Happy New Year! May 2013 bring you health, happiness, and lots of great fan fiction to read!

The staff at Queen's Medical Center were ready for him when he arrived; a medical assistant waved him through the emergency room lobby without a word being spoken. It was a busy night, but he barely slowed as he weaved around physicians and nurses before arriving at the nurse's station. Chin and Kono were already there.

"Well?" Steve asked as he reached the pair. "Anything?"

"Nothing yet," Chin answered as Kono shook her head. "Still in surgery."

"Damn," Steve sighed. He propped his hands on his hips and lowered his head, trying to collect his thoughts and organize the chaos that this evening had become. "Okay," he nodded to himself before dropping his hands to his sides. "The car?"

"BOLO has been issued for a dark blue or black SUV," Kono reported. "Though we don't really have much to go on."

"Hitting two people is bound to leave some damage," Chin added helpfully. "We're canvassing for witnesses, but it was a back alley of the center, so…"

Steve didn't need to be reminded of how dire the situation was. None of them had envisioned this night turning out the way it had. It wasn't supposed to have been dangerous. Just a simple surveillance mission. A chance to get in and learn a little more about their chief suspect. Piece of cake.

Yeah, right.

"What about Sundt?"

"No sign of him," Chin stated. "We've confirmed that he owns a red Ford Taurus, and his wife drives a tan Sonata. No SUV."

"Doesn't mean it wasn't him. He could have rented it. Borrowed it. Hell, he could have stolen it," Steve grumbled. "You two head out. Find out who was threatening Sundt at the gala. Maybe they were working together on this. Find him, and find Sundt!"

They both turned to go, but Kono stopped. "You staying here, boss?"

"Yeah. I have to think of a way to tell… God, what do I say?"

Kono leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. "You'll think of something, boss." She smiled and turned, jogging to catch up with her cousin.

Steve watched as they walked away, lifting a hand to run through his hair. After a minute, he turned away from the nurse's station and walked to a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. This case was just one horrible turn after another. Stan's disappearance was hard enough. The resulting fallout with Danny's arrest was even worse. The bright ray of sunshine they'd basked in when Danny had been released into their custody had been short lived once the car ran him down. He and Rachel both.

Rachel.

How was Steve going to break the news? He didn't have long to dwell on it before a man dressed in scrubs approached him. Steve stood.

"Commander McGarrett?" Steve nodded in response. "I'm Dr. Quincy."

"How did it go?"

"Surgery was successful. Our biggest concern was the sternal fracture. Luckily, serious internal injuries were avoided, meaning we did not have to intubate, but breathing patterns is something we'll be monitoring closely for the next few days." Steve exhaled in relief. It didn't sound great, but it could have been worse. A lot worse. "There was also a non-displaced fracture in the left leg, but that's already been casted. There's obviously a great deal of bruising, but a full recovery is expected."

Steve offered his hand and the doctor shook it. "Thank you, doctor. May I…" Steve trailed, pointing towards the recovery ward.

Dr. Quincy eyed him carefully a moment before nodding. "I can allow it, but please understand that rest is really important right now. No intense interrogations, got it? There is no need to add to what has undoubtedly been a very traumatic experience."

"I understand," Steve assured him.

Traumatic experience didn't even begin to cover it, Steve thought as he followed the doctor. It wasn't about to get any better.

Another hospital room. Another person he knew… he cared about… injured and suffering. How many more would there be?

Dwelling on these dark thoughts wasn't helping anything, but Steve couldn't help it as he sat in his silent vigil. There had been too many close calls for him, and for those close to him, and they were never easy to handle. He wouldn't admit this openly, of course… not to anyone. He played the part of the stoic SEAL well, and it wasn't that he was concerned about a reputation. But he knew he couldn't fall apart. He had to stay strong for everyone… for himself.

For Danny.

Steve was used to living dangerously. Being a Navy SEAL had trained him well for all sorts of situations, and he prided himself on being able to handle them all with relative, though many times unorthodox, ease. Working with Five-0 was similar. It was too easy to recall the number of times he and his team had been shot at, involved in hand-to-hand altercations, or any other kind of situation in which violence was imminent.

They had a dangerous line of work, and bad things sometimes happened. The risks were well known and generally accepted. It's all part of the job. But when it happened to family and friends… those who never signed up for this life… those who were unwillingly thrown into the line of fire… That was when it was almost unbearable.

It was well after visiting hours, but the nursing staff had given up long ago in trying to get Steve to leave. Grace had been by to visit, and it nearly broke Steve to see the little girl sobbing, and he had held her close, whispering reassurances to her the best he could. A friend of Rachel's had graciously offered to keep Grace until things were back to normal.

Normal. Steve nearly laughed at the absurdity of the word. No matter how this case turned out, things would hardly ever be normal again. Not for the Edwards family, at least.

After Grace had left for the night, Steve considered leaving as well and helping Chin and Kono with the investigation, but he felt it important to stay. He figured this is what Danny would want him to do, so he stayed, intent on being here when Rachel woke up.

