . . . relatively comfortable," Steve said. "Far be it from me to violate the Geneva Convention." He stood, moving painfully, and stared down at WoFat.
"You'll wish you'd executed me," WoFat said weakly, through gritted teeth.
"Oh, I already wish I'd executed you," Steve said. "I wish I was more like you. I wish I didn't have a conscience. I wish I could have tortured you, let you feel just a little bit of the pain that you've handed out to me and mine, through the Hesse boys, through Novak. You couldn't stand it, could you? Let other people do your dirty work but it just wasn't the same, it just wasn't enough. You had to get your own hands dirty, right?"
The field surgeon was checking his vital signs. "The commander here suspects you might have a compression fracture. I'd try to be still, if I were you."
WoFat stared up at Steve, hatred overcoming his pain for a moment. "That's right," he said, ignoring the doctor. "You can turn me over to the authorities, Captain America, be the guy in the white hat. I'll always be the man who held a knife to the belly of your pregnant wife, felt her shiver when I touched that smooth, soft cheek of hers. I'm in her head, and yours. I've touched your entire family. I've already won."
Before Steve could reply, WoFat was screaming in agony as his hand was crushed under the boot of one of the other SEALs. The sound of a bone breaking reverberated through the suddenly quiet plane cabin.
"Oops," the SEAL said, stepping back calmly. "Turbulence. My bad."
#*#*#*#*#
The sun was shining and a soft breeze swayed the hammock. Jax was curled in it, content, something supporting her weight perfectly as she dozed. She stirred and opened her eyes.
"Hey," Steve said, smiling at her. She was curled around him, safe, and he was gently rocking the hammock with one foot tossed casually over the side. Gracie was in the background, laughing, and chasing a little blond child up the beach.
"Charles Nolan is running," Jax said. "How much did I miss?"
Fred and Maureen Hart were sitting in the Adirondack chairs, each of them bouncing a baby on their laps.
"You haven't missed anything yet," Steve assured her. "Danny said we would have a happy new year."
"I'm hallucinating," Jax said, a cold chill moving up her spine.
"You're dreaming," Steve corrected her, tenderly stroking her cheek.
"I don't have good dreams," Jax said sadly.
The finger continued to stroke her cheek, and she closed her eyes, trying desperately to hold on to the image of her family, happy and safe. The cold continued to press against her spine, seizing the muscles and making her cry out in pain.
The finger stroking her cheek no longer belonged to Steve, and she forced her eyes open.
"Hello, Jacqueline," WoFat said, his long, smooth finger moving over her skin.
"Jax, come back with us, babe," Danny was saying.
"Don't touch me," Jax gasped, and Danny pulled his hand away from her as if he was scorched.
"You were dreaming," Danny said. "You looked happy, and then you didn't. Hey. You with me? Catherine called."
"Steve?!" Jax asked, instinctively trying to sit up.
"Careful," Mia murmured. "May I help you? You can sit up a bit, if you'll let me adjust your bed and pillows. Is that alright?"
"Yes," Jax said. "Yes, please, Danny, is Steve okay?"
"Steve is okay," Danny said, taking her free hand in his. Mia expertly adjusted bed, pillow, and pregnant person, until Jax was sitting up more comfortably.
"You can sit up for thirty minutes, your blood pressure is stable," Mia murmured. "And I'll get you some coffee. Decaf." She slipped out of the room, giving Danny privacy to fill Jax in on Catherine's call.
"Just hung up the phone. Their mission was successful. Steve's a little beat up, Nick's in rough shape but he's going to be okay," Danny said slowly, giving Jax time to absorb the information. "Catherine is headed to meet up with them, at the Yokosu - Yosudoko - oh, shit, some naval base in Japan. They're almost there, by now, and then it's only a six hour flight from there to Pearl. They'll get Steve out as soon as they can. Probably before Catherine even gets there to process the prisoner."
"Prisoner?" Jax whispered. "WoFat?"
