A/N: Thanks for the response after the last chapter, guys! I loved reading your theories in reviews and pms. Hearing what you think and interacting is what makes fic fun so please, keep them coming! :)

Chapter 8

Danny didn't miss the look the man with the tattoos shot at Steve. He clearly recognized McGarrett and Danny couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't daring Steve to do something about it. Danny glanced over at his partner, whose eyes were burning with so much intensity that he wondered if laser beams were going to shoot out of them. It was obvious Steve recognized the tattoo guy, too. Which meant…

Crap, crap, crap.

He had to get Steve away from that man.

Now.

Danny reached out and grabbed Steve by the arm, hauling him away from the prisoners and toward the stern of the freighter.

Steve wasn't too happy about it. "Hey!" he protested, fighting off Danny's arm. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Keeping you from killing that guy," Danny replied as he grabbed Steve's arm again, leading him farther away and out of earshot.

Steve broke Danny's hold again but made no moves to go back. "I'm not going to kill him! I'm going to get some answers!"

"And I'm not convinced you won't kill him in the process."

"Do you know who he is?" Steve asked, pointing back at the line of prisoners to the man in question. "He's Stickers."

Danny nodded, not surprised by the revelation. "I guessed that from his lovely display of tattoos and the smoke coming out of your ears."

"So why are we over here talking instead of over there, interrogating him?" Steve demanded.

Danny had a whole host of reasons why. But they were not ones that Steve would want to hear.

First, he was afraid Steve would have a flashback in front of Stickers and his crew. As much as Danny wanted Steve to remember- both for the sake of Steve's sanity and so that they could bring the men to justice- showing the enemy your weaknesses was never a good thing. And right now, zoning out and freezing was a glaring weakness, one that Stickers would not hesitate to exploit given the opportunity. And the consequences could be deadly.

Second, interrogations always go better when the good guys were well-rested and put together and the bad guys were exhausted and on edge. And right now, that dynamic was glaringly reversed. Steve was running on fumes, not to mention the fact that he was still injured. He had never said a word about his concussion or cracked ribs or missing toenail either, for that matter, but injuries always took a toll on the body, even one as conditioned as Super-SEAL's. Add to that the mental exhaustion from flashbacks and Steve was simply spent, whether he knew it or not.

But Danny couldn't tell him any of that because he knew Steve would scoff at any mention of vulnerability, no matter how legitimate, and barrel right on ahead anyway. Instead, he would have to pull something out that Steve couldn't argue with. Of course, the man could argue with a brick wall so maybe it was better to aim for something Steve would argue against but ultimately lose.

"Because we have to book him down at HPD first," Danny stated.

"What? Since when do we book people before questioning them?"

"Since you left," Danny answered pointedly, but not unkindly. "We follow procedure a bit more now."

"What's the point of having immunity and means if you don't use them?" Steve asked, his anger rising as he gestured towards Stickers. "We should be getting answers right now! And instead we're going to twiddle our thumbs for hours waiting on paperwork?"

"No," Danny corrected, trying to ease the situation, "we're all going to go home and get some sleep while HPD puts him on ice and does their thing. Then we'll be back, first thing in the morning, to question him."

"And what if he lawyers up in the meantime?"

Danny shook his head. "He won't. I'll have Duke put him in the back of the line so it takes all night to process him. He won't have time to ask for a phone call before we get back to him."

"And what if that doesn't work?" Steve demanded.

"It will. I've done it before, Steve. Quite a few times, in fact." Danny smiled at his partner's suddenly perplexed expression. It was good to know Danny could still surprise him every once in a while.

Steve thought it over for a moment and then narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You're sure this will work?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Have some faith. Stickers will still be there in the morning, all bleary-eyed and exhausted and a hell of a lot closer to spilling his guts than he is now." He inconspicuously reached out and touched Steve's back, lightly guiding him off the ship and onto the dock. "And in the meantime, we'll all go home and get some sleep. Ok?"

Steve scrunched up his face and looked back onto the ship, to where Stickers and his men were now rising to their feet under the watchful eye of several HPD officers.

Danny knew Steve was still debating the plan in his head. It was time to clinch the deal.