Steve could see the bruises on her face and arms, knowing there were more hidden beneath the blankets. A nose cannula tube hooked around her ears and under her chin. Two IVs were connected to her arms, and her left leg was propped slightly, casted and immobilized. The equipment surrounding her beeped and clicked and recorded her vitals, all while she slept soundly. She looked peaceful, and for that Steve was thankful as he settled into a chair to wait.

Another hour of quiet waiting and pacing was interrupted when Steve's phone vibrated.

"Chin. What have you got?"

"Good news and bad news."

Steve sighed. "Bad news first."

"We found Sundt," Chin reported, but quickly added, "He's dead." Steve shut his eyes as Chin continued. "His body was found in his Taurus in the long-term parking at the airport. Shot in the head."

"Suicide?"

"Not unless he managed to stuff himself into his car's trunk after he shot himself."

Steve opened his eyes and slowly stood, walking over to the window to look out into the dark night. "Is there any sign of…?"

"None. Steve…" Chin paused, and Steve could hear the hesitation in his voice. Whatever was coming next wasn't good. "Max puts his time of death between 8:30 and 9:00. It's a twenty minute drive from the convention center."

"Yeah, so?"

"I don't think he'd have had enough time to stash the SUV, head back to the convention center to get his own car, and then drive out to the airport."

Steve rested his head against the cool window. "So Sundt didn't hit Danny and Rachel."

"I don't think so. But I've got HPD searching every garage, warehouse and parking lot between here and the scene. If it was him and he hid the SUV, we'll find it."

Steve nodded. "Good, Chin. That's good. If Sundt wasn't behind this, then our next best suspect is the guy he was talking to. Any idea-"

"Well, that's the good news," Chin said, and Steve could hear the life coming back into his voice. "We were able to get an ID on our threatening friend. Name is Owen Brining. Kono is working on connecting him to Robbie Sundt. And there's more. We found a witness. Not an incredibly reliable witness, but he says he saw the hit. He's describing the driver to a sketch artist right now."

Steve turned around and looked back at the hospital bed. "Not incredibly reliable?"

"He was high at the time."

Steve couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Of course he was." Steve paused and watched as Rachel's eyelids began to flutter open. "Chin, I gotta go. Keep me posted."

He shut his phone and quickly strode over to her side.

"Rachel," he whispered, moving so he would see his face first when her eyes fully opened. It took a few attempts, but finally her eyes stayed open and they sluggishly locked onto Steve. She was confused, and clearly tired, but Steve offered her a small, hopefully reassuring, smile.

"Wh… hpn'd?"

Steve snatched the Styrofoam cup filled with water and tilted the straw toward Rachel's lips. She gladly took a few sips before repeating her quiet question to Steve.

"You were in an accident," he explained. "What do you remember?"

She closed her eyes. "I… I'm not sure. Everything is… fuzzy."

"It's okay, Rachel. You're going to be just fine. Sore for a while, but fine." Steve smiled again as she opened her eyes. Then something seemed to click, and her eyes darted frantically around the room.

"Daniel. He… I… we were together. At the gala. There…" She searched her memory. "There was a car. Oh my… we… we…"

"Rachel," Steve said firmly, while placing a gentle hand on her arm. "You need to stay calm, okay? Yes, there was a car. You and Danny were hit." Steve stopped, unable to continue. He didn't want to overwhelm her.

"Where's Danny?" Rachel asked calmly, but Steve could see the fear in her eyes. He only hoped that fear wasn't reflected in his own.

Steve moved his hand down her arm and grasped her hand.

"Danny was abducted."

Danny hated sand. It always got everywhere. Between toes. Underneath fingernails. In hair. Clothing. Eyes. It didn't matter how hard you tried to keep it out. It always found a way in.

When he was little, his mom would take him and his siblings to Stone Harbor. They'd spend the day together swimming and making sand castles. His mom would bathe him in sunscreen, but she'd always manage to miss one spot and he'd head home that night with a red patch of sore skin on his back or on one of his legs.

His favorite part was capping off the day with a trip to Springer's for some ice cream. It didn't matter how many times he rinsed his hands or shook the sand out of his hair, his delicious dessert would manage to get sand in it. He suspected Matty was the culprit.

Then, of course, he came to Hawaii. The land of sand. And he still hated it.

But what Danny was feeling now, against his bare skin, was not Hawaiian sand. Oh sure, he stipulated, he was still on Hawaii, and this sand was undoubtedly from one of its plethora of beaches. But it was too coarse. And rough. And penetrating. Not like Hawaii at all.

He'd pay big dollars to be lying on a Hawaiian beach right now. Anything was better than this.

Groaning, he slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head, blinking rapidly to clear the spots that danced across his vision. From what he could see, he was in a small concrete room. Through the fog of pain and disorientation, Danny had the odd sensation of déjà vu, as if this wasn't his first time waking up in this room. But, after a few moments of not remembering much beyond getting hit by a car the size of a freight train, he gave up.