"Yeah, babe. They got him," Danny said. He was suddenly overcome with emotion, thinking of all of the misery and pain inflicted on his friends, his family, by the man.
"WoFat . . . Steve found WoFat, and WoFat is still alive?" Jax asked, disbelieving.
"He's being held on charges of international war crimes," Danny said. "He's going to be held in maximum security at The Hague. I had to look it up. It's a long, long, long way from here. He can't hurt you again."
"She'll understand, now," Jax said. "Mary. She'll understand why he had to go."
"Of course she will," Danny said.
"I need a pencil and paper," Jax said frantically.
"Okay," Danny said, He started rummaging around the room. "What do you need it for?"
"I was supposed to have some baby names written down," Jax said. "How much time do I have before Steve gets here?"
#*#*#*#*#
"Sit still, Commander," the nurse scolded.
Nick grinned at him, loopy, from across the room. His own nurse was a soft, gentle wisp of a thing, her soft blond hair caught up in a barely regulation French braid, her hands cool and gentle on his battered body. Steve had been assigned the nursing equivalent of a drill sergeant.
"Ow," Steve protested, as sergeant nurse expertly slid an IV needle and catheter into the back of his hand.
"Oh please," she said, shaking her closely cropped salt and pepper head at him. "You didn't even feel that."
Steve clamped his mouth shut, sullen and peevish. He hadn't, actually, it was an expertly placed IV. It looked like it would hurt, though, when he saw it go in.
"Lie back," she ordered sharply, and he complied. Finally, she whistled in sympathy as she saw the raw circular burns on his hipbones. "Geez, honey, who'd you piss off? Little closer to center and somebody would have had a major disappointment when you arrive back stateside."
"My wife - ow - might have objected, yes," Steve said. "My pregnant wife, who I've been informed is in the hospital, but no one will give me a damn phone, so I don't know what the hell is going on. Please, there's a plane, and I have to be -"
"I know there's a plane, it takes off from this base, and it's not leaving without you," she said. Four blobs of cold, blessedly numbing gel landed on his skin. "The plane is being fueled, the flight plan is being logged, and a pilot is being secured."
"I have a prisoner to secure," Steve insisted. "I should be -"
"You should be right where you are," a strident voice said.
Steve and every other person in the room snapped to whatever semblance of attention they could achieve. Nick stifled a sharp cry of pain.
"Carry on," the voice said, and then the man was in Steve's field of vision.
"Admiral Panosk," Steve said. "Of the USS Blue Ridge. It's an honor, sir." He saluted awkwardly, IV almost catching on the gurney.
"The honor is mine, Commander McGarrett, Commander Taylor," he said. Nick waved, back to looped on narcotics. The admiral smiled. "I wanted to come thank you in person, on behalf of a grateful nation and a more secure global community. The actions of your team will go largely unnoticed, which is of course, as it should be. The least we can do is say thank you. I understand you left a pregnant wife at home to come complete this mission."
"Yes, sir," Steve said. "I've received word from the lieutenant who really deserves a great deal of credit for her work on this mission -"
"Cath? You're talkin' about Cath," Nick said, nodding. "You're a good man, Steve. You always give credit to people. Good man. Good SEAL. Good boyfriend, in your own way, she says. Says enough, makes me a little insecure, to be honest -" His nurse stood, useless and wide-eyed, while Steve's nurse calmly picked up a pillow and placed it over his face.
"Anyway," Steve said hastily, "I've received word that she's in the hospital, sir, and no one seems to know how serious it is or - I need to secure Wo -" he stopped, cleared his throat. Who knew how much of this mission was completely classified. "I need to secure the prisoner, he's injured, but he's not to be trusted, sir, he's extremely dangerous -"
"We understand, Commander," Admiral Panosk said. "The prisoner is already under heavy guard, and not on this hospital ship. He will receive medical care courtesy of the United Nations, stabilized, and held under the highest security protocol established by the Navy, until which point he is turned over to the international courts and held at The Hague."
Steve swallowed hard. "You have him. We have him."