"Hey Duke!" Danny called out to the Sergeant. Duke looked up from where he was overseeing the transportation of the captured men into the squad cars and came over.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Danny inclined his head toward Stickers. "Make sure the guy with the dragon tattoo goes last. And give him some coffee with a few shots of espresso in it, too. And a really uncomfortable chair. We wouldn't want him to fall asleep."

Duke grinned. "Will do." Then he hurried back to his post.

Danny watched him go and then glanced over at Steve. He couldn't help but chuckle at the surprised look on his partner's face.

"Like you said," Danny explained with shrug and a smile, "what's the point of having immunity and means if you don't use them?"

*H50*

Steve hated to admit it, even to himself, but he felt better when he woke up the next morning. He had slept much better than the previous night, the exhaustion obviously pulling him under and keeping him there until seven a.m. He grabbed a quick shower and cup of coffee before heading to the office at seven-thirty.

Danny was already there, waiting for him, when he arrived. Steve didn't waste any time getting down to business.

"Is he in there?" he asked, indicating the blue interrogation room.

Danny nodded and then handed Steve a file, which he opened. A mug shot of Stickers stared back at him.

"His name is Yoon Song," Danny began. "Thirty-two. He was born and raised in Hawaii but has family in China, primarily Shanghai and Ningbo. He's spent a lot of time over there. He also has quite the rap sheet," he continued as Steve flipped through the file. "Mainly petty stuff years ago, no felonies to date. Either he was trying to keep his nose clean until recently…"

"Or he didn't caught," Steve said, finishing Danny's sentence.

"Exactly," Danny nodded. "And here is the remaining cast of characters," he said, handing Steve several more sheets, each of which contained multiple mug shots. "We got 14 scumbags in all, not including the two who got killed during the raid."

Steve took the sheets and looked through them carefully. On the third page, he stopped and pointed at the two mug shots on the bottom. "There they are," he said. "Bert and Ernie."

Danny looked and took the sheets back. "Ok, I'll call over to HPD and let them know. We'll cue them up next for questioning in case we don't get anything out of Song."

Steve nodded. "Alright." Then he looked down the hall toward the blue room.

Danny noticed. "You ready for this?" he asked.

Steve knew Danny was concerned but he also thought it was kind of a dumb question. Of course he was ready. Ready to find out what happened; ready to get some answers; ready for everyone to stop treating him like some fragile nutcase who might crack without warning at any given moment.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he jerked his head toward the blue room.

"Let's go."

*H50*

Song didn't appear to be all that fazed when Steve and Danny walked into the blue room. He sat calmly handcuffed to his seat in the middle of the room. And although he did look tired after being up all night, he didn't look that close to breaking. In fact, he seemed confident. Smug. Even cocky.

It made Steve want to punch him.

Song smiled. "Hello, Commander."

Steve worked his jaw for a moment before replying. "Song."

Song nodded his head once and then glanced over at Danny. "Who's the wife?"

"Lieutenant Danny Williams," Danny replied, stepping forward. "And believe me, you're going to be someone else's wife before the end of the day," he added with a smirk.

Song smiled and shrugged. "We'll see about that. Right, McGarrett?" he asked, looking directly at Steve.

Steve didn't reply, trying not to let on that he had no idea what Song was talking about.

Danny seemed to instinctively pick up on Steve's confusion and jumped in. "If you cooperate, we might be willing to put in a good word for you with the judge. Get you a better room at Halawa, one where your cell-mate is already married."

"Oh, I'll cooperate," Song said with a sinister smile, then looked over at Steve. "But I'll only talk to McGarrett. Alone."

Steve and Danny exchanged glances. While not entirely unforeseen, that was not part of the plan. Song didn't know Steve had amnesia and it was imperative he didn't find out. It was going to be a delicate situation in the first place and the difficulty in keeping the secret would be compounded exponentially if Steve conducted the interrogation alone.

They both knew that and had an entire silent conversation with their eyes in a matter of seconds.

It's ok, Steve's look said.

Danny frowned. I don't like it.

It'll be ok. Trust me.

Danny raised his eyebrows. And if you have a flashback?

Steve glanced sideways at the door. You'll be right on the other side.

Danny pursed his lips. I still don't like it.