He looked down at himself and saw, with dismay, that it was not sand that was burrowing into his skin, but gravel. He had chunks of it embedded in his calves and, he noticed as he carefully lifted his limbs, on his arms as well. His head felt like a jackhammer was rattling within it, and he lowered it back to the floor with an audible sigh.

"I'm so, so sorry."

The strained voice startled him and he moaned as his body jerked, causing a wave of pain to crash over him, effectively notifying him of other injuries he had not yet noticed.

He craned his neck up and over to see Stan sitting rigidly on a cot, holding several papers of some kind. He looked terrible, and Danny's breath caught in his throat at the lingering agony in his eyes. His clothes were ragged. He'd already lost a visible amount of weight. Some bruising on his face showed signs of healing, while more recent cuts and scrapes were achingly raw and seeping. Danny could see that Stan was barely holding it together as he retreated and closed his eyes.

"Stanley," Danny acknowledged him before turning his head back away and closing his eyes. "Nice place you've got here. Who's your decorator?"

Stanley remained quiet, and questions flew through Danny's mind. Why was he here? Who had taken him? What had happened to Rachel? Was she okay? What had Stan gone through these past few days? But he was exhausted and could already feel bone-deep weariness pulling him back under. So he settled for the first question that came to him.

"What did you do to me, Stan?"

The question may have seemed odd to anyone listening, but the guilt that hung heavily in the room was impossible to ignore. Amid the headache, the myriad of scrapes and bruises, and the telltale symptoms of a broken rib or two, were a few injuries that so far his muddled thoughts could not explain. Not to mention that sinking feeling was back that he'd been here before. Only it had been dark, and there were voices. Some shouting. Some pleading.

And then pain. Lots of pain.

Bits and pieces started coming back to him, and after a few more minutes went by with no reaction from Stan, Danny clumsily maneuvered himself around so he could see him. Stan only stared at the items in his hands, and the silence spoke volumes.

"Stan, just tell me..." he started, but he was stopped by the sound of a door opening and he turned to see a man step into the room.

"Ah, Detective Williams. Awake again at last. Stanley and I were wondering if you'd wake up. I tried to get a friendly wager going, but Mr. Edwards isn't a gambling man. Are you, Stanley?"

Again, nothing but silence from Stan, but Danny couldn't blame him. This guy was clearly a nut job, but he also possessed a dangerous presence that was somewhat intimidating.

"Nothing to say, Detective? Nothing at all?" The man's cheery voice was grating.

"Nope," he replied simply. No need to waste his dwindling energy playing this guy's game. He seemed the talkative sort, and Danny figured that he'd spill his master plan before too long. Then, Danny silently hoped, he'd have time to figure out where he was, and how to get himself, along with Stan, out and away.

"Surely you have some questions for Stanley?" He paused, waiting for Danny to say something. "About what happened last night? What he did?"

Danny's brow furrowed and he began to feel his anger simmering. "Look, buddy, unless Stan was driving the car that hit me…" Danny paused, suddenly seized with the crazy notion that Stan was driving the car that hit him. But another look at Stan told him that he was in no condition to leave the room, let alone drive an armored SUV. "I have nothing to say."

"No, here. In this room. After the accident."

Danny raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You don't remember?" Danny closed his eyes as his response to this ridiculous line of questioning.

"That is interesting," the man commented airily, as if discussing the weather or yesterday's ballgame. "Interesting. Stanley, why don't you show the Detective here what you have in your hands? I'm sure he'd love to see what has brought him here."

The documents instantly fell from Stan's fingertips and floated to the floor, landing inches from Danny's face. And then Danny understood. They weren't papers… they were photos.

Photos of Danny and Rachel.

They were at the gala's entrance, arm in arm, Danny in his tuxedo and Rachel in her evening gown. Then they were dancing together on the ballroom's floor, surrounded by people, a smile on Rachel's face. Holding hands in the alley moments after they'd lost sight of Robbie Sundt, both their faces flushed from the chase.

Danny closed his eyes. The general effort of staying awake just wasn't worth it anymore, and he craved the sleep that his body was demanding.

"Look buddy," he mumbled, as he nearly succumbed to sleep. "I don't what you hope to accomplish here. But you aren't going to get it. Whatever it is."

Danny could feel a presence lingering over him, and as he cracked his eyes open, he could see the other man looming over him with a smug grin.

"I've already gotten what I want, Detective." Another photo fell toward the ground, and this one landed on Danny's chest. He lifted his head slightly to see it, and the breath whooshed out of him. This one was of Rachel, only she wasn't dancing or smiling. She was on the ground, bleeding. Her dress was torn and she looked…

"Where's Rachel?" Danny demanded with the last of his energy. From his right, he could feel Stan's eyes on him, his breathing stopped momentarily as the question hung out there, begging to be answered.

The man's twisted smile only grew as he turned and walked out of the room.

"She's dead," he said, and slammed the door behind him.