The admiral put a careful hand on Steve's obviously bruised and swollen shoulder. "We have him, son. You've completed the mission. Get patched up, get home to your wife and family."
Steve nodded, the first wave of the inevitable flush of adrenaline from his overstrung system threatening to crash over him. His nurse picked up on it immediately and released a dizzy Nick from his pillow muzzle and swept back to Steve's side. A cup of juice was miraculously in his hand.
"Drink" she said, sternly, and he did.
"Better?" she asked, and he nodded.
She snapped her fingers at an orderly. "Uniform for the commander," she said. "Everything, including skivvies, socks, and boots size . . ." she tilted her head appraisingly at Steve. "Twelve and a half?"
"Yes, ma'am," Steve said meekly. The orderly scurried off.
She picked up a neatly organized bundle which included a towel and some basic toiletries and plunked it down on the gurney next to Steve.
"Soon as he gets back, shower," she said, pointing imperiously to a small locker room. "I'll be here with your paperwork and someone to drive you to the plane when you get out."
Steve stared at her retreating form in amazement as the orderly rushed back, uniform and boots in hand, breathless.
"Wow," Steve said. "She should apply to special forces."
#*#*#*#*#
Jax's hand was shaking so badly that Danny had to hold his phone to her ear.
"Steve?" she said, shaking her head at Danny. "It's a terrible connection, I can't - Steve?!" Her face fell. "Lost the signal," she said.
"He's on his way, though, babe," Danny said, "and soon enough you'll see him in person. If they have to deliver the babies before he gets here, well, we'll just have them all cleaned up and looking pretty for their daddy, right?"
"What do you mean?" Jax said. She sighed as Mia reluctantly lowered the head of the bed to return her to the preferable position on her left side. "We have to give them a bath and stuff?"
"Did you - okay. We have a few hours, at least. Let's see if Mary packed . . . aha! Both books. Let Danno get you up to speed . . ."
#*#*#*#*#
Steve shifted uncomfortably in the airplane seat.
"Sorry, sir, they said first available flight," a young lieutenant apologized.
"If it gets me home the fastest, I'd gladly stow away in the cargo hold," Steve assured him. "Hey, do you happen to have a pencil and paper?"
"Sure, sir," he answered, reaching into his neatly organized gear bag.
"Thanks," Steve said, accepting the offered materials. "I've got about six hours to come up with some baby names . . . "
#*#*#*#*#
A/N - So, snow bomb or whatever equals writing day for me, updates for you! Everyone wins. Except WoFat. WoFat does not win.
Many thanks to the guest review who pointed out that "sauce", in this context, should really be "gravy" - I fixed it! There's suspension of disbelief, and then there's getting something just plain wrong, and I appreciate the opportunity to get it right! Maybe another reader could answer this for me - I know Danny has Italian in his background. Am I completely off my rocker and mixing fanfiction with canon - or are there also nods to an element of Jewish heritage for Danny as well? I know Scott Caan is Jewish. But I could swear that there have been lines on the show where Danny wishes someone a happy hanukkah, and I am almost positive I once heard Danny sing a snippet of a Jewish prayer. I'm fairly certain he's said "mazel tov" to Steve more than once. Ad lib? Or script? Or my overactive imagination? I spent a good deal of time trying to research this for the holiday chapter and couldn't find it.
Nurse Mia - named in honor of a reader who I am honored to consider a friend (Feli, you rock!) - and inspired by a nurse who defied hospital protocol and refused to leave my side long after her shift was over, thus very likely saving my life and that of my child. I love nurse Mia.
Preeclampsia is scary and horrible, and you'll get the happy ending I promised you, but this started (years ago, oh my gosh, I can't believe you're still reading) as a h/c story and it is, and always will be, a h/c story, and really, you didn't think I could resist one last whump, so that we could have one more kiss-it-and-make-it-better, did you? You know me better than that.
Steve's nurse is probably related to Gus. Or Joe. Who knows, she just showed up. I wasn't going to tell her to leave.