Steve's determined expression did not waver.

Danny sighed. You sure?

Steve nodded once, resolutely. Yes.

Danny looked over at Song and then back at Steve before he left, slowly closing the door behind him.

Song took it all in stride, like that was exactly what he expected to happen. "You're not taping this, are you?" he asked, looking around the room for a hidden camera.

"No," Steve replied. "We really don't like having evidence of what happens in this room."

At that, Song grinned. "I know enough about you to know that's true."

Steve kept his expression neutral, not letting it show how much it bothered him that Song seemed to know everything about him while he knew virtually nothing about Song other than what he read five minutes ago in his criminal record.

Song didn't seem to notice Steve's internal struggle as he continued to look the room over. "And no one-way mirrors, huh?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "We don't like witnesses, either." He failed to mention that he was already recording the conversation on the phone concealed in his pocket, with a walkie talkie app sending a live feed to Danny's phone. His partner would hear every word Song said.

After a minute, Song finally appeared satisfied. He settled into his chair, getting comfortable. "So, back at Five-0?" he asked. "That's very helpful of you."

Steve had no idea why it was helpful but if Song thought it was, his best move was to play along. After all, Song was treating Steve like they were on the same side. The longer he could keep that going, the more likely it would be that Song would talk. "I thought so."

Song laughed. "Man, I have to tell you, I thought you were smooth back in Shanghai. But this might be even better."

Steve faked a grin. "I'm glad you approve."

Song nodded. "I do. Nice badge," he commented, nodding toward the shield clipped on Steve's waistband. "That's always been a good look on you."

And Steve's mind wandered.

Badge… Shanghai…

Steve was riding in a van down a street in downtown Shanghai. He looked out the windshield and watched the buildings as they passed by, each one outlined by a myriad of different colored flashing neon lights that created a display large enough to dwarf both Vegas and Times Square put together. It was a humid night and the passenger van didn't have air conditioning, making both of his damp shirts cling to his body.

He wasn't alone. Stickers was driving the van beside him and behind him, Bert and Ernie were sitting on the floor, the bench seats stripped out long ago. They laughed between themselves, taking turns telling crude jokes. The van rounded a corner and the joking ended as the two men fell silent. Stickers pulled to a stop beside a run-down, one story brick building that had once been painted red. Now, the paint peeled off in layers, giving the structure a decidedly neglected air.

After placing their guns underneath the front seats and ensuring the street was deserted, they exited the van. Stickers approached a pitted, brown wooden door and knocked. Steve kept looking around, watching, as they waited for someone to answer.

After a minute, a woman's voice called out in Mandarin from inside. Stickers answered several questions with the proper code phrases and a few moments later, Steve heard a bolt slide back and the door opened.

On the other side was a woman dressed in a red satin robe, as worn and ragged as the outside of the building. Her hair was short and black, without a trace of gray, and cut into a severe chin-length bob. Her face was well-creased and she had deep frown lines around her mouth, making her look old, mean, and hard. Life had clearly not been kind to her.

She took a long drag off her cigarette, the tip glowing bright red, as she looked at the four men. Then she exhaled, the smoke billowing up and lingering in the dank night air.

She looked directly at Steve and frowned. "Hérén shì yī?" she asked with an uplift of her head.

"He's new," Stickers answered in Mandarin, answering her question. "His name is McGarrett. He's with us."

The women took another drag off her cigarette, looking skeptical.

"Nice to meet you," Steve added, speaking in Mandarin as well.

The old lady looked surprised, but it worked. She dropped the cigarette and ground it out on the sidewalk. Then she stood to the side, allowing the men to enter the building. But she still glared at Steve as he passed, clearly distrustful.

Once inside, a burly man appeared and began frisking them.

"We know the house rules," Stickers told the man as he patted him down. "We left our guns in the van."

The man didn't answer, nor did he stop his process. Instead, he continued until he deemed them clean. He then led them down a dim hallway that ended in another door, this one made of steel. Here, he left them and disappeared. Again, Stickers knocked.

An eyeball looked through a peephole before the door opened, revealing a man. He was an average-sized, middle-aged Asian male with a plain face and bushy black eyebrows. He was dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with sweat stains under the arms, its sleeves rolled up and open at the neck, allowing a few stray chest hairs to peek out. A pair of reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose and a blue ballpoint pen had been hastily tucked behind his ear, giving him the appearance of a hard working, mid-level accountant. He looked at Steve carefully, sizing him up.

"So, this is the new man?" he asked. Unlike the old lady, he spoke in heavily accented English.

"Yes," Stickers nodded.

"And you're sure you can trust him?" he asked coldly, arching a brow.

"He's good," Stickers nodded. "He was hard to flip but now he's all in. Right, McGarrett?" he asked, turning to look at Steve.

"Right," Steve agreed with a nod.

The man, like the woman, looked at Steve distrustfully. But then Stickers held out the metal suitcase he had been carrying and the man lost all interest in Steve. He took the case and placed it on his desk, popping it open to reveal a large sum of US dollars inside.

"It's all there," Stickers confirmed before the man could ask.

The man still performed a cursory count, then closed the case and locked it. He led the way out the door and down the hall to another steel door. He took a set of keys from his pocket, found the right one, and inserted it into the door. Now unlocked, he swung the door open and flipped on the overhead light.

The fluorescent lights flickered several times, then caught on, illuminating the room which was filled with preteen girls. Some had been asleep on the floor and now struggled to sit up and wipe the sleep from their eyes. Others were huddled in groups, holding onto each other. All in all, there were probably 12 to 15 girls, and none of them looked older than twelve years old.

"Qǐchuáng!" the man commanded.

The girls obeyed, standing up. Steve couldn't help but notice that they were painfully thin and completely terrified. Some were crying while others tried, rather unsuccessfully, to put on brave faces; whether in defiance or for the benefit of the other girls, he didn't know.

"Shàngqián," the man said. The girls obediently came, filing out of the room. Bert led them down the hallway toward the entrance. Ernie went on ahead to start up the van. Once they were all outside, the man nodded goodbye and the old lady closed the door, bolting it shut behind them. Bert, Ernie, and Stickers began to quickly load the girls into back of the van while Steve, once again, served as the lookout.

They had just finished loading the last girl into the van and shut the door when a police car rounded the corner, its lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Steve immediately grabbed Stickers and shoved him hard against the van, pinning his arms behind his back. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his back belt loop beneath his shirt and quickly cuffed him while the two police officers jumped out of their car, pulling their guns on Bert and Ernie and yelling for them to stop. Caught off-guard, they had no choice but to comply.

It was all over in a matter of seconds.

One of the policemen walked towards Steve, yelling in Mandarin for him to put his hands up, while the other one frisked and cuffed Bert and Ernie. Steve complied and then began to try and explain.

"I'm with the police, too," he said in Mandarin. "From the USA."

The officer didn't buy it at all. "Hands up," he repeated, still speaking in Mandarin.

"Look, I'm going to show you my credentials," Steve said, slowly reaching his right hand into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a case, which he flipped open to reveal the badge.

The policeman paused but was unwilling to come closer to look. "Throw them to me," he commanded.

Steve complied, tossing his creds on the ground a few feet away from the officer, then raised his hand back in the air. He wanted, actually needed, the officer to believe him. So he wasn't going to give him any reason to doubt.

"Call them in," Steve suggested. "I'm working with the Ministry of State Security," he added, name-dropping China's equivalent of the FBI. "We're trying to stop human trafficking from your country to mine."

The officer seemed to consider this. Then he reached down and picked up Steve's creds. After scrutinizing them in the light from the streetlamp, he walked back to his car. He holstered his gun and picked up the police radio with one hand, Steve's badge still in the other.

It was the only opening Steve was going to get.

He quickly swiveled and hit the officer near him with an uppercut, knocking him out. Steve grabbed the man's gun and shot out the headlights of the police cruiser before the officer back at the car even knew what was happening.

Steve hastily opened the sliding door to the van. "Get in!" he yelled to Bert, Ernie, and Stickers, who were all cuffed, defenseless.

Steve continued to pepper the police cruiser with shots, providing cover as the men got in the side of the van and he made his way to the driver's seat.

With one last shot, he hopped in the van and drove off into the night, leaving his fake FBI credentials behind.

To be continued…